Martha’s burden
Gn 18:1-10a; Ps 15:2-3, 3-4, 5; Col 1:24-28; Lk 10:38-42
When I was growing up, I had an aunt who was legendary for her holiday feasts. No Thanksgiving or Christmas was complete without a stop by Aunt Rose’s house.
She loved to host, but she also wanted you to know that she worked hard on the meal. Nevertheless, she made it abundantly clear she did not actually want you in her kitchen, fussing about with recipes or looking for ways to help serve. Her kitchen was her castle and she was extremely particular about how it was managed (a lesson that any well-meaning in-laws or guests quickly learned!).
Whenever I encounter Martha, I’m reminded of Aunt Rose. It’s not hard to imagine that any woman who was so given to hosting and serving might well have preferred to keep a tight handle on things.
So when Jesus shows up, what is it that Martha is primarily concerned about? Seemingly, she wants help with the serving: carrying platters, work in the kitchen, cleaning up, etc. But what if Martha were more like my Aunt Rose? She might not actually want all that much help. Yes, she does ask Jesus to “tell [Mary] to help me.” But those are not the first words out of her mouth.
When she first sets eyes on Jesus, she pointedly asks: “Do you not care that my sister has left me by myself?” A question like that is really an implicit charge that Martha is afraid Jesus might not care about her, or at least not care about her as much as he seems to be caring about Mary, sitting at his feet.
More than wanting an extra set of hands to carry a pot or two, perhaps Martha longs to feel cared for by Jesus: to feel noticed by him, to feel his loving compassion and attention, to feel his delight in her simple presence. Will any of these things take a load off Martha’s hands? Not necessarily. But the love of Jesus is not a consolation prize, a kind of “second best” when we can’t get what we really want.
Think about this in regard to your human relationships. To feel the authentic love of another, to be confident in their accompanying presence that will never abandon you — these are not small graces. They are truly transformative and can be a powerful source of grounding peace in the midst of much unresolved turmoil. If that holds for the love a friend, how much more so for the love of Jesus Christ?
Martha struggles with the ability to receive the care that Jesus is offering. Like many high achievers, she may view her identity in terms of how well her offerings are perceived. If Jesus is focusing on Mary rather than her, does that mean her best is not good enough?
She also struggles with the often toxic impact of comparison (this probably isn’t the first time the Martha/Mary rivalry surfaced in their relationship). A heart that feels slighted by others, or resentful of another’s success, is less likely to be open to receiving love. When we feel hurt and vulnerable, we tend to turn inward and become protective, not more open.
Many of us can relate to Martha here. If so, then we should also follow her lead in responding to Jesus: She tells him exactly what she is feeling and thinking. She pulls no punches and does not try to soften the blow, but speaks with brutal honesty and from her heart: “Lord, don’t you care?!”
Such honesty comprises the purest form of prayer, for in doing so we invite God to know us completely, vulnerabilities and all. Once we have held nothing back and put it all on the table, we are in a much better frame of mind to be receptive of God’s care for us.
When Jesus tells Martha that Mary has “chosen the better part,” is that because she is sitting at his feet instead of serving the meal? Perhaps. But I suggest that Mary’s better choice is her willingness to receive Jesus’ care for her. Even while still serving, Martha could make a similar choice. Her true burden is not in her kitchen but in her heart.