Will you do something for me?

 Sunday, 20 October 2024: Isaiah 53:4-12, Hebrews 5: 1-10 and Mark 10:35-45

Will you do something for me, please? It’s a slightly softer spin on the question asked of Jesus by James and John: ‘we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.’

Perhaps you find it easy to ask for what you want, to express what is needed; or perhaps it’s something you keep buried out of fear of rejection one way or another.  

It’s the kind of question that is both self-revealing and an invitation to know what is going on for the other person. Sometimes it can be demanding or lazy, but at best it is testing out trust and commitment. Will you do something expressing hopes or practical needs, signalling our interdependence. 

Image from wiki

Some of you might have read the novel The Notebook - or more likely, seen the 2004 film adaptation. In it, Noah and Allie confront differences in class, wealth and parental expectations amongst other things. He  has acknowledged that their relationship is going to be something that they will have to work at every day. 

He then asks her: ‘Will you do something for me, please? Just picture your life for me? 30 years from now, 40 years from now? What’s it look like?’

It’s risky, honest and self-revealing. The question ‘will you do something for me, please?’ is rooted in his love for her, but also gives her agency, freedom and space to imagine consequences and choices. Without too much of a spoiler, the question leads to a life of vulnerability and joy, arguments and compassion; lives lived in love and carrying the memory of the other. 

It’s easy to take offence at James and John - just as the disciples did - because they had the boldness to ask Jesus for something, to name what they wanted.  Jesus doesn’t dismiss that. Instead he invites them to be specific and draws them into taking responsibility, to embrace hard consequences and to reimagine life lived with him. 

Like Peter and the other disciples, James and John had heard Jesus talk about his own suffering and death; talk of resurrection might have been beyond their frame of reference. But nevertheless they trust him. They put their faith in him.

It seems as if they have got to the point where they cannot imagine a future apart from their teacher. All that he has said and done - acts of compassion and challenge, indeed his very character - is so profoundly attractive to them that they want to mould their life around it. Their hopes are rooted in Jesus.

James and John are ambitious. In part for themselves - angering the other disciples. But if we look closely at the conversation, they’re also kinda ambitious for what God is doing. On the basis of what they have witnessed, they fully expect Jesus to be glorified - that in him, God’s reign of justice, mercy and peace comes a little closer. 

What Jesus goes on to do is unpack for all the disciples something of the way in which the world might be remade or renewed. He redirects their ambition in the service of his definition of greatness and leadership. Through lives of service, he wants them and us to open to grace, love and change. 

Jesus deconstructs the world’s way of thinking about what we strive for and how we behave. It is a reversal which nudges us to strive for God’s kingdom - to want it and hope for it. Laying aside fears of disappointment or failure or even rejection, we are to put our lives at the disposal of God’s ways of love. 

James and John might need a bit of redirection but their confidence is admirable. Yes it might be a bit selfish and naive, but they engage. They ask Jesus for what is on their hearts because they are close to him. 

Maybe you have a mental list of friends and family you’d pick up the phone to - without worrying that they might be too busy to help. Our human relationships at their best are rooted in that practical familiarity of love. Those who’ll not reject us despite our quirks; those who are there for us despite being a pain sometimes; those who know us at our worst but also bring out the best in us (as the fictional Noah and Ally demonstrate).

James and John encourage us to be ourselves before God too. To know we are loved, to be honest about what’s on our heart; to be prepared to be challenged; to know that we will be changed. 

One of the things that is challenged and changed for James and John is their sense of entitlement. They want prestige and position by association; they want to lay claim to something without cost. 

Jesus’ response models the expectation he has of his followers. He doesn’t make a demand, he extends an invitation. He asks them to picture their life with him - now and in the future. He speaks of being drawn into something more and describes that in terms of service. 

Service is not about entitlement but steadfast love.

Service upends all that we associate with power and influence, leadership and achievement: the social media influencer versus the soup kitchen volunteer; the tech guru versus the friend sharing a cuppa; the billionaire versus the aid worker. 

Greatness is reimagined as service: it is a path of gift and love; of risk and compassion. Such service is not self-protection or self-advancement. It is about our deepest longings for justice and the patient work of repairing, building and renewing - our relationships, our institutions, our communities. 

Dare we imagine, want and strive for the renewing of creation itself?

It is too easy to slip into a counsel of despair, of scarcity and futility; but we have a choice - to seek glory by asking for what we want or by asking what we can do for others?

We do that not in our own confidence or strength but because ultimately Jesus has already given his life as a ransom for many. We get hints in our other readings today about what that looks like. 

First in Isaiah, we are reminded that power and privilege lie at the heart of our brokenness. It is a text written to communities who’ve suffered loss and destruction at the hands of other forces. Despite that humiliation, the prophet and people sought to remain faithful to God. 

We read this passage through the lens of Jesus: the servant who suffers for all - taking on iniquity, afflictions and suffering. The one who is our servant king: hands that flung stars into space, to cruel nails surrendered. 

Suffering is sometimes as a direct result of human actions - the interplay of human greed and ambition, the desire to be vindicated or to control resources. Whilst we might chase after wealth and status, power and influence, the heart of God aches at the injustice and pain. God chooses to be with us - chooses to be a servant of all. 

If power and greed, violence and privilege can cause so much harm, Jesus leaves us with the invitation to reimagine the world on a different basis. To share good news in the face of suffering - or in the words of today’s anthem ‘if ye love me’ we are to keep the commandments.

That text is part of Jesus’ prayer for us: that there will be another comforter - the holy spirit - to be with us forever as our strength and guide, advocate and breathe. The one who leads us into all truth. 

Jesus prays for us still - his life and death undoing the harm of our transgressions, our going astray; his new life healing our wounds, and the afflictions of those we injure; bringing light that we might be drawn into a right relationship.

The writer to the Hebrews focuses on this ongoing offering of prayer by Jesus - cries of the heart for all those in anguish, the desire for humanity to know salvation; the cries that we might be strengthened to serve in our own contexts - embodying the life of God’s kingdom, seeking peace within a kinder and more just society. 

Will you do something for me?

If ye love me keep my commandments.

As we eat and drink at our Lord’s table, as we find forgiveness, peace and blessing in this place. 

This is our God, The Servant King
He calls us now to follow Him
To bring our lives as a daily offering
Of worship to The Servant King.

© Julie Gittoes 2024

Paying attention

Preaching on Mary and Martha at Christ Church and St Mary's: on sisterly difference and learning to live an integrated life - rooted in paying attention to God and God's world. 

This passage always resonates. I am an older sibling and my own sister is a beloved friend: we have our differences, but value them (and each other) more than when we were teenagers.  However, rather than setting up yet another set of rivalries about the contemplative/active life, Jesus seems to be inviting deeper integration in those habits. 

The texts were: Genesis 18:1-10a; Colossians 1:15-28; Luke 10:38-end

Alice Walker once asked: ‘Is solace anywhere more comforting than in the arms of a sister?’

Sisterhood is more complex than that.

Sense and Sensibility (1995)

From Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women  to Jane Austen’s Bennet sisters, writers have explored those bonds: at best, the loyalty and incomparable depths of friendship; at worst, the rivalry and clashes of temperament.

In the Dashwood sisters Austen gives us “Sense” in Elinor’s earnest and serious character; and “Sensibility” in Marianne’s romantic and impetuous nature. Over the course of the novel, they learn more about themselves and they come to value each other’s differences.

In today’s gospel, we glimpse sisterly differences: Martha who’s welcoming, practical, out-spoken; Mary who’s more introspective, attentive, eager to listen.

Christ in the house of Mary and Martha - Johannes Vermeer 

We learn from John’s Gospel that Jesus loved these sisters, and their brother Lazarus. 

Jesus enters this house, the home of his friends. Peace comes to this household.

He’s made welcome by Martha. There is time for hospitality. 

Mary sits at his feet. There is time for learning.

One sibling adopts the role of host; the other the posture of the disciple.

One is distracted; the other sister, attentive.

In this household, there is a moment of revelation and of encounter.

The usual habits and tasks of the domestic routine are disrupted. 

Martha speaks: resentful, fed up or anxious about all that needs to be done. Hasn’t her guest, her friend, her Lord noticed that Mary’s left her to it?

And in a phrase that’s past the lips of many a brother or sister: Tell her. Tell her to help.

And Jesus answers.

He doesn’t chastise her. He speaks her name with concern, tenderness and may be even a hint of challenge. 

Martha, Martha!

He names the worries and distractions of the work she’s doing. The word Luke uses for “tasks” is diakonia - it’s a word which would have resonated with his hearers beyond hospitality and the realm of ‘women’s work’ to include forms of ministry and service. 

This is important work and it isn’t to be done alone. As one scholar puts it: ‘The worries and pressures of ministry are substantial: ensuring people have enough food, shelter, health care, companionship. Jesus is not belittling Martha’s situation. He is, rather, establishing priorities’.

Jesus is reminding Martha of the importance of attentiveness. To pay attention is to give our whole selves over to receptive.

Pay deep attention, says Jesus. Pay attention to God; to that pulse of love. 

Such attentiveness enables us to be more alert to the needs of others. 

To pay attention increases our capacity to be attentive.

Mary and Martha - Jesus Mafa

Sometimes, this passage gets read in a way which exaggerates the potential sibling rivalry, but setting up a hierarchy of inferior or superior occupations - that the contemplative life is to be preferred to a life of service or practical action.

Elsewhere in the gospels, Jesus criticises the host for being distracted from the main thing - because they’re more concerned about the status of the guests or proper ettiequte than anything else. 

As host, Jesus is saying, there need of one thing; that is to attend to her guest, her Lord.

Hospitality and learning go together. 

And perhaps there is a challenge or potential danger for Mary too. She has chosen the better part - to listen to her Lord. Yet to flourish as a disciple, she in turn will also need to speak, act, serve or come to the aid of another.

Jesus is inviting Mary and Martha into an integrated pattern of life. There is a time and place to be receptive; to listen and learn. There is a time and place to ask questions, to engage and be challenged. There is a time and place to contemplate, to be still; and to mirror that attention in faithful, fruitful acts of service. 

Mary and Martha will work out their own callings, together. In the light of this encounter with their beloved friend and heavenly Lord, they’ll learn to value each other, and their differences.

There are lessons for us too, as brothers and sisters in Christ. 

At our PCC last week, we pondered two sets of questions: firstly, where have we encountered Jesus, seen God at work in the Spirit; and secondly, what is our heart’s desire, what do we long for?

To answer those questions we have to be attentive: attentive to our selves and our community; and we also have to be attentive to God.

Sometimes the biggest threat to such attentiveness is busyness. When we try to do more and more, without the capacity to be fed or to reflect, we lose focus. It becomes draining and makes us anxious.

This is too much for the contemplative heart and the activity itself becomes a burden we resent.

When we talked about traces of God’s grace on Thursday, we were being attentive: naming the freedom of stepping into new territory; naming the fear and hope of going outside our comfort zone. 

When we talked about our heart’s desire, we were attentive we talked about the needs of our community, our schools and university; we expressed a longing for our fellowship to go outwards; for confidence in expressing our faith, for others to find joy in this place.

This double attentiveness is rooted in Jesus, the one who is God with us. The one who helps us name our distractions and our need to do ministry, together; The one who gives us permission to enter into a stillness and silence; learning, contemplating and praying.

Such attentiveness releases joy and brings new life and hope.

The story of Abraham and Sarah being hospitable to the mysterious strangers is full of attentiveness: in listening and responding, in refreshment and promise. It reminds us that when we are attentive to ordinary, earthly human encounters, we might also glimpse something of heaven.

For the earth is the Lord’s. By the power of the Spirit we are to open our eyes to see the possibilities, our ears to hear the cries, our hearts to respond with compassion.

Just as Jesus teaches Mary and Martha that they need to listen and question before they serve, so the Sprit teaches us to be attentive to the small things; to focus on what really matters.

Christ is God with us: the one in whom all things have been created; the one in whom all things are held together. 

Christ is the image of the invisible God; the one in whom the fullness of God’s love and power was pleased to dwell. In the frailty of our flesh, he reconciled all things to Godself.

That peace was made possible by the cross: a meeting point of all our human cries of despair and the fullness of God’s mercy.

Here and now we are called to be channels of that peace and reconciling love. 

At this Eucharist, love bids us welcome; bids us sit and eat. 

Love is our host.

In bread and wine, the mystery of love is made fully known to us. We are united in Christ’s body, given new life in the Spirit  and called to share the good news of God’s fullness with the whole of creation.

Within our community, there will be many Marys and Marthas: rather than being fractious siblings, let us be brothers and sisters who find common purpose; teaching each other to breath deeply in prayer; encouraging one another to be joyful in service.

Let us pray that we might be attentive to the light and love of God in our worship; and to that light refracted in our world. 

© Julie Gittoes 2019