Proper 11C (Pentecost 6 2025)

Text: Luke 10:38–42 | Colossians 1:21–29 | Genesis 18:1–14

I. The Kingdom Has Come Near—Even to a Home Like Yours

Two weeks ago, we heard Jesus send out seventy-two disciples ahead of Him to preach and heal. They were told to enter towns and say, “The kingdom of God has come near to you.” That phrase—“The kingdom has come near”—might make you think of mission work, revivals, conversions, and large crowds. But today’s Gospel shows something just as powerful and far more personal.

Jesus enters a village. Luke does not name it here, but from John’s Gospel we know it was Bethany—a small, otherwise unremarkable place near Jerusalem. He is received—not by a synagogue ruler or a civic leader—but by a woman named Martha, into a private home. And this is where the kingdom comes next.

Not with signs and wonders. Not with preaching or dramatic intervention. Just Jesus walking through the door. Just a meal. Just two sisters.

This is how the kingdom comes: not only with loud proclamation, but also with quiet presence. With conversation. With ordinary life. When Jesus is present, the kingdom is present.

The kingdom does not just come to apostles or missionaries or heroes of faith—it comes to those who are humble, busy in the ordinary rhythm of life. To those who sometimes sit attentively and sometimes grow distracted. To people preparing meals, folding laundry, managing appointments. To people like Mary. And Martha. And you.

Where Jesus is, the kingdom is. And He is here—present in His Word, present in His gifts. The kingdom of God has come near to you today. Not as an abstract idea. Not as a far-off goal. But as a living reality.

II. Not a Competition Between Sisters—But a Crisis of Focus

The scene is familiar—likely one you have pictured many times. Jesus is speaking. Mary is sitting quietly at His feet, listening. Martha is up and moving, tending to the meal, doing what needs to be done to host a guest. You know the story well. And because it is so familiar, it is easy to think we already know what to do with it.

But be careful. It is tempting to oversimplify this story. Mary good. Martha bad. Be like Mary.

But that misses the point. Jesus is not scolding Martha because she is busy. He is not asking her to stop working and sit down. What He is doing is far more personal—and far more relevant.

John Kleinig makes the point well. He says that the problem was not Martha’s service. It was her focus. Her thoughts were not fixed on Jesus. They were fixed on Mary. “She was meditating on Mary and what Mary was or was not doing, rather than meditating on Jesus.”

In this moment, Martha is still serving Jesus—but her focus has shifted. Her eyes are no longer on Him. They are on Mary. She is not focused on serving her Savior. She is focused on what her sister is not doing. And from there, her view of Jesus begins to distort. She no longer sees Him as her peace or her provider. She sees Him as someone who is ignoring her work and refusing to reward her for doing far more than her sister. So she speaks—not to Mary, but to Jesus—as if He is the one who needs correcting. She takes it upon herself to demand fairness, to expose what she sees as injustice, and to set the terms of what should happen next. And in doing so, she begins to believe that Jesus must not care—because He is not siding with her.

And is that not exactly what happens to you?

You begin with good intentions. You set out to serve faithfully. You start the day focused on Christ and His callings. But somewhere along the way, your eyes drift. You start looking sideways. At your sibling. At your co-worker. At your neighbor. At the person who is not helping. Or not grateful. Or not pulling their weight. And your service, which began in love, becomes clouded by resentment, competition, anxiety.

You see, everyone is a theologian. That may not be what you call yourself, but it is true. Theology is not just something studied in a classroom. It is something lived—moment by moment—in the way you relate to Jesus, the way you see your neighbor, and the way you carry out your callings. Martha’s error was not that she was working while Mary was listening. Her error was theological: she believed her service entitled her to reward. She was not wrong to work. She was wrong to work as if Jesus had forgotten her. And in that moment, her life was proclaiming a false theology—one of fairness, comparison, and self-justification.

Martha was not wrong to prepare a meal. But when she marched up to Jesus and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone?”—her words revealed something deeper. Her work had become a way of justifying herself. Her frustration was not with Mary’s inactivity—it was with Jesus’ seeming indifference. “Do you not care?”

That question reveals how far her heart had drifted. And it is one you may have asked, too: “Lord, do you not care? Do you not see what I am carrying? How much I am doing? How little others are doing?”

And Jesus answers—not with condemnation, but with clarity and compassion. “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things. But one thing is necessary.”

He does not dismiss her work. He redirects her heart. The kingdom has come near—not just in the tasks you do, but in the Christ who is present with you. Fix your eyes on Him, and your service will not become a burden. Lose sight of Him, and even good work will become exhausting.

III. The One Thing Necessary: Worship as Rest and Receiving

What is that good portion? It is not the stillness of Mary or the service of Martha. It is Christ Himself.

And His love for you did not begin at Golgotha.

He has been laboring for you from the beginning.

Before the foundations of the earth were laid, He had already set His face to save you.

Before you ever lifted a finger to serve Him, He had already chosen the cross.

You were His mission long before you knew His name.

And everything He has done—every act of creation, every promise spoken through the prophets, every step toward Calvary—has been for this: to redeem you, and to bring you to Himself.

And so, He went to the cross—deliberately, mercifully, for you.

There, He bore the full weight of your weariness.

He carried the burden of your distractions, your resentments, your failures to listen, your striving to be enough.

And as He suffered, He was not merely enduring pain—He was thinking of you.

He saw what you have done and failed to do. And still, He did not turn away.

He endured the cross so that nothing—not even your sin—could separate you from His presence.

And on the Last Day, when He comes again in glory, He will not stand in judgment comparing His perfect work to your imperfect efforts.

He will look at even your most humble acts of love and service—done in faith, offered in weakness—and He will say: “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

Not because you earned it. But because He delights to reward what He Himself has made holy.

That is what He offers you even now.

This is why we gather. Not to impress Him. Not to perform. But to rest in the gift He has already won.

Here, you do not bring a spiritual résumé. You bring an open hand.

Here, you do not host Jesus. He hosts you.

The body He offers is the same body that was broken for you.

The blood in the chalice is the same blood He shed for your sins.

And what He gives, no one can take away.

This is the one thing necessary: Christ, crucified for you, present to give you rest.

IV. The Rhythm of the Kingdom: Received in Worship, Revealed in Vocation

So what happens next?

You rise from your pew. You walk out the doors. The hymns fade. The meal ends. And Monday comes.

But the kingdom has not stayed behind. Christ does not remain here while you go back to “real life.” He goes with you—because He is in you.

That is the rhythm of life in the kingdom:

Gathered to receive. Sent to serve.

And that service is not limited to what happens inside the walls of this building.

Serving Jesus is not just joining a committee, or volunteering for Sunday School, or chairing a board. Those are good and necessary things. But they are not the only things.

If that is all you think it means to serve Jesus, then you will miss where He is most at work: in the vocations He has already given you.

· The parent caring for a child in the middle of the night.

· The adult child managing medications for an aging parent.

· The farmer tending the soil.

· The mechanic doing honest work.

· The widow who makes time to pray.

· The employee who shows up early and treats co-workers with kindness.

· The friend who checks in, brings a meal, listens without rushing to fix.

Each one of these testifies to the fact that the kingdom of God has come into that home. Christ is there—not as an idea, but as a living presence. And through these simple acts of love and faithfulness, His reign is revealed.

These are not distractions from spiritual life.

They are spiritual life—because Christ lives in you.

You hold to the one thing needful when you open your Bible and grow in Christ through study—when you ask hard questions, wrestle with the Word, and seek deeper understanding.

And you hold to the one thing needful when you hold a hand, sweep a floor, make a meal, or forgive someone who never asked.

Both are expressions of faith. Both flow from Christ.

That is what it means to do theology. You may not feel like a theologian. But the moment you live by faith in Christ and serve others in His name, that is exactly what you are.

Colossians 1 says it plainly: “The mystery hidden for ages and generations but now revealed to his saints… is Christ in you, the hope of glory.”

So do not measure your discipleship by your visibility at church or your résumé of religious activity.

Do not despise the quiet work you do each day for the people around you.

Christ does not.

He delights to take your small acts and make them holy.

He delights to serve through you—even when you feel too tired, too weak, or too ordinary to matter.

And when you return here again, weary from another week, He will feed you once more.

The rhythm will repeat: Gathered to receive. Sent to serve. Rested in Christ. Living through Him.

V. Conclusion: The Kingdom Has Come Near—and It Will Not Be Taken Away

Two weeks ago, Jesus said to the seventy-two: “When you enter a town, say, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’”

That kingdom came near to strangers in distant places.

Then last week, it came near through the hands of a Samaritan who crossed the road in mercy.

And now today, the kingdom comes near in a house. In a moment of weariness. In a sister overwhelmed. In another who simply sits and listens.

This is not a lesser version of the kingdom. This is the kingdom.

Not in power. But in presence.

Not in achievement. But in receiving.

And it is still how the kingdom comes today.

It has come near to you this morning.

Christ has come—again—not with demands, but with gifts. Not to assign you tasks, but to lift your burdens and speak His peace.

He has given you rest. He has fed you with His own body and blood. He has forgiven your sins.

He has come not simply to give you what is fair, but to give you everything.

And He will go with you.

Into your home.

Into your Monday.

Into the thousand unseen ways you will love and serve this week.

Not to grade you. Not to compare what He did to what you have done.

But to walk beside you. To work through you. And to welcome even the smallest act of faith with joy.

He is not asking you to be someone else. He is not waiting for you to do more.

He is giving you Himself—again. And what He gives will not be taken away.

So come, and receive the one thing necessary.

And go, and live as one in whom the kingdom of God already dwells.