You Had to Be There...

Luke 10:38-42 (New International Version)
At the Home of Martha and Mary

38As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. 39She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet listening to what he said. 40But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!"

41"Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, 42but only one thing is needed.[a] Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her."


When I was in about the seventh grade, I attended the First United Methodist Church of Commerce, Georgia. It was a beautiful sanctuary, not totally unlike the one we are gathered in today. Great big stained glass windows lined the side walls, long curved pews lined the floor, and a balcony loomed over the main floor. It was there that I sat with my other friends in the youth group every Sunday on the back row. Just as we do here, we received holy communion on the first Sunday of every month in that church, and the dutiful ushers led us row by row to the front where the curved kneeling rail surrounded the altar. The back row of the balcony was usually the last group to gather around the altar together. One first Sunday, there was an elementary-age kid invading our space on the back row, and when it was our turn to go to the front and receive the bread and cup, we lined up neatly around the rail which, because it was curved, made it possible for us to see each other while we were kneeling. As my dad and the other communion server made their way around the rail offering us a small wafer and a tiny cup of grape juice, everyone’s eyes were drawn to the child among us who ended up kneeling at the point in the curved rail where the rest of us had a good view of him. As the wafer and cups made their way to him, he took the wafer just as he should and ate it quietly without much disturbance or mess. The excitement came when he received the cup of juice. He set it down on the rail for just a moment while he reached inside his jacket to the inside pocket where a straw had been carefully placed at home that morning in preparation for church. In what seemed like 2 seconds he pulled the straw out, stuck it in the cup, slurped every drop but one of the little glass, set it back in the tray that came behind to collect all the little cups, shook the straw out to dry, and placed it back in his pocket. And we all saw it. We were stunned; we were shocked; we could not stop the laughter that welled up inside so we just stayed there a few moments shaking in uncontrollable but silent laughter. Then we were led dutifully back to our seats, and it was over. But I’ll never forget it.

And then there was another time that I gathered with the community of faith at the Lord’s Table. I was in seminary; it was my second year. It was my 6th year of worshiping in Cannon Chapel on Emory’s campus, a place where I would later be married and where we would take our daughter Joy to be baptized. We basically consider it to be our family chapel. In fact, when I first arrived there, I didn’t care much for the space. If you’ve ever seen it, you might have a clue as to why. Having come from spending most of my years growing up in historic sanctuaries and small town churches, when I discovered that Cannon Chapel was “modern” and mostly decorated with copper, wood, and concrete, I was underwhelmed. Those first few Sundays that I attended worship there were wonderful in spite of the space. I just hoped I’d get used to it after a few months of Sundays came to pass. Six years later, it had become a sacred place to me: wood, concrete, copper, and all.

And so there I was on a Friday for the weekly Eucharist in the midst of a difficult semester, a season of questioning about what was next in ministry for me, and some personal challenges, sometimes wondering why on earth I was there and what in heaven’s name God could possibly want with me in a pulpit or the office of an elder in the United Methodist Church. I came to the eucharist that day thinking that I really didn’t have time to be there, that I needed to be several other places, that I had class assignments that were due, that I needed to planning for youth I was working with while in school, maybe just getting some rest, doing anything but being there for a mere 45 minutes—long enough to hear the readings for the day, sing the Psalm, pray for the community and the world, and receive the bread and the cup. I was distracted during the service, not by the concrete and copper but by the questions and queasiness I was wrestling while trying to figure out ministry and life all at the ripe age of 24. And then the celebrant began with the words, “The Lord be with you,” and I started to cry.

In the midst of the chaos, the busy-ness, the uncertainty, I was brought to my knees by the words of the prayer that followers of Christ have been praying for generations: “Pour out your Holy Spirit on us gathered here, and on these gifts of bread and wine. Make them be for us the body and blood of Christ that we may be for the world the body of Christ, redeemed by his blood. Make us one with Christ, one with each other, and one in ministry to all the world until Christ comes in final victory and we feast at the heavenly banquet…” It was a moment of palpable grace for me. In the breath I breathed were the words, voices, and presence of people praying with me as far back as the apostles themselves and so were the words, voices, and presence of people who will come long after me to be joined into the body of Christ, redeemed by his blood. The practice of communal prayer, the practice of coming together to the table, the practice of hearing scripture read and interpreted to the gathered body, the life lived in the community of the faithful—it is a gift, a means of grace, the way that God communicates with us, sometimes when we least expect it.

Our brother John Wesley and his brother Charles were Anglican priests. The Methodist societies they started were groups of Anglicans who gathered together for prayer and bible study but who also continued to attend the weekly service where Eucharist was offered so that they could be sure to receive the grace of God available to them in every opportunity of the gathered body. The ideal of the gathered Body of Christ has always been an important part of the identity and legacy of the people called Methodists. Even our ancestors, the Evangelical United Bretheren with whom the Methodist Church merged in 1968 to become the United Methodist Church held it in high regard to gather together for worship and for study and prayer, understanding the need to attend to the rituals of religious life and to do so with others so that one’s knowledge and love of God would increase as life came and went. The ways that the Wesleys and their class societies understood to be the most common ways we receive God’s grace were prayer, study of scripture, and participation in holy communion—all things that were encouraged to be done with others when at all possible. We know that prayer and study of scripture can be done individually and that John Wesley himself would often receive holy communion when he was alone on the road traveling from one field preaching post to the next, but ultimately the celebration of holy communion is meant to be done with others, in community, with all of our voices raised together in praise and thanksgiving—a holy and living sacrifice in union with Christ’s offering for us.

When Jesus tells Martha that Mary has chosen the better part by removing herself from the preparation of the meal and devoting herself to Jesus and to listening to his word and teaching, we who overhear this exchange learn something about the importance of taking time away from the regular busy-ness of life to be in the presence of Christ. It’s not that Martha was not in his presence doing her preparation routine; but she was not of a mind to pay attention to what he was saying to her as she rushed from one end of the house to the other performing her tasks. When we gather for worship and study, we take the time to pay attention to the voice of God who speaks to us in music, in the spoken word, in the children, in dance and movement, in the words we share together before and after the service, in just being here together to set our busy lives aside for a while and be in the presence of God.

Presence is about being there, being with and for each other, and being with Christ, just as Mary is in our story today: where he meets us—in God’s house, paying attention, listening, doing God’s work, living into God’s grace.

My life of faith would not be what it is today without you, without that kid in Commerce, Georgia, who prepared for communion in his own way that day because he knew what Sunday it was and what was waiting on us at Church, and especially without that moment in Cannon Chapel when I simply sat at the feet of Jesus and listened.

You just have to be there, my friends. You have to be there.

Amen.