Dear Friends,

Today week our Gospel reading from Luke about Mary and Martha is nearly as well known as the story of the Good Samaritan that we heard last week. It, too, begins quite simply: “As they continued on their way, Jesus entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomes him into her home.” Martha is at the heart of this tale, welcoming Jesus and, we assume, his entire group. Through her actions, she expresses her gladness that such a guest has come. She does not dawdle but gets to work in tangible ways.

As a congregation who prides itself on the hospitality that we extend to visitors and newcomers, who among us at St. John’s doesn’t appreciate and depend upon the Marthas in our midst? What kind of coffee hour would it be if our guests arrived to a barren Parish Hall, no refreshment on the table and no preparations being made? Martha sees what needs to be done and does it. She sees to the cleaning, the shopping, the cooking—the daily demands of duty. What church, family or society does not benefit from her good heart and busy hands, her steady willingness to work?

But . . . Martha is unable to enjoy her gifts or be fully herself, to let her goodness flow freely, because she becomes distracted by comparing herself to her sister, Mary. Mary, too, welcomes Jesus—by sitting down, right there with the other disciples, by listening, absorbing, being still. While Martha is busy with tasks, ones she and other women have always fulfilled, and been expected to fulfill, Mary carves out a new kind of welcome. She creates an open and receptive space, crossing presumed gender boundaries of her day (only men sat at the feet of the rabbi), expectantly watching for not-the-same-old-thing to happen. Which one is right? Who shall we try to be, Martha or Mary?

More and more, I find myself searching beyond an “either/or” duality for an answer to the questions posed by our sacred stories. And in this particular story, I’m beginning to understand Martha and Mary, not as opposing sisters, but simply members of the same family, mutual parts of a whole. Without Martha, who would ever notice what needs to be done and get to work doing it? Who would help make a more welcoming world by taking specific actions toward that end? Without Mary, would we ever stop our frantic pace, calm our distracted minds, and listen for deeper wisdom to be given? Unless we nurture and respect both Martha and Mary, come to love them both and let them grow stronger within us, we will miss the meaning and the action required of us now.

As we move through these summer months and the process of rebuilding our communal home and communal life post-COVID, I hope we can create space to welcome Jesus into our reconstructive activities, allowing him to teach us his life-giving wisdom and the gift of new ways. 

In Christ,

Amelie