April 3rd, 2026
As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feetlistening to what he said. But 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!”
“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one.Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”
Luke 10:38-42
It has been a particularly contemplative Holy Week for me. Palm Sunday, with all of its pageantry and joy was wonderful. Months ago, before I knew my busy family schedule and preaching schedule, I signed up to be the last overnight host in our seasonal schedule for Room In The Inn. This is our annual program for hosting 8 unhoused guests each Monday night in our church building. Different groups within and connected to our church provide the dinner, a safe place to sleep, a breakfast, and a lunch to take with them. And every week, two men stay overnight for any emergencies that may arise. I planned to recruit someone new, and sure enough, a brand new member joined me.
On Tuesday morning, I woke up thinking about my sermon for the Maundy Thursday service. The Psalm for the service was on focused on listening. I read the scripture from above as I rose before our guests to prepare their food and the van for their ride back to the shelter. A friend had shared this scripture with their reflections about it and the original Greek words that describe Jesus’ apparent concern with Martha’s motives. He didn’t rebuke her actions of service, but her inner turmoil. In other words, he was asking her to listen intentionally and respond to the need he was expressing for her time and attentiveness over the logistics of the house and meal. As I mused, one of our guests entered space I was preparing and asked to play my guitar. I always say yes.
This man sat on the pew in the Fellowship Hall and beckoned. I paused my prep and sat beside him. He began tuning my guitar, four of the pegs. If you know guitars, an alternate tuning is usually evidence of a skilled player. He did so expertly and by ear, slowly and deliberately. His hands were gnarled by age and hard living. They had lost strength over time, but his mind was sharp, and his skill was evident. He played a variety of styles, and as I remarked on his gift, he said repeatedly, “It’s how I was taught.” He’d listened for years to music he loved and instructors who he admired.
My friend finished with a favorite of mine, Ottis Redding’s Sittin On the Dock of the Bay, and we sang it together, following his bluesy casual rhythm. He smiled and took his time, and then set my instrument in my hands and said, “Better let you get back to it.” I’m glad I spent the time, the pause. I’m glad I listened. I was thankful he’d listened for years. And I was struck at the way so much of the Gospels and the final moments of Jesus’ life in Holy Week, the Temple, the Upper Room, and the Garden were moments that call us to listen in the example of how Christ listened and taught. He encouraged Martha to pause, Peter to ask his questions, and his disciples to pray. And we are called to do the same. As Easter approaches, I hope you’ll find time to pause, in your life on a pew, or even a dock, as the tide rolls away, and listen to the one who speaks in every silence.
Prayer
Lord, teach me to be still, to listen, to hear, and to learn. Amen.
Rev. Brian Daoust
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