"Ask and you will receive." Really? That promise is repeated in Matthew 7:7 and John 14:13-14. But beware: Jesus doesn't say what you will receive, only that you will receive. 

Perhaps our tradition's first theological investigation of prayer comes in today's first reading where Abraham sounds almost like an auctioneer in reverse: Can 50 good people save the city? 45? 40? 30? 20? 10? One thing we see here is that Abraham didn't have much faith in the people of Sodom — he worried that God might not find even 10 good people in that legendary city!

The real debate is not about numbers. Abraham lived in a political atmosphere of sin and retribution, crime and punishment. Policies built on this thinking make the absurd assumption that hurting a perpetrator will be good for the victim when all it really does is lower the victim to the level of the perpetrator. Not much that's life-giving there!

Abraham's theological complaint was that God was portrayed as acting like a despot, revengefully punishing those who transgressed. Note, when visitors had left, "the Lord remained standing before Abraham."

It's as if God were saying, "OK, ask me about what's bothering you." 

God also asked, "Should I hide from Abraham what I am about to do?" Another sign that God encouraged Abraham's interrogation.

Underneath the question of the innocent suffering because of evil people — a blatant fact of life — Abraham is ultimately asking, "Does evil rule the world? Do the innocent make any difference in the world?" That's a perennial question — especially sharp in times of war, dictatorship, corruption and the victimization of the weak by the strong. So Abraham puts God on trial: "Should not the judge of all the world act with justice?" 

These questions come from a belief that God is in charge of everything that happens. God decides and creation, be it people or nature, carries God's will into action. 

Another question like Abraham's is, "Why bother to pray if God has already written the script?" Or do we believe, as some say, that if we pray hard enough, God will relent in punishment or cure our beloved's cancer, make the sun shine for the picnic, etc.? Do we really think that prayer functions to change God's will about hard things that are in process?

Many times, we ask, "What would Jesus say?" In this case, we have an answer in today's Gospel. The disciples ask, "Teach us to pray." Ultimately, this question asks, "How are we supposed to relate to God?" and "What can we expect from God?" 

Jesus' response is simple. Go to God as a child to a parent, trusting in the Father's love. Also, look around creation. Let yourself be carried away in wondrous awe, then say, 'Hallowed!' Blessed! Overwhelming is your very name!"

Say, "May your desires for creation come true! Your will be done!"

Jesus reminds us that the creator of the universe has given us what we need. Our daily (epiousios) bread is a phrase Jesus seems to have invented. More than day-to-day, it suggests something more like the bread of tomorrow, the coming age, the bread that is consecrated by how it is shared and nourishes.

Seeing that, "Give us our daily bread," offers a different perspective on "Your kingdom come." 

As a grand finale in this prayer asking for the establishment of God's will, Jesus cuts to the chase: "Forgive us as we forgive." 

Is this a tit-for-tat, "You'll forgive us if we forgive each other?" That hardly sounds like the God we meet in Jesus. 

Suppose that this is yet another petition for the establishment of God's reign? In that case, we might interpret it to say, "Lead us to be like you, seeing possibility rather than injury, believing like Abraham that evil does not have the upper hand."

Do we really want God's rule? Then we have to keep badgering those who have the power to make it happen, to feed the hungry, to give children what they need, to rise above retribution and to value justice and harmony over any kind of supremacy.

At the end of this discourse on prayer, we hear Jesus say, "Ask and you will receive." Now note, Jesus isn't promising a bike, a cure for cancer, a safe pregnancy or anything like that. No, what Jesus promises is that if we ask, and apparently only if we ask or allow it, God's Spirit will be with us.

For what should we pray? How can we relate to God the Father as Jesus did? The woman who taught Jesus to pray gives us the same answer he does: "When you pray say, 'Behold, I am your servant, do with and in and through me according to your will.' "

"Anything worth doing is worth overdoing." That's what a friend told me years ago. There's something to that. 

We so often live with an outlook of scarcity: "America first," "If they win, we lose," "they will take our jobs" and most of all, "We don't have enough for ..."

What happened to divine extravagance?

Abraham, a Middle Easterner, knew the importance of hospitality. If people of the desert do not help one another, everyone is in danger of death. So one day while Abraham was enjoying an afternoon snooze, he spotted three strangers. He tells Sarah, his wife, to get 50 pounds of flour and make some bread. He chose a steer, generally over 1,100 pounds, to offer his guests "a little food."

That abundance demonstrated his respect for the visitors — as well as his generosity, importance and wealth. The most famous depiction of the scene is the icon written by Andrei Rublev which focuses on the relationship among the trio who are enjoying being nourished by one another more than their meal.

Now to New Testament hospitality.

Luke tells us that as Jesus entered a village, Martha invited him to the home she shared with her sister, Mary. That a woman would invite a man into her home was rather unusual — there's no mention of a husband or brother to legitimize the presence of a male guest. From there, things continue to progress ever more curiously.

Martha, the original hostess, gets busy like Sarah, preparing everything necessary to receive an honored guest. She mirrored Father Abraham's copious generosity, assuming the tasks of service (diakonia) while her sister, like a rabbi in training, sat at Jesus' feet. 

While Mary may not have noticed, Martha was only too aware of the contrast between them. Bold soul that she was, she chided Jesus himself, calling him to notice her efforts and even telling him what he should say to Mary.

What a pair! One who sees all that others need, another absorbed in Jesus' message. We might think of 1 Corinthians 12 where Paul talks about the necessity of different gifts to fill out the body of Christ. Deacon Martha must have been an expert at multitasking as she found the food, cooked, prepared a table and arranged it all as it should be.

Note that Jesus doesn't criticize Martha's efforts. Instead, he sympathizes with her, he sees that she's driving herself crazy trying to be sure that everything is just so. His response is not a put-down, it's an invitation. 

It's as if he were saying, "We all want to make things perfect, and it's impossible. God's creation is in process, just like your meal, which will satisfy us even without three Michelin stars. Give yourself a break. Enjoy the 'why' of all you are doing."

Regarding Mary, in literal translation, Jesus says, "Mary has chosen a good part and it will not be taken from her."

Jesus doesn't compare the sisters or raise one above the other. Jesus says that they do not need to confine themselves to specific roles. Mary has chosen a good part. Like Martha who stepped beyond her culture's gender-defining restrictions to invite Jesus into the house, Mary trespassed the boundaries of the "proper" vocation of women. 

What we end up with is not a comparison between active and contemplative life, but a multifaceted breaking of barriers and limits. Martha expanded the boundaries of family, and received Jesus as a brother, making their home his own. Although we never hear that the apostles sat at Jesus' feet to learn, Mary gave them the example of being a disciple, a learner.

Although the subjects of this Gospel are women, we shouldn't limit its message by interpreting it solely in terms of the equal dignity and potential of women and men. This story invites all of us to reassess "acceptable" boundaries and arbitrary restrictions. Pope Francis' call to synodality urged us to hear everyone equally: lay or cleric, physician or garbage collector, indifferent to gender, education, nationality, language or political preference.

When Jesus called people to discipleship, he paid attention to their potential, not their status. Our call is to receive Jesus and his message as extravagantly as Martha and Mary did. Jesus ignored impediments that limited others. We too can live the Gospel with abandon, certain that it's worth doing and that God will never run out of possibilities for us. 

There's more abundance in and around us than we will ever be able to appreciate. Let's live with divine extravagance!