"Martha, Martha."

Don't you just want to throw something at him?

Here Martha is trying so hard to get dinner on the table for Jesus and who knows how many of his friends. It's no everyday occasion for her. Jesus is an honored guest, and Martha is treating him like one. She's baking barley loaves and cooking fish, stewing vegetables and setting out bowls of olives and cheeses, figs, and dates; she's making honey cakes and pouring wine into pitchers. All by herself.

Meanwhile, her sister is out in the living room with the company, sitting at her ease, letting it all happen.

And what does Jesus do? He sides with Mary! Can you believe it?

For some reason the Bible is full of these sibling rivalry stories-beginning with the story of the very first siblings, Cain and Abel. Remember how that one goes? Each brother brings a food offering to God. For reasons that are never explained, Abel's offering is noticed and appreciated, while Cain's is ignored. Cain resorts to fratricide.

Then there's the story of Esau, the rightful heir, and Jacob his twin, the one God favors, who tricks Esau out of his birthright and gets away with it.

Jacob falls in love with Rachel, but is himself tricked into marrying her elder sister Leah, whom he doesn't much care for. In the end he marries the younger as well, and both wives bear children, but wouldn't you know, it's the descendents of the favored wife, Rachel, who end up with most of the starring roles in the saga of Israel.

Joseph triumphs over his brothers. David the youngest son is called in from the fields to be anointed king of Israel while his seven brothers look on. And so on and so forth. You'd think God would manage to stay neutral in these family jealousies, but it never seems to happen that way. In case after case of "Mom always liked you best" syndrome, God seems to smile on one sibling and let the others fend for themselves, for reasons that never seem to make it into the final story.

This one seems to hit especially close to home.

Even if we didn't grow up with siblings, most of us hearing this story can relate to Martha's frustration. If you've ever worked in an office-or helped out at a church, for that matter-you've probably felt the same way at times. Over responsible. Underappreciated. As if you've been left holding the bag. It's like yet another sibling rivalry story, the parable of the prodigal son, in which the good-for-nothing younger brother is welcomed back with gifts and a banquet while the responsible elder one is out breaking his back in his father's field. Is this how God treats God's devoted servants? Making a fuss over the shiftless ones and patting the hardworking ones on the head?

"Martha, Martha." And this is supposed to be good news?!

Well, now, that's an interesting question. What about that good news, anyway? This story comes at the end of a chapter in Luke's gospel that began with Jesus sending the disciples out two by two to announce the good news of God's new age to all the towns and villages in Israel. He told them, "Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, 'The kingdom of God has come near to you.' But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, 'Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: The kingdom of God has come near.'"

The chapter begins and ends, in other words, with the theme of hospitality to Jesus and his message. Sandwiched in between is the utterly unsettling parable of the Good Samaritan. We're still puzzling over the idea of loving our enemies as ourselves when Luke comes at us again, this time with a nice little domestic anecdote about one sister leaving the other in the lurch in the middle of dinner party preparations, and getting commended for it.

So what's it all about?

Hospitality. It's about hospitality.

"Now as they went on their way," Luke tells us, "Jesus entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home." And Luke goes on, "She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to what he was saying."

Both sisters display exemplary hospitality, the story seems to be telling us. One does so in classic Mediterranean style, by bringing out the best in the house for a feast. Like another famous Martha we could mention, she prepares to dazzle her celebrity guests by her brilliant homemaking skills. The other sister sits at Jesus' feet, setting an example for Luke's readers of what he means by hospitality to the gospel message.

Martha welcomes Jesus into her house. Mary welcomes him into her heart. The perfect hostess meets the perfect disciple.

Now, as we can tell from Martha's reaction, Mary's choice could have been seen as a bit of a challenge. While women were active in every sphere of first-century Jewish life, and were even known to exercise leadership at times, the overall picture was still one of entrenched patriarchy. Women's main sphere of influence was still the home. Married women were regarded as second-class citizens; unmarried women were even a notch below that. Mary's decision to listen rather than to serve is like the action of the Good Samaritan: It is an act of boundary crossing in response to God's call, a personal gesture that flies in the face of custom. It is one of many moments in the gospels when a woman offends by her response to Jesus, and Jesus compounds the offense by welcoming that response-even holding her faith up as an example to others. Martha's reaction reveals the tension arising from Mary's choice: "Tell her to come help me!"

Get up, Mary, you're rocking the boat! But Jesus refuses to tell Mary to get up.

Some, it's true, may not find the image of a woman sitting quietly at a man's feet, listening to his teaching, to be a very liberating image. And indeed Luke is making a strong point in this story about the lordship of Jesus. Three times in five verses Jesus is referred to as Lord, and a fourth reference is implicit in Mary's posture--a posture of submission; the posture of a disciple. Gender issues aside, this can't help but make negative reaction to submissive behavior. We don't believe in sitting at the feet of anyone or anything, for lots of very good reasons. But this story is not about worshiping Jesus. This is a story about listening: listening with the whole heart to a word that comes from beyond all our assumptions and experiences. This story is about listening to God. Jesus' presence means that God is breaking through into history in a way God has never done before--cracking history open, letting in the light and the breath of the Spirit.

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me," Jesus proclaimed at the start of his ministry, "because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor; to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind; to let the oppressed go free." Even as Jesus speaks, the message is being fulfilled-for he himself is the message. He himself is the Word of God, the eternal Word made Flesh-an opening in the midst of history to the healing, liberating, forgiving love of God which is for all. Our reading from Colossians today strains for language to express this mystery. "He is the image of the invisible God," we hear, "the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers-all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. …For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to Godself all things, whether on earth or in heaven…"

In him all things hold together. This is the mystery of Jesus' advent, the mystery embraced by one sister and not yet grasped by the other. Everywhere Jesus goes, healing and liberation go with him. Everywhere he goes, he triggers misunderstanding and opposition. And no wonder, since he has come to rock the boat of history as it has never been rocked before! Reversing injustice, challenging entrenched interests, empowering the powerless, loving the loveless, jolting the world awake with a voice like quiet thunder. It is happening at that moment, in that house, one person at a time.

But hold on just a minute. Surely I'm being a little hard on Martha. Martha has an important job to do, after all. It's bad enough that the woman is simply expected to prepare a meal, but now, to add insult to injury, she gets criticized for being too worldly! We'd love to hear, "I'm sorry Martha, I know this is very stressful for you," or better yet, "Peter and James, would you please go help Martha in the kitchen?" But failing that, couldn't Jesus at least acknowledge that what she is doing is indispensable? All those meals he's shared with sinners and tax collectors and Pharisees-who prepares all those meals (and cleans up afterward)?? Without the help of the Marthas of this world, he wouldn't have much of a fellowship ministry. Or fast-forwarding to our own situation-what about the church? What about all those mundane, absolutely necessary functions that keep this place and its ministries operating? Arranging cookies for coffee hour, making phone calls, signing checks, putting together the Sunday bulletin, organizing volunteers for Habitat projects, counting the weekly offering, helping out at the reception desk, folding the events calendar, ushering… Eliminate those tasks and we wouldn't have much church left, would we? A lot of us here have worked hard at those sorts of tasks in our time, and if we don't expect thanks, we certainly would rather not hear "Martha, Martha…"

Yes, but. There's a reason Jesus responds to this particular Martha the way he does. You can hear it in what she says, if you're listening closely. "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.'

Who is all this fuss really about, in fact? Is it about Jesus and his message? Or is it about Martha and her need to do things right, to please or impress or be appreciated or just be a martyr, slamming cupboard doors in the kitchen?

All of us have experienced "service" that is as much about the person serving as it is about those being served. Maybe we've been that kind of server ourselves; I know I have at times. It wasn't good for my community, and it certainly wasn't good for me. Too much of this kind of service can make a church feel like a houseful of squabbling siblings, all focused on our own interests and needs, instead of like a collaborative fellowship of friends.

The remedy is very simple, and very hard. It comes down to listening.

Listening for God, first of all; still present; still speaking. What is God like? What is God doing here? What is God asking of me, or of us?

Listening to another person. Without judgment; without criticism; without even giving advice. Just making room for the person to be heard. Chances are someone you know is sorely in need of this simple act of attention.

And finally, listening to those we hope to serve. Who are they? What are their needs and aspirations? How is their humanness like our humanness? What do we need that they can give us?

Each careful act of listening brings a bit more of God into the world through us. Attention to God's Spirit and what God is saying flows into action, gentle waves gathering to a mighty tide to rock the boat of indifference and injustice on which the powers of this world depend.

For the past few months, ministers and friends from Old South have joined with clergy, interfaith groups, and community organizations from all over the country to create a major event for the upcoming Democratic National Convention. Their purpose is to call the attention of the party and the nation to the scandal of poverty. I've watched the organizers running themselves ragged trying to pull together all the details of this immensely complex event. They have been worried and distracted about many, many things! But from what I have seen, theirs is a service that flows out of deep listening to God and neighbor--and to one another, too, even in the midst of real differences. I suspect that in the end, their efforts are going to make some waves.

When we displace ourselves as the center of our world in order to listen attentively to God, liberation happens. I cannot tell you how it may happen for you; perhaps you have stories to tell of how God is already at work in your life. I hope that in this place, household tensions will more and more give way to mutual encouragement and care, as we recognize one another's gifts and listen together for what the Spirit is saying to us, calling us to be and do. So sit down! Rock the boat! It could be quite a voyage.