Martha Made Whole

Inviting Christ into your dwelling means being renovated from the inside out. (Listen.)

If ever there’s a story which makes women angry, it’s probably this one. Mary, that goody two-shoes, is lazing adoringly at Jesus’ feet; while I—well, I’m stuck in the kitchen washing the bloody dishes and making sure there’s food to eat. Because someone has to serve the guests, and someone has to clean up afterwards, and someone has to sweep the crumbs off the floor. And if everyone just lolls about listening to Jesus, we’d never eat a vegetable and the house would be a total mess. And yet … Jesus praises Mary. That bitch.

Do you hear the envy? The frustration? The grief? The longing? Martha is crashing around the kitchen, clanging pots and pans and muttering under her breath. She feels obliged to offer hospitality, but she wants, oh! she so desperately wants, to be sitting with her sister at the feet of Jesus.

Because we see the world through patriarchal eyes, we tend to mishear Jesus and we keep those sisters apart. We think he’s telling Martha to stop cooking dinner, because we all know that reading the Bible and listening to preaching and wrestling with the Scriptures is best. And so women the world over feel belittled and resentful as they stir the pot and serve the meal and do the dishes afterwards, while men sit around doing “the good thing” of listening to Jesus.

We don’t often ask why women are usually the ones in the kitchen, and why so few men take real responsibility for housework. We don’t often ask why, in our cities, restaurants are filled with white customers talking, while people of colour chop, cook and plate their food. We don’t often roll our eyes when people at church say complacently, “I’m very much a Mary; I always sit and listen to Jesus,” as a Martha whisks the dirty dishes away into the kitchen for washing up. We don’t because we think in binaries—Mary, Martha; contemplation, action—and we usually preference the powerful, who have the luxury of choosing to sit. Jesus says sitting and listening is the better part; who are we to argue?

But actually, he doesn’t. He does not criticise Martha’s activity per se; he has no problem with her cooking dinner; and it would be completely inconsistent if he did. Throughout the gospels he praises those who serve, and he raises them up as models for everyone else. On the night that he is betrayed, he takes on the role of the lowliest slave girl, and he washes his disciples’ feet. If you want to be like me, he says, wash each other’s feet; wash your children’s stinky feet; wash the cracked and damaged feet of the homeless; wash the feet of the sick, the suffering and the dying; invite the poor and marginalised into your homes and serve, serve, serve.

And he does not pit sister against sister: that was Martha’s doing. Jesus came not to divide but to unite: to bring people together in love; to lead sisters into healthy relationship. But how does he do this?

First, we must remember that this is a story. And in this story, Martha invites Jesus into her dwelling. “Dwell in me,” he says in John, “and I will dwell in you.” In other words, the writer is telling us that Martha is inviting Jesus Christ into her very self. But for Christ to make a home in Martha, some things will need to change.

This is what happens to every one of us when we invite Christ in: We will be renovated from the inside out. Maybe our heart of stone will be transformed into a heart of flesh, able to feel both pleasure and pain. Maybe our tight grip on our bank account will be relaxed into an open-handed generosity; maybe fear and anxiety will no longer control us, and we will begin to live with trust.

Or maybe, like Martha, the unacknowledged envy and longing which chew us up and drive us to distraction will be rebuked; the voice of accusation, which accuses a guest of not caring and a sister of not contributing, will be challenged. For this is what Jesus tackles. Not Martha’s domestic work, not her cooking, for in God’s kingdom-culture, service is ministry. Instead, Jesus rebukes the voice of the accuser, more commonly known as Satan.

Jesus recognises that God is not yet the source of Martha’s life and work and speech, and this is where the problem lies. She is being driven to distraction by envy. She wants to sit with her sister; she wants to listen to Jesus: but she cannot claim that freedom, so she pushes them both away.

She does this through passive aggression. Notice that she doesn’t speak directly to her sister. Instead, she triangulates. She tries to rope in a powerful guest, using him for her own purposes: he becomes an object to her. She blames Mary for not helping, even although Martha herself invited the guest in; she blames the guest for not caring. She implies things are unjust and unfair; she is self-centred; she is accusatory. In other words, Martha’s heart is deeply, deeply troubled and not yet grounded in God.

It’s into this heart that Jesus speaks, saying “There should be only one thing.” And this one thing is not any particular action or approach. It’s not Mary versus Martha, spiritual versus material, contemplation versus action. Instead, this one good thing is to connect with God, the source of overflowing life. It’s to invite Jesus to dwell in you, and to let him make those necessary renovations so that you, too, become Christ-like: centred, grounded, whole, and at peace with the world and yourself.

When you are whole, Mary will no longer be the object of your envy; and Jesus will no longer be roped in to justify your position and uphold your grievances. When you are whole, you will trust your sister is following the Spirit’s call on her life; you will not blame her for the Spirit’s call on yours. When you are whole, you will notice the voice of accusation when it rises in you, and confess it in prayer, and let it go.

Then you will put down your wooden spoon and go sit with your sister, draping an arm around her as together you listen to Jesus and open yourselves to his word; as together you allow him to dwell ever more deeply in you and form you into the people you were called to be. Then, confident and true, you will return to your God-ordained God-filled God-led work, whether it’s raising children, teaching people, serving the vulnerable, advocating for the powerless, reconciling relationships, caring for the earth, praying for the world, or simply listening to Jesus that little bit longer.

Or perhaps your work is cooking dinner. And if so, then with a wiggle in your hips and a smile on your lips you will go back to the kitchen, but this time, as you tie on that apron and stir that soup, you will lift up your voice, and sing. Ω

A reflection on Luke 10:38-42 given to Sanctuary, 21 June 2019 © Alison Sampson, 2019. This reflection picks up on the idea of a heart at war, more fully described in our post here.

Hello, friend

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