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Busy In the Kitchen Sermon by David L Hicks of Bluefield WV. Originally written and delivered in 1986. Luke 10:38-42 I can see her now: red-faced, a strand of hair drooping across her nose, her apron spattered from her labors. Martha Layman was a dedicated house-keeper, a good cook, a faithful church member. It seemed, though, that her care that everything be just so went beyond the point of mere hospitality and passed into obsession.I was always a bit uncomfortable visiting in her home. She would never just out food on the table and sit down to eat with the rest of us--always going back and forth from kitchen to table, refilling tea glasses that weren't half empty, slicing another tomato before anyone asked for more. She did so much I was afraid she'd wind up in bed; but she always had to feed the revival speaker, and any other guests of the church. She wasn't the only woman in the church like that. Old Mrs. Houser, right down the road, she was sort of that way, too. I heard that, when they were young, they both had eyes for Lem Houser, and when Elizabeth married him, Martha just sort of lost interest in boys. She never married, just lived there in her Daddy's old place with her brother and sister. I wondered if she was still competing with Elizabeth Houser, as if to say, "You got Lem, but I'm still the better cook and housekeeper"Rus, the brother, managed the farm, and Mary, the sister, made a good income with her paintings--watercolors, put you in the mind of Winslow Homer, they were that good! Mary was a good cook, too. She made cakes and pastries and fancy things like that. Martha was the one who kept the house going, though. I think Rus and Mary were a little in awe of her; or perhaps not. At any rate, things changed when Brother quentin came. I had been pastor there at Bethany Baptist for three years, and so I pretty well knew the people and their individual quirks and ways. I had forgotten, though, about the effect Quentin had on people. I had gone to seminary with him, even roomed with him one semester. Then I got married, but I always kept in touch with Quentin. That wasn't hard to do. Word kept coming about "that preacher up in the East who did such amazing things." Some folks didn't care for him, but a lot more did. Seemed that those who liked him best were the poor folks, and the old folks, and even the young folks. The rich, the big shots, didn't much care for him. It didn't seem to bother him. he just kept right on doing whatever it was he did. I remembered the preaching class we'd gone through together in seminary, and the incredible impact his sermon had on the class. So, when it came time for the annual revival, I called him up. Would you believe he was booked up two years in advance? Well, I told him to put on his list, and at last the time came. We went around getting everything ready; and sure enough, Martha layman got her name down to feed the preacher. Thursday night, just like always. The week before the revival I called the folks who were hosting and asked them as nicely as I could to take it easy on the food. It really does seem that each one tries to put on a bigger feed than the others. You can gain ten pounds easily in a week, besides feeling kind of bloated all week. Most of the people were pretty considerate. They served salads for lunch, and reasonable amounts for dinner. Quentin wasn't a big eater anyhow, ad he really appreciated not having to eat so much, or refuse so much. I mean, if your hostess has fixed an enormous amount, you almost feel obligated to try some of everything--and there goes the diet. The revival wet well. For some reason Quentin's messages were all about the need for simplicity in life, how we needed to cut out things that distracted us and spend more time on the really important things; how bigger might not be better if getting bigger meant neglecting our families and friends and especially God. Martha and Mary Layman were there every night --Rus was out of town--and they really seemed to absorb what Quentin was saying. I did, too. It was good stuff. Then Thursday night rolled around, the fifth night of the revival--Martha's night to feed the preachers. I thought she had paid attention to Quentin's messages, and my request, but as soon as we walked in the door for supper I knew I was wrong. She had fixed fried chicken and ham and roast beef, and I don't know how many vegetables; and there was a freezer of home-made ice cream in the sink and a fresh coconut cake on the counter. Martha met us at the door and then went straight back to the kitchen "to put the rolls in the oven," she said; but she stayed in the kitchen while Mary and Quentin and I talked in the living room. Now, I hadn't remembered Quentin being terribly interested in art while we were in seminary; but he started talking with Mary about a couple of her paintings that were there, and they just got on like long-lost friends. Come to think of it, they didn't talk so much about art as about how Mary got her ideas, and how she worked with them to produce those vibrant, lively pictures. Quentin said it was a lot like writing the Bible, and Mary picked right up on that.To tell the truth, I never heard Mary talk so much before in my life. She really came alive there with Quentin. All of a sudden Martha appeared from the kitchen, all hot and bothered. "Brother Quentin," she said, "I don't mean to be rude, but I really need Mary in the kitchen. We'll never get this meal on the table if she stays in there yakking about hr pictures. Would you mind if she came back here fro a few minutes?" Well, Mary just went white and sat there with her teeth clinched. You could tell Martha had really killed her party. he started to get up, when Quentin put his hand on her shoulder and said, "Martha, how many kids of meat do you have fixed?" "Why, three, just like I always do when I feed the preachers." "And how many vegetables?" "Well, there's corn, and beans, and squash, and little new potatoes, and tomatoes, and cucumbers, and English peas. That makes seven, doesn't it?" "And for dessert?" "Well, there's some of Mama's old recipe home-made ice cream, and a fresh coconut cake like the one I won the blue ribbon on at the fair last year." "Martha, dear heart, you've fixed enough food for the whole church. Didn't your pastor tell you that I don't eat much?" "Well, yes, but this is what I always do; and if you don't let Mary go we never will get all this food on the table." Well, things were really tense, what with Martha fairly spitting sparks, and Mary not knowing what to do. I thought for sure Quentin had lost me a church member. Funny, but with everybody so tense and angry, Quentin had this kind, loving look on his face, almost a look of pity. Gently, ever so gently, he said, "Martha, you're worried about setting a huge meal on the table, more food than I could eat in a month. Why, you're so worried about all that food that you've hardly said hello to me. Now, Mary has sat there and talked with me about her paintings, and I've gotten to know her. I'd like to get to talk with you, too. I'd like that a whole lot better than eating all that food. I can't let you spoil Mary's joy, but do you reckon you could just bring out the fried chicken and the corn and the English peas and sit down here with us and let me hear about you?" Well, Martha's face was a study. I saw everything there from anger to relief. For a minute I thought she might just pass out; but then she swallowed real big and said, "Nobody ever asked to talk to me before." You could see the tears in her eyes. Quentin said, real softly, "I kind of thought that might be the way of it," and went over and hugged her, and she just bawled and bawled. Before we knew it, mary had gone to the kitchen and brought out just the things Quentin had mentioned. Martha got calmed down and we went in to the dining room. Quentin said the blessing, and then Martha started talking, telling things she had never told me or, I suppose, anyone else before. She told about when her Mama died, and about courting Lem Houser and how she felt when he married Elizabeth, and how proud she was of Mary's paintings, and how she felt like she wan;t really very talented or smart or necessary. It got to be time for the revival service, and I said, "I hate to say this, but we've got to go." Martha jumped up and said, "Oh my goodness, what am I going to do with all that food in the kitchen?" Quentin turned to me, with a little twinkle in his eye, and said, "Didn't you tell me that Elizabeth Houser has been sick, and Lem's been eating TV dinners for a week?" Martha stiffened at first, but then she got this softer look and said, "Yes, yes, that's it. Listen, you go on to the church, and tell Mr. mabry that I won't be there in time for the choir. I hope O get to hear your sermon; but first of all, I've got this little errand to run." And the it was Mary's turn to cry a little, and thank Quentin for all that had happened that evening. It was as if someone had tapped a hidden spring somewhere deep down inside Martha Layman. All her anger, her bitterness, her bossiness, was gone. In its place was a sweetness, a caring about others that had never been there before. Everybody noticed the change. Mary tells me that every once in a while the old Martha will start snapping at folks; but only for a moment, and never very often. Mary, too, has changed.Her paintings have taken on a new sort of spirituality that they never had before. It's hard to explain, but it is there. Even the New York art critics, who are about the most irreligious people in the world, have noticed it. They kind of tiptoe around calling it "spirituality", but that's what it is. I hear, too, that Quentin has gone on to other things. Extraordinary things keep happening around him. Why, when he came back here, old Rus, Martha, and Mary's brother, had just died, and--well, that's another story. I haven't got time for it right now. I'm supposed to go over to the Layman's house for lunch. Martha and Mary have this great salad recipe! |
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