Space Enough, and Time

I’ve been thinking about the story of Mary, Martha, and Jesus for some time.  In fact, I made a list of most impactful Scripture references back at the end of August 2023, and the story of two sisters was smack dab in the middle of the list.  The story has stuck with me because of reflecting on life over these last few years (and how I’ve tried to make sense of that time).  The Laban layer got added a couple of months ago as a real reminder of how easy it is for disorder to set in when it comes to things like delight and duty.  Not that they are mutually exclusive, mind you.  But there is a good and proper order for the Christian life, and one is more easy to prioritize than the other.

In many “versions” of the Christian life, intimacy with Jesus is the greatest good.  But the call to do the work of the God’s kingdom also gets a lot of airplay, whether from the pulpit or from whatever missional platform one is attached to.  Which is why this recent Mere Orthodoxy post from Jake Meador has been both interesting and timely.

The post’s title, “Shepherds are not Technicians,” says a lot, though it doesn’t say it all.  Meador uses Harold Senkbeil’s The Care of Souls as the ground floor of the piece.  I read the first couple of chapters of the book when it first came out, but it didn’t grab me enough to keep reading.  I’m glad that Meador found more to work with.  He writes of the key metaphors that Senkbeil uses throughout the book for pastoral ministry: shepherds and sheepdogs and farmers.  Then he makes a move to point out two key ways that contemporary pastors might re-imagine their work as it relates to the “technique” of leading a church.  Meador writes:

… the Christian church is treated in one of two ways:

• as being either a kind of spiritual NGO whose product is demographically tailored programs in a certain kind of lifestyle propagation

• as a kind of political superpac whose effectiveness is built on their capacity to entertain and seize attention and whose output is mobilized culture warriors that effect cultural change through voting and activism.

While I don’t agree with everything that Meador writes as he moves towards his conclusion, I do believe that we can see versions of these approaches to ministry in churches and para-church ministries today.  I’ve been one myself, I fear.  Program directors, show runners, chief motivators, those who manage the volunteer lists for things.  The danger is always there to disorder things, or to make one a simple pre-requisite for the other (be Mary for a while so you can get on with being Martha).  You get good, hard work for a time.  But then you get burnout.  Or you may get a kind of deconversion based on confused or inconsistent priorities.  Either way, you get people who, in the long run, aren’t quite sure what to do with themselves when it comes to the life of faith, of how to be a Mary in a world full of Marthas.

The whole piece by Meador is worth a read.  He writes with some interesting examples in mind.  He writes about religious habitus, which is always something worth personal reflection.  But it’s the danger that Meador points to that connects so powerfully with my thoughts on “the four sisters” these last few posts.  And it’s a danger that thinkers like Andrew Root have been trying to make sense of (but I’ll get to that later).

Mary and Martha and Jesus have a lot to teach us, I think, especially if the Labans in our lives have disordered things in the dark of the night.  I’m sure I’ll come back to them again soon.  But for now, it’s the last weekend before returning from Christmas break, which will bring a real test to me with these thoughts.  The struggle to keep things rightly ordered, you see, is almost never-ending.

Over the last couple of posts, I’ve attempted to draw out some nuances of two biblical stories involving sisters in the hopes of capturing something I’m convinced is an important reminder for living the Christian life well.   The posts ended with two suggestions: be Mary as much as  possible, be Martha when it is good and right, but never be Martha without Jesus and then beware of Laban, who through veiled intentions disorders what is rightly ordered. 

In my experience, it is much easier to fall into the “role” of Martha, even though the “role” of Mary is much more important.  The church (and the world) needs more Marthas.  There is always more to do, more program slots to fill, more missional needs to meet.  Too often, the metric for faith (and faithfulness) is service.  There’s not much room for Marys; it’s almost like Mary-likeness is a phase to grow out of so you can get to work, the really good stuff.  And while “work” needs to get done, it’s the posture of Mary that is most vital and the root of every good thing.  It’s only when you burnout from the work that you feel any real freedom to “go back” to the Mary posture.  And even then, it feels like there is a time limit to how long you can stay there.

Which brings us to Rachel, Leah, and Jacob, or more importantly to Laban.  Jacob is in love, so much that he works for that love.  It is Laban, though, who is the pivotal figure in this part of the story.  He disorders what is good (and what has been promised) for something that is effective, practical, and kind of “kills two birds with one stone” when it comes to his daughters.  It is the expedient thing.  His work is done with deception and results in surprise and disappointment.  In my experience, Labans (or at least a “Laban spirit”) are everywhere, promising one thing but delivering another.  In the life of Christian faith, it is swapping the Mary posture out and swapping in a Martha posture.

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One of my favorite moments in the 80s classic Stand by Me is a quick exchange between Gordie and Chris, when Gordie is questioning his desire to be a writer.  Chris responds:

Wish the hell I was your dad. You wouldn’t be goin’ around talkin’ about takin’ these stupid shop courses if I was. It’s like God gave you something, man, all those stories you can make up. And He said, “This is what we got for ya, kid. Try not to lose it.” Kids lose everything unless there’s someone there to look out for them . . .

I think about that last line a lot, and definitely have over these last few years.  Not from a professional perspective, but from the perspective of the Christian life.  A gift has been given, but that gift requires protection from outside forces, even (at times) from those we have been entrusted to.  The world is full of Laban’s who want to throw into disorder what has been rightly ordered by Christ.  And we often lose it without realizing it, or we are made to think that the right order is actually the wrong order.

So who fights for us, especially when we don’t know how to fight back ourselves?  Who looks out for us, especially if we find ourselves in a culture full of Marthas?  And how do we engage in this necessary conversation without coming across as victims?  More on that next post.

Yesterday I shared some a brief reflection on the story of Jesus’ initial visit with Mary and Martha.  Today I’ld like to look at a second story involving two sisters, this time from the Old Testament book of Genesis.  After fleeing from his home and the anger of his brother, Jacob arrives “in the east,” in the land his own family had left years before.  Eventually he meets Laban, the father of two daughters: Leah and Rachel.  Jacob stays with Laban and his family for a month.  From Genesis 29 (English Standard Version):

¹⁵ Then Laban said to Jacob, “Because you are my kinsman, should you therefore serve me for nothing? Tell me, what shall your wages be?” ¹⁶ Now Laban had two daughters. The name of the older was Leah, and the name of the younger was Rachel. ¹⁷ Leah’s eyes were weak, but Rachel was beautiful in form and appearance. ¹⁸ Jacob loved Rachel. And he said, “I will serve you seven years for your younger daughter Rachel.” ¹⁹ Laban said, “It is better that I give her to you than that I should give her to any other man; stay with me.”²⁰ So Jacob served seven years for Rachel, and they seemed to him but a few days because of the love he had for her.

Jacob had met the younger sister before, upon arriving in Paddan Aram while at the watering hole.  It is to Rachel that Jacob first shares his identity.  It is Rachel he kisses and weeps aloud and Rachel who will announce Jacob’s presence to the rest of his family. It is Rachel that Jacob loves, just like it is Rachel’s son that he will love above all others.  Which is why what happens next is so devastating:

²¹ Then Jacob said to Laban, “Give me my wife that I may go in to her, for my time is completed.” ²² So Laban gathered together all the people of the place and made a feast. ²³ But in the evening he took his daughter Leah and brought her to Jacob, and he went in to her. . . ²⁵ And in the morning, behold, it was Leah! And Jacob said to Laban, “What is this you have done to me? Did I not serve with you for Rachel? Why then have you deceived me?” ²⁶ Laban said, “It is not so done in our country, to give the younger before the firstborn. ²⁷ Complete the week of this one, and we will give you the other also in return for serving me another seven years.” ²⁸ Jacob did so, and completed her week. Then Laban gave him his daughter Rachel to be his wife. . .  ³⁰ So Jacob went in to Rachel also, and he loved Rachel more than Leah, and served Laban for another seven years.

On some very basic level, Leah and Rachel and Jacob are collateral damage to the maneuverings of Laban, the father of the two sisters.  As painful as it might be for Leah, Jacob’s love for Rachel speaks to an appropriate “ordering,” even if it seems odd.  Laban seemingly makes a promise and then, on his youngest daughter’s wedding night, breaks the promise, seemingly for the customs of his country.  And while it is Jacob who does not relent, it is Laban who wins (at least this hand of the long game).

It is interesting to me that where Jesus rightly orders Mary and Martha and their activity (the business each is about), Laban wrongly orders his two daughters, even as he sees his action as some kind of cultural correction/expectation.  It is the deceit, the weak explanation of the morning after, that reveal that disordering.

Yesterday I ended my post with this: Be Mary as much as  possible, be Martha when it is good and right, but never be Martha without Jesus.  To that I would add: Beware of Laban, who through veiled intentions disorders what is rightly ordered. 

Next time I’d like to draw some more connections between these two stories, particularly as they can be pictures of the Christian life and the responsibilities of ordering rightly as well as living rightly.

Let’s start the year off with the first of two tales from the Bible concerning sisters.  From Luke 10 (English Standard Version):

³⁸ Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. ³⁹ And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to his teaching. ⁴⁰ But Martha was distracted with much serving. And she went up to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.” ⁴¹ But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, ⁴² but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.”

This story picks up after Jesus’ transfiguration and the turn towards Jerusalem and his impending crucifixion.  And so, along the way, a woman named Martha invites Jesus into her house with the sense of entertaining and engaging with him.  And this certain Martha has a sister, Mary, who sits and listens to the guest while her sister waits on everyone, playing the host.  Luke describes her distracted, drawn away.  Jesus then acknowledges that she is anxious and troubled, not words you want to hear from anyone, really.  The one who welcomed Jesus in is anxious, agitated, and seemingly envious or angry that her sister is sitting there, “doing nothing.”  But it’s the one things that Mary is doing that Jesus labels “necessary,” the real business that needs to be done.  And that necessary thing is “the good portion,” the thing that can’t be taken away like empty or dirty dishes.

It’s s frustrating story for a busy and anxious culture, and especially so for a busy and anxious church/faith culture.  We say we want to be Mary, but it is much easier for us to be Martha.  Easier and seemingly all-important . . . until Jesus reminds Martha, and us, otherwise.

I’ve thought about these two sisters in this particular moment a good bit these last few months,  mostly as I have tried to make sense of these last few years and as a way of shaping my approach to the years ahead.  And as I have thought through these things, I think I’ve come to this conclusion, a conclusion that I would like to become a conviction:

Be Mary as much as  possible, be Martha when it is good and right, but never be Martha without Jesus.  

I’m going to come back around to this later.  Tomorrow I’d like to consider one more pair of sisters from earlier in the Biblical Story and makes and unfortunate connection between the two and our current moment.

(many thanks to BibleHub.com for translation help)