Sunday, July 20, 2025

Bless Both

Which way is right: Martha's or Mary's?


Amos 8:1-12
Psalm 52
Colossians 1:15-28
Luke 10:38-42

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

 

Holy God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen. 

 

It has been a full and holy week around here.

 

Laughter echoing through the hallways. The entire interior of this building transforming into an Alaskan forest. And every day, a sanctuary full of children singing out a sacred truth: that we can trust Jesus because God is with us—no matter what.

 

Vacation Bible School, as joyful and chaotic and colorful as it is, teaches us something that today’s Gospel lesson holds in beautiful tension. In the sacred chaos of dancing to “This is the Day the Lord Has Made,” and water coloring around sacred verses, and eating chicken nuggets on picnic blankets in the Narthex, there is movement. There is service. There is a very Martha-like hustle that makes VBS happen.

 

And yet, we didn’t just rush around like a squirrel on espresso in a room full of marbles. We paused. We gathered in circles to tell stories. We asked each other questions and heard each other’s wonderings. We talked about wounds and healing, about belonging and hope. And, those moments sound an awful lot like Mary to me.

 

So, this makes me wonder, perhaps this week was not just a gift for our children—but also a gentle parable for us grown-ups and youth to learn.

 

In our Gospel reading, Jesus enters the home of two sisters: Martha and Mary. Martha gets to work immediately—preparing the meal, tending to hospitality. She is doing what society expects, what custom prescribes, what her generous spirit likely yearns to offer.

 

Mary, on the other hand, sits at Jesus’ feet. She listens. She chooses presence over productivity.

 

And Jesus…does not say that Martha is wrong. But he does say that Mary has chosen the better part. And it will not be taken from her.

 

Now, let’s be honest—this story has rubbed people the wrong way for centuries. Especially those of us who know the weight of the “to-do list.” Particularly in church, where hospitality is a sacred act and nothing happens unless someone does the dishes.

 

It may be tempting to pit Martha against Mary—one bad, one good. But that’s not what Jesus is doing here. He’s not canceling Martha. He’s inviting her to breathe. 

 

There is a phrase from the Jewish tradition that fits appropriately with today’s Gospel: “Put both hands on the world.”

 

I hear in that phrase an invitation to be like Martha and Mary. To hold in one hand the work of love, of justice, of service. And in the other, the presence, the stillness, the sabbath rest of God.

 

Jesus doesn’t want us to abandon serving others, but he does want us to let our service be nourished by being present to the Presence.

 

After all, even God rested. Six days, six eras of Creation, then one of Recreation, of Restoration. 

And, even Jesus took time in the wilderness. To pause. To pray. To be present with His Heavenly Father.

Even the Holy Spirit hovers, breathes, waits. We may think that we can make Her show up on Sundays right at 10:30 a.m. and 8:30 a.m. starting on August 10th, but we must exhibit patience to feel the Spirit’s wind rushing over us, to hear the still, small voice of Divine Wisdom.

 

We cannot demand God’s presence. However, we can wait for it—being open to anything while expecting nothing.

 

There’s something else here too—something VBS kids seemed to grasp better than I do sometimes. This story is not just about the difference between action and contemplation. It’s about belonging.

 

Mary sits where only disciples sat! At the feet of the rabbi. That was not a place for women in her time. So, working in the background of Martha’s complaint is a subtle sexism—my sister can’t do that! “She’s supposed to be helping me!” I hear the busy sister protesting.But Jesus sees Mary, affirms her presence, blesses her learning.

 

It’s another way of saying: You belong here. You are part of my beloved circle. You are a disciple, just like Peter and James and John.

 

And Martha? She belongs, too. In truth, I think Jesus’ gentle correction isn’t about the food or the fuss. It’s about her worry. “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things…”

Isn’t that us? I know it’s me…

 

In seminary there’s this phrase that gets tossed around in courses about how to be an effective pastor. The phrase is “You must learn to be a non-anxious presence.” If I’m honest, there are times when I am the exact opposite, an anxious non-presence. I come by it honestly though, just look at our society.

 

We’ve built lives, churches, and communities full of good intentions, brimming with important work—but we’ve often lost the sacred pause. The better part. We’ve gotten so good at doing for Jesus that we’ve forgotten how to be with Jesus.

 

I heard someone once say that Christianity is not about getting things done—it’s about becoming someone new in Christ. And becoming someone new takes time. Space. Silence. Sabbath.


That’s part of why we’re offering our Parish Sabbath Retreat over Labor Day Weekend. It’s not just another event on the church calendar. It’s a deliberate invitation to step away from the noise and re-center our lives on what really matters. No committee meetings, no formal agenda, no rush. Just time to breathe, to reconnect with one another, with Creation, and with God, and to remember who we are beyond what we do.

 

So, if your soul is craving rest… if your calendar is too full… if you find yourself, like Martha, distracted by many things—come. This is your permission to pause. To be still. To choose the better part. You belong at the table, not just in the kitchen. And God delights in your presence.

 

Church, here’s the invitation Jesus offers all of us in today’s Good News:

Don’t stop setting the table.
Don’t stop feeding the hungry.
Don’t stop showing up when the work needs doing.

But remember: the table is set so we can sit at it.

The food is prepared so we can break bread together.

The work of hospitality is holy—and so is the pause that lets love speak.

 

Let’s be a community that blesses both. That gives thanks for every Martha who prepares the way, and every Mary who reminds us to listen.

Let’s practice a rhythm of movement and stillnessaction and contemplationservice and sabbath.

 

Let’s put both hands on the world.

 

Because only with both hands can we hold it with love.

 

Amen.

 

 

Sunday, July 6, 2025

Belonging and Being Sent

Belonging to God means both being rooted in something other than yourself and serving something other than your self!


2 Kings 5:1-14
Psalm 30
Galatians 6:(1-6)7-16
Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

 

Holy God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen. 

 

Hello, my name is Seth, and I am your rector. It’s been 4 Sundays, 28 days since I have preached in this pulpit. I’ve missed this AND… I have a lot to say! So, let’s go!

 

Last week at Camp McDowell, I was reminded again how desperately young people want to know that they belong. 

That they are seen…

That they are accepted… 

That they matter… 

And, honestly it’s not just true for young people—we all want that, don’t we?

 

The theme for my program all week at Junior High 2 Session was “You Belong Here.” You belong here not just in the superficial way of fitting in or being included in a group photo, but in the deeper, sacred way that says you belong to God. And if you belong to God, then you also belong to this world that God loves, which means you belong to others. You belong to community. And, in this community that means you belong to the mission.

 

Which brings us to today’s Gospel.

 

Jesus sends seventy followers—seventy everyday disciples—ahead of him to the places he himself intends to go. That’s a beautiful paradox latent in this passage: the sent ones are not separated from Christ. They are not lone rangers on a mission of their own design. They’re sent with power, yes, but also with vulnerability. “Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals… eat what is set before you.” They go with their whole lives—messy, uncertain, unfinished—as their testimony. 

 

They go ahead of Jesus, which seems counter-intuitive. However, when I was a camp counselor, I would often walk at the tail end of my campers, as they traveled from activity to activity. More often than not, they already knew the way, but what they needed was encouragement. They yearned for someone not to bark orders, but to shout direction or to start a cheer that would unite us as one! Of course, these disciples didn’t go as one—not as individual beings I mean. 

 

They were sent two by two—because belonging is never a solo endeavor.

This is a text about being sent. But it’s also a text about being rooted—grounded in God’s peace, in the life of the community, and in the assurance that we belong to the one who sends us. We are apostles—which means sent ones—not because we are perfect, but because we are known and loved by Christ.

 

And as the Church of the Holy Apostles, that ought to sound familiar. In this year when we are recognizing 30 years of this community, we can remember that at our church’s genesis we were sent from other Episcopal churches, from other denominations, from other places to be here. And, I believe God will continue to send us. 

 

The seventy from today’s Gospel lesson were not just sent to deliver information. They were sent to create connection. “Whatever house you enter, say first, ‘Peace to this house.’” Not debate. Not judgment. Not even persuasion. Peace. Do I need to repeat that? They were sent to create connection. Not debate. Not judgment. Not even persuasion. Peace. The world is desperately craving this. We are built to be united, but…

 

In a world where people feel increasingly fragmented—where algorithms divide us, politics harden us, and busyness isolates us—Jesus sends us as ministers of peace, to show others that they belong to God, and to one another.

 

But here’s the part I don’t want you to miss: in order to proclaim belonging, we have to believe we belong ourselves. And that is harder than you think.

 

For we have to know deep in our bones that we are not imposters or outsiders in God’s household. That’s why during this past week at camp I began the spiritual program not with service projects or grand tasks, but with grounding the campers and staff in this truth: “You belong here.” Belonging isn’t something you earn by good behavior or high performance. It’s something you receive—like the gift of grace, which shares a connection with the fascinating story from our First Lesson.

 

In our Old Testament reading, we meet Naaman, a great military commander who carried an invisible wound—a skin condition that set him apart, that made him feel unclean, unwhole. He wanted to be healed, but on his terms. He came with money, status, and expectations., but God didn’t meet him in power. God met him in humility. The prophet Elisha did not even come to the door. Instead, he sent a messenger with a simple prescription: “Go wash in the Jordan seven times, and you shall be clean.”

 

At first, Naaman resisted—thinking how could it be so easy?! But then, thanks to the quiet courage of his servants—people he likely overlooked—Naaman surrendered. He dipped in the muddy waters of the Jordan, and he was made new. He found healing not through power or prestige, but through belonging to a God who met him in humility.

 

That’s our God. A God who uses the ordinary to do the extraordinary. A God who meets us in the places we are tempted to feel ashamed, and says, “You belong. You are not beyond my reach.”

 

Psalm 30 put it this way:
“You brought me up, O Lord, from the dead;
you restored my life as I was going down to the grave.”

 

This is the voice of someone who has known alienation, who has felt disoriented, who has been cut off. But they are brought back. Restored. Reclaimed. As Richard Rohr puts it so succinctly, the pattern of this life is order, disorder, reordering or life, death, and resurrection!

 

Which brings us to Paul’s words in Galatians.

He ends this beautiful, complicated, passionate letter with a call to community:
“Bear one another’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

 

This is what belonging looks like in action. Not just warm feelings or inclusion for inclusion’s sake, but mutuality. Vulnerability. Bearing burdens. Carrying each other. Making space at the table not out of pity, but out of shared humanity. Witnessing one another’s life, death, and resurrection, as we share our own struggles of order, disorder, reordering. 

 

Saint Paul inspires us in this holy work writing:
“Let us not grow weary in doing what is right.”

 

Of course, if we are honest: the work of proclaiming peace, building community, and practicing belonging is exhausting sometimes. We grow weary of hard conversations. Of cultural divisions. Of our own inner doubts and wounds.

 

But God through Paul encourages: we sow now so that others may reap later. We love now so that others may heal later. We show up in Jesus’ name so that others might realize they are not alone.

 

So, beloved friends, holy apostles, here is what I want you to hear this morning:

You belong here.
Not just because your name is in the directory.
Not just because you serve or give or sing in the choir.
You belong here because Jesus has called you, sent you, and is with you.

You belong to God.
You belong to this world that God loves.
You belong to the mission of healing and reconciliation.
You belong to the household of peace.

And because you belong, you are sent.

Just like the seventy.
Just like Naaman’s servants.
Just like Paul.
Just like those campers and staff who learned this week that belonging isn’t just something you feel—it’s something you offer to others.

So go.

Go as apostles—not perfect, but faithful.
Go two by two, bearing burdens and good news.
Go with no sandals if you have to.
Go to declare peace.
Go knowing that Jesus is already ahead of you.

You belong here. So go to help others know that they too belong to God.

Amen.