The Mary-Martha Dilemma
Genesis 18:1-15; Luke 10:38-42
October 15, 2017
Rev. Dr. Deborah L. Clark
Luke 10:38-42 –Translated by Father Don Pachuta, MD
Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village where a woman, whose name was Martha, welcomed him into her home. And, she had a sister named Mary who ALSO sat beside the master, at his feet listening to his wisdom.
Martha, pulled away with much serving, came to him and said, “Master, do you not care, that my sister has left me by myself to do the serving? So, tell her to help me.”
Answering, the master said to her,“Martha, Martha, you are worried, and troubled, about many things. But a few things are necessary.
The one Mary has chosen is a good part, and it will not be taken from her.”
I first learned about the Marthas when I overheard a phone conversation between my mother and Mrs. Butler, one of her church friends. It was a new group forming at our church, Emmaus United Church of Christ in Vienna, Virginia. The Marthas were women who served on the Flower Committee and the Hospitality Committee, the ones who tended to make the homemade casseroles for potluck suppers. At the time, in the 1970‘s, they were called housewives, women whose work was in the home, raising their families, strengthening neighborhood connections, keeping the church going.
I wasn’t particularly interested in the Marthas. I was a teenager. The extent of my culinary expertise was baking chocolate chip cookies on rainy days. My role models were the younger women, our youth group advisors who loved to talk about their rewarding careers.
I definitely didn’t want to be a Martha, but there’s a reason I remember them. Even at that age, I understand that they were being counter-cultural. As women were entering the work force in larger numbers, sometimes a sense was conveyed that working in the home wasn’t really working. By forming a group called the Marthas, these women was saying No. We refuse to accept that our work is less valuable than that of women or men who get a paycheck.
Even bolder, I realized, was the way they were challenging scripture. Don Pachuta’s translation shifts the emphasis, but in most common translations, Jesus came across as quite dismissive of Martha’s role. Mary seemed to be lifted up as the better sister, the more faithful disciple. As I initially learned the story, Jesus was scolding Martha, telling her that the meal she was working so hard to prepare wasn’t such a big deal.
By forming a church group called the Marthas, my mother and her friends were arguing back. That’s all well and good, Jesus, but you brought all those hungry people into Martha’s house. How long did you think they were going to listen to you when their stomachs were rumbling? The Marthas refused to accept what seemed to be Jesus’ devaluing of their role.
I thought of the Marthas a few weeks ago when I opened an email from my friend and colleague Father Don Pachuta, from the Community of St. Luke. Don had seen on our website that I was planning to preach about Martha and Mary. He sent me a reflection he had written, based on his research and his knowledge of biblical Greek. In his writing, he argues that Jesus was not putting Martha down; instead, he was lifting up both women as the ultimate examples of discipleship. Don points out mistakes in the traditional translations. Where the New Revised Standard Version has Jesus saying “Mary has chosen the better part,” Don believes a more accurate translation is “Mary has chosen a good part.”
Don notes that this passage is the culmination of a long section in Luke’s gospel on discipleship, a literary indication that Mary and Martha are seen as the pinnacle of discipleship. Don points to the connection between Martha’s actions–preparing a special meal for a sacred guest–and the story of Abraham and Sarah feeding the three strangers who turn out to be angels with a message of hope. Hospitality–welcoming strangers and neighbors into your home, offering food, water and comfort–, was fundamental to the Jewish faith in which Jesus, Mary and Martha were all steeped. It was also essential for life in a desert culture, where denial of food and water and shade could be deadly.
By preparing a meal for Jesus and his companions, Martha was fulfilling a central requirement of her faith. She was also doing what Jesus did throughout his ministry. He fed the 5000; he ate with those who were identified as sinners; he invited himself into other people’s homes and received their hospitality. It makes no sense that Jesus would want to put Martha down.
Mary’s role, Don reminds us, is equally compelling. It was common for men to sit at the feet of a teacher; it was almost unheard of for a woman to do so. Mary sat right down. She understand how radical Jesus’ teachings were. She knew what she was hearing tore down all those societal barriers. Jesus affirmed her decision. Mary, he said, is doing a good thing, listening and learning.
Perhaps there is something in human nature that leads us, when one person is lifted up, to feel we have to denigrate someone else. Don’s research suggests that, over the millenia, translators have gotten caught in that trap. Jesus, he argues, did not fall into that trap; instead, he lifted up two sister as models of discipleship. At the heart of discipleship, Jesus taught, is service and listening.
This past Wednesday, I attended a workshop, run by Brookfield Institute and hosted by Open Spirit, called “Almost Home.” The title acknowledges that for many veterans, physically returning home from deployment doesn’t mean they feel at home. The workshop explored how we–churches, synagogues, community organizations–can welcome veterans home more fully. One word came up more than any other: listen. Don’t assume what a veterans needs or wants. Make space to allow them to tell whatever part of their story they choose to tell, whenever they are ready to tell it. To welcome them home, be patient, be present, listen.
The conversation prompted me to take a second look at our story from Genesis, a defining moment for the family considered the parents of Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Abraham and Sarah see strangers approaching. They bring water, invite them to rest, and set out a feast. And then they listen to the strangers. They are active–preparing and serving a meal–, and they are receptive, slowing down to listen. They welcome the strangers by providing for their physical needs, and they welcome them by making space for their stories. In the fullness of that welcome, they discover that the strangers are sacred guests with a message from God. Listening, not just casual chatting but listening for the sacred in someone’s story, is part of offering hospitality.
That, I believe, is the point of our gospel lesson. To be a disciple of Jesus is to offer hospitality to strangers and neighbors, for that is what Jesus did over and over again in his ministry. In this passage, Jesus teaches that hospitality has both an active and a receptive component. We are called to welcome strangers into our lives and our homes, to offer food to the hungry and water to the thirsty, to care for their physical needs. And we are called to welcome their stories, to listen for the presence of the sacred in those lives.
The active and receptive components of hospitality are intertwined. Without listening, we cannot know what kind of food and drink and shelter is needed. And without acknowledging the reality of our shared physical needs, stories float in some disembodied, faux-spiritual plane.
Over the last six months, a group of local people of faith have been trying to figure out how to offer hospitality to our immigrant neighbors who are living with uncertainty and fear in the current political climate. Our efforts feel too small. At their best, though, our efforts illustrate that movement between active and receptive hospitality. We started with two potluck black beans and rice suppers, with clumsily translated conversation around dinner tables. As needs became clearer, a group of people began accompanying immigrants to court appearances and asylum hearings. The accompaniment addresses a real physical need–for a ride, for someone who knows the language and culture, for a witness in case something happens. Just as important, though, is the opportunity, during car rides or long waits outside courtrooms, to slow down and listen for a sacred story.
In biblical times, in a desert culture, hospitality was essential to life. We live in a different kind of desert–not of sand and rock but of vast inequality and growing isolation and deep division. Hospitality is as essential to life today as it was back then. Both components of hospitality–meeting physical needs and listening for sacred stories–are central to being disciples of Jesus.
What does this calling mean for you? Perhaps you are called to bring a loaf of banana bread to a new neighbor, a physical expression of welcome that can open the door to a sharing of sacred stories. Or to start a conversation with a long-time neighbor whose lawn signs indicate a very different political perspective from your own. Maybe your calling is to help out at Pearl Street cafe, serving a meal and occasionally sitting down for a conversation. You might be a greeter on Sunday mornings, helping someone new feel at home, letting them know through your warmth that their life story is welcome here. You might be called to be an advocate for broader societal change, writing letters, testifying at the statehouse, drawing upon sacred stories you have heard to work for more compassionate and equitable laws.
However this call to discipleship and hospitality is expressed for you, you can trust that it will bear fruit in your life. As you offer hospitality, you will also receive it. As you hear sacred stories, you will awaken to your own. You will be fed in body and spirit. Thanks be to God. Amen.