Just a Martha

My mum was a gentle, faithful person. A weekly Mass attending family, I remember her quiet resignation on one occasion as we sat at the table for lunch. Sighing she observed that Mary could only be Mary because Martha was being Martha. The explication of the gospel that morning had affected her deeply and, in her mind, the lesser role had fallen to her. After this notable Sunday, mum would from time-to-time thereafter, refer to herself as ‘just a Martha’.

How we are to live as people of faith is the recurring theme in Chapter 10 of Luke’s Gospel. Commencing with the sending out of seventy (10:1-17) and the stories they carry in return (10:17-23), the story of Martha and Mary (10:38-42) concludes the chapter and follows that of the Good Samaritan. This text appears only in Luke’s Gospel, although Martha and Mary are a presence in the Gospel of John. It is from John’s Gospel that we learn they live in Bethany and have a brother Lazarus. We also learn that they are beloved by Jesus.

This short text continues to be the source of deep reflection for scripture scholars:

Jesus came to a village, and a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. She had a sister called Mary, who sat down at the Lord’s feet and listened to him speaking. Now Martha who was distracted with all the serving said, ‘Lord, do you not care that my sister is leaving me to do the serving all by myself? Please tell her to help me.’ But the Lord answered: ‘Martha, Martha,’ he said, ‘you worry and fret about so many things, and yet few are needed, indeed only one. It is Mary who has chosen the better part; it is not to be taken from her.’ (Lk 10:38-42)

Some scholars have reflected that the text explores the tension between monastic and domestic life, or contemplation and action. Perhaps we could read into it an exploration of life stages – times of activity and later in life more time for reflection. Perhaps a story investigating the connection between duty and personality, or intellect and will. Some view the story as focusing on the identity of women and their involvement in service and learning. Others argue that it is in response to the growing presence of women in the early Church and serves as a reminder that women, too can play a role in discipleship. And then others argue that it is actually a gospel that is wanting to limit women to the domestic sphere – observing it is one of the few stories about Jesus that occurs away from crowds.

And for me, reflecting on this text in the chaos of the current world, I am reminded that at different times our story of life holds a tension between activity and rest. Between making sense of the messiness of life and the call to be prayerful and contemplative. Between our commitment to work and to being attentive to what is happening in our domestic lives. And I wonder if the story of Martha and Mary is also a story about bringing our Martha and Mary hearts into dialogue.

Thomas Moore in A Life at Work (2008) writes about the experience of work as being a mixture of vision, intention and care. ‘Monks around the world’ he observes ‘spend their precious time growing crops and cleaning toilets. The difference is that through their intention they turn their toil into a form of human prayer. They are participating in the unfolding of humanity as they fix a squeaky door and milk the cows’.  Perhaps thinking about our work – in whatever shape that takes – as a form of human prayer might help soften our approach in our Martha times.

Bringing our work and the activity of life, our hearts and minds into balance requires constant attention, I think. There are times when we know that something is not quite how it should be, but for some reason our heart seems slow to catch up. Or perhaps our hearts are leading us toward something and our mind seems determined to slow us down. An impulsive gesture of kindness and love may spring from our heart and then our mind starts to pull us back with all the what if’s: what if my gesture is misinterpreted? What if I am just being clumsy and misreading the signs? What if I am just a Martha?

John O’Donohue who wrote extensively about Celtic spirituality and has this insight:

Because the mind is always engaged with whatever is happening now, it often forgets who we are. The heart never forgets. Everything of significance is inscribed there. The heart is the archive of all our intimate memory. What is truly felt leaves the deepest inscription. (Benedictus, p. 119)

And this is the challenge that so many of us experience in the rough and tumble of life. There are times when things feel unfair. Times when we feel as though the rug of certainty has been pulled from us. When we feel as though we are under-appreciated, misunderstood and taken for granted. These are our fretting and worrying times. These are the days of the lost keys, the trip up the stairs, the terse word, the angry email.

And I like to think that at these times, the gracious, albeit challenging, words of an accompanying Jesus look softly at me and say all will be well. Take a breath, come sit with me for awhile. Because this, I think, is where the Martha and Mary conversation comes into its own, weaving blessing into every situation. Because for people of faith, God indwells in the heart. And this means that joy, love and blessing are always just a beat away.

So, wherever we are in our lives at the moment, may we listen to the wisdom of our hearts. May we be attentive to the stirrings within us and may we allow the work of our hearts to gentle us and remind us that all will be well. From every disappointment a possibility will emerge. From the chaos of war peace will eventually reign. That God breathes life into the hearts of our Martha and Mary days.

And if mum was alive today, I would put my arms around her and say that it was the Martha heart that welcomed Jesus into her home. And that her Martha activities made visible God’s love for those in her world – so do not fret and worry Mum! All will be well. Because sometimes being Martha was just what we all needed. Your Mary time will come.

By Cathy Jenkins