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 10^th, 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 stillness, action and contemplation, service and sabbath.

 

Let’s put both hands on the world.

 

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

 

Amen.

 

 

The Poor, The Perfume, and the Presence of Jesus

Jesus told us we will always have the poor with us—was that an eternal truism or a reflection on our brokenness?

Isaiah 43:16-21

Philippians 3:4b-14

John 12:1-8

Psalm 126

The Rev. Seth Olson © 2025

 

This sermon was preached on April 6, 2025, the Fifth Sunday in Lent, at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. 

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. 

I don’t know about you, but I have occasionally sided with Judas. GASP! Don’t worry—I’m not talking betrayal, silver coins, or anything dramatic. I mean the kind of moment when you… hypothetically… walk into a church meeting and someone suggests spending $300 on an exotic essential oil diffuser, and you instinctively think, “How about we feed someone instead?”

 

It was a reasonable reaction when Judas said, “This perfume could have been sold and the money given to the poor.” I get it. Frankly, his response aligns with things I’ve heard in a Finance or Stewardship Committee meeting—maybe it’s even something I’ve said!

 

However, John’s Gospel account does not let nuance stand unchallenged. The narrator told us right away: Judas didn’t say this because he cared about the poor—he said it because he was a thief. And before we can get too cozy with Judas’ point, Jesus turned the whole thing upside down when he said: “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

 

That line. That verse. It stings. It sounds dismissive—like a brush-off to the world’s suffering. But it wasn’t. It was something else. Something deeper. So, let us dig down:

 

First, let’s wonder, what did Jesus mean? If this statement wasn’t Jesus shrugging off the poor, then what was it? These words were a reference to Deuteronomy 15:11:

 

“There will always be poor people in the land. Therefore, I command you to be openhanded toward your fellow Israelites who are poor and needy in your land.”

 

In other words, Jesus was not denying the need to help the poor. In truth, he was reaffirming the commandment to do so—and simultaneously drawing attention to the sacredness of the present moment.

 

Mary in this sacred moment anointed Jesus for burial. She was the only one in the room not named Jesus who seemed to understand what was about to happen. And in that vulnerable, intimate, beautiful act, Jesus said: This matters. This moment matters. Let her do this.

 

This act mattered so much that here in John’s Gospel account, Jesus himself emulated Mary’s foot anointing by washing his disciples’ feet a few nights later. So, we can see that Jesus’ words were not a dismissal of the poor—they served instead as a re-centering of worship, a call to pay attention, and an invitation to see what God was doing right in front of them. 

 

Most scholars believe that this saying of Jesus—found in Matthew, Mark, and John—goes back to an earlier version of the Good News of Christ Jesus. Whether these were the exact words Jesus said or whether John was shaping them to make a theological point, the meaning holds firm: On the Sabbath evening before what we know as Palm Sunday, Jesus’ presence was precious. His time was short. And, when people loved Jesus, like Mary did here, their love spilled over—not just into acts of worship but into acts of justice.

 

John’s Gospel account has a way of layering meaning: Mary’s act was about love. And, it was also about loss. And, it was about the holy extravagance of giving your best to God, even when it doesn’t make practical sense. 

 

Perhaps this is why Jesus told parables like the one with the pearl of great price or the treasure in the field. The implication of those stories is that when we realize what it is worth to be part of God’s Kingdom, we will liquidate assets and go “all in” to be part of it. 

 

So, is this what Jesus is calling us to do? To sell everything? Maybe. Oh, don’t you love the sweet ambiguity of the Episcopalian Way? The more prevailing consequence of Mary’s actions, Judas’ words, and Jesus’ admonition is that God calls us to live in the tension of both/and.

 

This is to say that as much as we may revert to either/or thinking, that is not the Way of Christ. Sure, there are clear cut moments of good versus evil, but often, like in this moment, it’s an ethical dilemma pitting good choices against one another. Serve neighbor or worship Jesus? 

 

Our calling is truly to worship and to serve, to love Jesus and to love our neighbor, to make room for sacred moments and to mobilize for justice. These were not opposing forces—they were partners, they were siblings of goodness. Thus, Jesus did not push his followers—including us—toward false choices. Instead, he was and still is inviting us to live with holy attention—to see him in worship, and to see him again in the face of the hungry, the sick, the lonely, and the poor.

 

So, what about us now? Should we worship Jesus or feed the hungry? 

 

Well, friends here’s the wild thing: we could do both, particularly we could do both byending world hunger. Like, we as a human species can actually do this.

 

The world produces more than enough food to feed everyone. We even waste around a third of what we grow. And experts estimate it would cost about $40 billion a year to end global hunger by 2030. 

 

For context: humanity spends over $2 trillion a year on military budgets, and I’m not saying that protection isn’t worth it, but we also use billions more dollars on things like luxury handbags, unused streaming subscriptions, and novelty items that no one actually needs (I’m looking at you, glow-in-the-dark toilet paper).

 

So why don’t we end hunger? It’s not because we can’t. It’s because we as humans have chosen not to.

 

The poor are still with us—not because God ordained it as permanent suffering—but because we’ve built systems, economies, and politics that make it so. And yet, Jesus is also still with us—not only in the sacraments and sanctuary, but in the soup kitchens and shelters, the refugee camps and community gardens, in the quiet rooms of grief and in the loud cries for change. It’s often uncomfortable for me to see Jesus in those who are on the margins of our society. 

 

My discomfort stems from a feeling of guilt. I know that Jesus commanded us to care for the hungry, the sick, the lonely, and the poor, but I feel the painful sting that I have continually ignored the needs of these beloved ones. On Wednesday night, the Rev. José Fernandez reminded us that reaching out is good, but exclusively practicing a hand-out style of charity, does not do the same lasting good as forming deep, long-lasting relationships with those in need. 

 

To play around with the old fishing expression: We aren’t to give a man a fish. We aren’t even to teach a man to fish, although that’s better. We are to go fishing together!

 

In conclusion, this passage shows us that to follow Jesus is to be broken open like Mary’s jar of perfume. It is a calling to pour out what we have—not with shame or obligation, but with love and courage.

 

Yes, we are called to worship like Mary. AND, we are also called to see Christ in the hungry, the unhoused, the weary, the mentally burdened, and the spiritually parched.

 

We can feed the hungry. We can heal the hurting. We can lift up the lowly.
And when we do, we’re not just “doing good”—we’re meeting Christ. Because in the end, this story wasn’t about a split between justice and devotion. It was about the presence of Jesus, who said, “Don’t miss this. Don’t miss me. I’m here—in your worship, in your acts of love, in every broken place you’re willing to touch with compassion.”

 

So, when the world offers you an impossible choice—between feeding someone or honoring something holy—remember that God does not limit us to either/or choices.

We are called to both/and.

Worship the Lord.
Feed the poor.
Break the jar.
Spill the perfume.
And trust that Jesus is in the midst of it all.

 

Amen.

More Than Two Ways

Standardized testing bothers me. It always has. I performed fairly well on these competitions of scholastic achievement, but I never liked them. Even as a kid, I found it presumptuous that the designers of the test had created something with only one right answer. It is either true or false. It’s either A) B) C) or D). Slightly better were the questions where D) was all of the above or E) none of the above. I can recall thinking in the middle of taking the SAT, “I don’t think this is how life works.”

Of course, I aim to lead a life that is not either/or but both/and. My favorite sport of soccer can end in not two, but three ways: a win, a loss, or a draw. When someone asks questions like: Pepsi or Coke? Simp’s or Railyard? Mountains or Beach? I want to answer both, of course!

Life is not typically an either/or choice. Life is not even a multiple choice test. Almost always more than one way exists to the problem of skinning a cat, or solving another challenge. With this preexisting belief I always find it troubling when at first glance Jesus lays out an either/or choice, like in today’s Gospel lesson.

Clearly Jesus articulates a dichotomous pathway of discipleship in this text. He said, “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.” His words sound crystal clear: choose me or choose your family. These words have a troubling tone when they hit my ear.

Being 45 days until our due date, I struggle with God Incarnate saying that I either have to choose Jesus or my unborn baby boy. This seems cruel. I am sure we all have a family member or two—think of that crazy uncle or that annoying cousin—that we would gladly leave behind for Jesus. Still I find it so challenging that Jesus outlines the way of faith being exclusionary to loving our family. But, is that what he really said?

When Matthew and his community came together to write down the Good News of Jesus they did so in a very particular context. In its most infantile stage, many believed the Way of Christ was simply an offshoot of Judaism. These ragtag followers of Jesus believed some outrageous things that many Jewish people struggled to comprehend. Namely, these disciples thought that the hope of the People of God had actually come to earth, he had fulfilled all the law and the prophets, and his victory was fulfilled in the shameful death Jesus died on the cross. I can understand why some people of Israel would have given early Christians an odd glance or two. Many members of the Early Church would have thus been standing up to their parents, or perhaps the other way around with parents converting as their children wanted to keep the way of the Torah. In this world then, an either/or choice seemingly existed: Family or Jesus.

Jesus though did not stop with his statement on family. He continued saying, “Whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” Buried in this statement about taking up the cross, following Jesus, and losing one’s life for Christ’s sake—buried in this statement—a mysterious kernel hides that pushes us to see the aforementioned choice of family or Jesus differently. The way of the Cross stands out as profoundly difficult, requiring one’s entire life, and at the same time filled with overabundance from God’s bounteous grace!

The way of the Cross actually pushes us beyond the either/or way of seeing the world. We could be presumptuous believing that Jesus only had a couple of choices when it came to the cross; however, I believe this belief is false. Jesus could have become a victim in the moment—taking on the suffering of the cross to an unhealthy point and identifying as one who was persecuted. Jesus could have become a victimizer in the Resurrection—taking out revenge on those who had killed him. And yet, he did neither. Jesus walked a third way neither becoming victim nor victimizer, but instead redeeming the world through self-emptying love. When Jesus asks us to pick up our crosses and follow him we are not being asked to make an either/or choice. No, instead we must do something much harder.

The way of Jesus requires us to give up our old way of seeing the world and living in it. We must take up the sword that Jesus speaks of not to cut others and certainly not to inflict physical harm. Instead, God calls us to discern how we might more closely follow Christ by cutting away material items, unhealthy relationships, selfish tendencies, and all that only serves to build us and our egos up. We must practice a type of living martyrdom in which we give up what we would otherwise be doing, so that Christ may live within us, through us, and between us. This is impossibly hard though and we will fail over and over again. And still we must keep going.

The world around us would have us to believe that everything is either/or: black or white, male or female, rich or poor, old or young, weak or strong, hungry or full, Muslim or Christian, us or them. And yet, we find even within our Scripture for today an example of God destroying all the binary boundaries that we so fiercely put into place, so that God could bring salvation to Hagar and Ishmael the ancestors of Muhammad, the founder of Islam.

When Father Abraham and Mother Sarah had finally conceived and bore Isaac a tension arose around Ishmael being in their household. In fact, Sarah could not stand to look upon Hagar, so the handmaid was sent on her way with enough supplies to make a short journey. When Hagar walked away from her son she had given up on life, but God had not given up on her. Though she was in the lowest station of that day—a woman, a mother without a husband, a servant, and a person without land or a support system—God not only spoke to her, but he brought about her salvation!

God will always find a way to break down the barriers of either/or that we set up in our world. The question is are we going to help God to break down those boundaries to co-create the ways beyond choice A) or B)? Love is not a finite resource. While we might be mere mortals we have within us the eternal resource of God’s unconditional love that calls us to love God by loving family, friend, neighbor, and stranger!