One of the more salient interpretive issues facing readers of Genesis 18:1-10a is how to account for its purpose within the narrative, given that it repeats much of the same material addressed in God's conversation with Abraham in 17:15-22. A source critic would consider it a doublet that originated from a source (Yahwist) different from that of the previous chapter (Priestly), and perhaps speculate that the editor simply wanted to honor this tradition as well. But perhaps more could be said of this doublet's function within the context of the surrounding narrative. It joins several exchanges between God and Abram/Abraham following their initial encounter in Genesis 12, during which the covenantal promises to Abraham and his descendants are repeated. Thus, this passage might be profitably viewed as serving the same function as the other iterations of the covenant promises. One plausible explanation is that the repetition reminds readers of those elements that are the focus of the narrative—the promise of land, descendants, protection, and blessing—and also helps them to be mindful of the claim that it is God's providential care that is enabling these elements of the narrative to move toward their fulfillment. Still another, and perhaps complimentary, function is to show God's commitment to the covenant despite the reluctance of his covenant partners to entrust themselves fully to God's promises. Note that Abraham twice attempts to pass off Sarah as his sister, fearful that others will kill him in order to take Sarah as their own, with nearly disastrous consequences (Gen. 12:10-20; 20:1-18), despite God's promise to protect him. It is also possible that we are meant to see Sarah's attempt to bear children through Hagar an example of her lack of trust in God ("You see that the Lord has prevented me from bearing children …" [16:2]). Moreover, here in Genesis 18, Sarah displays her lack of trust in the angel's word that she shall bear a child (vv. 10b-15). The angel's correction, "Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?" captures well this struggle of God's people to grasp the extent of God's commitment and the efficacy of God's providence.

Occurring as the fourth in a series of visions, the tragic oracle of Amos 8:1-14 announces the complete dissolution of Israel's relationship with God. God "will never again pass them by"; the songs of the Temple will be turned into wailing; dead bodies will be cast out in every place, never to speak again (vv. 2-3); mourning and lamentation will replace all expressions of hope or joy (v. 10); and, perhaps most horrific of all, the word of the Lord will be lost to them (vv. 11-12). What a dire age awaits those who have trampled on the needy and brought to ruin the poor of the land (vv. 4-6)! But does the word of the Lord really leave Israel? Perhaps for a time, but God will not forever be silent. These desperate words will survive the evil days to come, and instruct a remnant that survives (5:15), while other words proclaiming grace will sound from the darkness (9:11-15).

Psalm 15 is arranged in response to the interrogatives of verse 1: "O Lord, who may abide in your tent? Who may dwell on your holy hill?" Verse 2 celebrates in summary the qualities distinguishing the faithful, while verses 3 and 5 offer further specifics that parallel the commands of the Decalogue. Verses 4 and 5b may intend an echo of Psalm 1 with its celebration of the steadfastness of the blessed in contrast to the doom of the wicked. For it is the faithful who "stand by their oath even to their hurt" and "shall never be moved."

Psalm 52 announces the doom that will befall the wicked, here sarcastically identified as a "mighty one" who boasts of mischief and plots destruction, a worker of treachery and a lover of evil and deceit (vv. 1-4). Such a one will be broken down forever, snatched from his tent, and uprooted from the land of the living by God (v. 5). The righteous will delight in the ruin of those who sought refuge in wealth. Echoing Psalm 1, the psalmist refers to himself as like a "green olive tree in the house of God" (v. 8; see 1:3). Unlike the wicked who entrust themselves to riches, he trusts in the steadfast love of God forever and ever, and promises to proclaim God's name, for it is good (vv. 8-9).

In the letter's opening (vv. 1-14), Paul anticipates its main themes and focus: encouraging the church at Colossae to remain faithful to the gospel they first received and to reject the false teaching circulating in their midst (see the discussion of Col. 1:1-14 in the preceding week's readings). In 1:15-29, Paul unleashes his response to the situation in Colossae with a celebration of Jesus as exalted over all of creation (vv. 15-20), exhortation for the Colossians to remain steadfast in their embrace of the gospel (vv. 21-23), and testimony to his faithfulness as an apostle on their behalf (vv. 24-29). Paul begins by proclaiming that Christ alone is the only one under God to whom their allegiance and worship are due. In doing so, Paul celebrates Jesus as one whose person and vocation are difficult to distinguish from those of God—the lines between Jesus and God blur and blend. Jesus is "the image of the invisible God," and "in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell" (vv. 15, 19). By him "all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible." All elements of creation, including those inhabiting the spiritual realm, were called into being "through him and for him" (v. 16). Jesus is preexistent to all things and is the essence that holds all of reality together (v. 17). Then, integrating the basic elements of the kerygma, Paul rounds out his celebration of Jesus by proclaiming that his life, death, and resurrection are the means by which "God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven" (v. 20).

As Paul continues, he reminds the Colossians of their own reconciliation to God through Christ, "provided that you continue securely established and steadfast in the faith, without shifting from the hope promised by the gospel that you heard" (vv. 21-23). To offer them a positive example of such steadfast hope and witness to the gospel, Paul turns to his own ministry of service and suffering. Appealing to the Colossians' emotions, he calls them to remember that his long struggle to serve Christ's body, the church, was also "for your sake" (v. 24) and "for you" (v. 25). He also seeks to cultivate among the Colossians an appreciation not only of himself and his ministry, but of their own participation in this glorious and pivotal moment in history: they are recipients of "the mystery that has been hidden throughout the ages and generations but has now been revealed to his saints" (v. 26). For "God chose to make known how great among the Gentiles are the riches of the glory of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory" (v. 27). Paul's earnest wish for the Colossians, the Laodiceans (see 2:1), and all the saints is that they, too, will embrace all wisdom and become mature in Christ: "For this I toil and struggle with all the energy that he powerfully inspires within me" (vv. 28-29).

Following his exchange with the scribe, Jesus resumes his journey to Jerusalem. Although accompanied by his disciples ("Now as they went on their way"), Luke immediately focuses in on Jesus ("he entered a certain village") and his interaction with two women: Martha and Mary. Luke's introduction of Martha could hardly be more glowing. She joins the named women of 8:1-3 as one who supports Jesus and his ministry. Moreover, she is among those who welcome with hospitality the heralds of the coming kingdom (see 8:1-3; 10:5-7). Most readers would immediately regard her as an admirable character.

But readers might have a more difficult time figuring out what to make of Martha's sister, Mary. She is described by Luke as one who "sat at the Lord's feet and listened to what he was saying" (v. 39). In other words, Mary has adopted the posture of a disciple (see Acts 22:3), sitting at her master's feet and attending to "his word" (ton logon autou). This is indeed admirable behavior, but much more so for a man than a woman. Thus far, the paradigm for faithful service of the kingdom by females has been that of hospitality. Here, Mary sets aside her duties as hostess to take up the mantle of discipleship, sitting among the men and directing all of her attention to Jesus and his teaching. Mary, not unlike the Samaritan in Jesus' parable, joins with the disciples in being another "infant" to whom the ways of the kingdom have been made known (recall vv. 21-22). Mary is among those blessed to receive and hear Jesus' instruction about the reign of God, and is thus to be counted among Jesus' devoted followers (vv. 23-24).

Preceding scenes featuring Jesus' transgression of social or religious custom usually include a challenge of some sort, so it comes as no surprise that a character steps forward to challenge Jesus' implied approval of Mary's behavior. Here, however, that challenge comes from an "insider," one of Mary's own kin and one who has just been admirably portrayed. Martha, apparently left alone to tend to her guests while Mary "plays disciple," and "distracted by her many tasks," rebukes Jesus for his lack of concern and commands that he send Mary on her way: "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me" (v. 40).

On the face of it, I think Martha's request would strike most readers as quite reasonable, even if a little brash. Martha's angst-filled request stems not simply from her being overburdened with work, but from a sense of abandonment: "Do you not care that my sister has left me …?" It is Martha who is working within the roles of her gender. It is she who is providing hospitality for Jesus and his disciples. She is the one conducting herself as a good, faithful woman ought. And while dutifully performing service befitting her social location, she has been left behind by her sister, who pretends to be something she is not, and can never be. It hardly seems fair.

Jesus' response to Martha is an earnest but endearing rebuke, as signaled by the repeated direct address (see also Luke 22:31): "Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing" (vv. 41-42a). The preceding narrative has revealed that the essential "one thing" to which Jesus refers is the kingdom of God, as made known through Jesus' person, teaching, and journey to Jerusalem (see 9:23-27, 57-62; 10:21-24). This is confirmed in the narrative to follow. In the very next pericope, Jesus teaches his disciples to pray, and the first petition they are to offer is for the arrival of God's kingdom (11:2). Later in 12:22-34, Jesus teaches his disciples not to worry or be anxious about the needs and cares of this life, exhorting them to "strive for his [God's] kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well" (v. 31). So important is the embrace of the kingdom that even what is regarded by many as good and faithful service for womenfolk to perform pales in comparison. As strange and distasteful to some as it may seem, the place of women is not first and foremost the kitchen or serving room, but the same place it is for men: sitting at the feet of Jesus and listening to his word. "No, Martha, I will not send Mary away. She has chosen the better part, which will not be taken from her" (v. 42). As the story ends, the reader is left wondering whether Martha will turn away from her distracting chores and socially prescribed roles to join her sister, Jesus, and the kingdom.

Still another feature of the passage that may go unnoticed due to its brevity and focus on Mary and Martha is its portrayal of Jesus. Three times, twice by the narrator and once by Martha, the title "Lord" is used of Jesus, thus calling to mind the exalted features of Jesus' personhood and sovereignty that have been associated with that title thus far in Luke's Gospel. It may seem remarkable that the repeated use and evocation of Jesus' extraordinary personhood should be employed in a scene that seems to us so domestic, so homey in character, revolving around matters as mundane as meal preparation and squabbling siblings. But we must remember that these rather mundane elements of human life were ordered by deeply rooted customs of the time. To attack traditions of the home, the dwelling of kin, is to attack fundamental cultural norms governing how life itself was to be lived. And in the normal order of things in the first-century Palestinian world, women did not set aside their domestic roles to become the followers of itinerant preachers. Luke wants to make it clear that women's involvement in discipleship, their decision to take hold of "the better part," is a charge they receive from the Lord Jesus himself. And it is also the Lord who pronounces that this better part shall not be taken from them.

Fishermen and tax collectors, a prostitute and an unclean woman, infantile followers and a Samaritan, and now Mary, a female disciple who sits at Jesus' feet—the likes of these are the heroes of Luke's Gospel, representatives of the upside-down world fashioned by the arrival of God's kingdom. Most readers or hearers of Luke, I would imagine, by the time they get to story of Mary and Martha, would know to look out for the unexpected and unconventional. Still, it must have been for many a bit unnerving to see Martha treated this way by Mary and then Jesus. Martha did as she should. She welcomed Jesus and the kingdom the best way she knew how. It was her job to sweat and fuss over the details while Jesus taught his disciples about the coming of God's kingdom. Mary, get up and help your sister, for goodness' sake! Lord Jesus, don't you care? This just isn't proper! Once again Luke invites his readers to identify, or sympathize, with a character, and then confronts them with reversal and withheld resolution (we aren't told how Martha responds in the end)—all as means of leading them to cognitive and emotional dissonance. Martha is indeed a good woman. She has a right to be annoyed with her sister and with Jesus. They aren't playing by the rules. But Mary, it turns out, has chosen the better part, and what Jesus has granted no one is to take away. For Luke's audience, as they ponder Mary's example and wonder how Martha might respond to Jesus' correction, the questions linger: What ultimately, defines who I am and how I will receive the kingdom? What if saying yes to the kingdom means saying no to the world? Will I be a good man or a good woman in the eyes of this world, or a better one in the eyes of Jesus?

This same questions linger for us still today. So often our understanding of what it means to be a good man, or a good woman, or even a good Christian, owes more to societal standards and expectations than to the radical call of the kingdom. Even within the church, propriety, expedience, decency, or conformity has squelched many a testimony to the kind of life Jesus calls us to live. We can be "good" or, like Mary, we can choose the better part and embrace the way of the kingdom.