Mary, Martha, and Maude

Sermon for July 20, 2025
Luke 10:38-42

Last Sunday, Mtr. Rita mentioned that the Gospel reading, about the Good Samaritan, is one of those stories we know too well.  And she wondered what on earth she might have to say about that story that you hadn’t heard many times before.

Well, this morning, our Gospel reading is the story of Mary and Martha hosting Jesus and the disciples for dinner.  It’s another one of those stories we know too well.  Like the term “Good Samaritan,” being “a Mary” or “a Martha” is scriptural shorthand for a lesson many of us have heard before.  But today’s reading brings with it the added fun of reinforcing a polarized message of goodness – that some people know how to follow Jesus, while others don’t get it.  Isn’t that just what we need these days...?

So, let’s do a quick poll.  Regardless of gender, how many of you would call yourself a Mary – someone who’d welcome Jesus into your home by sitting in the living room with him and hanging on his every word?  OK.  How many of you would call yourself a Martha – someone who’d welcome Jesus by trying to put on the perfect meal, meanwhile resenting Mary for taking it easy in the other room?  OK.  And now, of you Marthas, how many of you feel a little insulted when Jesus takes Mary’s side and tells you that, despite all your work, you failed to choose “the better part” (Luke 10:42)?

I’m right there with you.  As a recovering Martha, I’d absolutely want to honor the Messiah by putting on the very best meal I could.  And, at the same time … if I’m honest, some of that desire to give Jesus the perfect welcome just might come from the fact that I know, deep down, I’m not worthy to have the Lord come under my roof (Matthew 8:8).  And Mary, there in the other room – what makes her think she’s so special?  Does she really think she’s worthy of a sit-down with God in the flesh?  Sure, Marthas like me would appreciate another pair of hands in the kitchen.  But I think Martha’s real hostility toward Mary might be, “Just who do you think you are?”

The Light of the World,
William Holman Hunt,
St. Paul's Cathedral version (1904)

            We may hear this story being about the practice of hospitality in our homes, but of course it’s really about the practice of hospitality in our hearts.  And here, too, we spiritual Marthas might find ourselves feeling some self-righteous resentment.  I have always wished I were one of those people who can hold still and be prayerful.  You know the famous painting in St. Paul’s Cathedral in London,¹ the one of Jesus standing at the door, knocking?  It’s printed in the bulletin this morning.  Well, left to my own devices, if that were my house in the painting, I’d probably be so busy with what I was working on inside that I’d never even hear the knock.  It’s hard to let someone in if you’re making so much interior noise that you don’t realize he’s out there waiting for you. 

So, why do Marthas like me do that?  Why do we make so much noise and distract ourselves with our “many tasks” of life (Luke 10:40) to the extent that we miss the point of Who life is about?  I can only answer for myself, but here goes:  It’s less risky that way.

I mean that in two senses.  First, those of us who function as Marthas are doing that to live into our wiring, to lead with our strengths.  My hunch is that Martha in the story was one heck of a host – the Martha Stewart of Bethany.  If she’d had linen napkins, they would have been pressed, but not so obviously as to draw attention to it.  She would have planned the event so well she wouldn’t need to run back to the store to pick up ice or butter.  Martha knew she was good at this, so of course she took the lead in hosting the dinner.  If Mary had been in charge, they probably would have ordered DoorDash.

And, even more to the point, if Martha had put herself out in the living room with Jesus, anxiety would have seeped from her pores.  She’d have feared she’d say something stupid – or, worse, she’d have feared she’d have nothing to say at all.  Martha needed the safety of busyness to keep her from risking relationship with God in the flesh – because once you start down that road, God knows what you might have to do differently.

But for Marthas like me, the risk of setting aside our “many tasks” runs even deeper than that.  In the story, we hear Martha resenting Mary ostensibly for leaving Martha in the kitchen with all the work, but what’s that resentment really about?  You can nearly see the words in the thought bubble floating over Martha’s head:  “Just who does Mary think she is, sitting in there with Jesus?”  Martha’s angry because her sister thinks she’s better than Martha.  And adding salt to the wound, Jesus seems to affirm that Mary’s right.  “Mary has chosen the better part,” Jesus says (Luke 10:42).  Martha drops the dish she’s drying, unable to believe what she’s hearing.

But I don’t think what she’s hearing is what Jesus is saying.  Mary’s not better than Martha.  She just loves herself a little more.  And where does that come from?  My guess is that Mary’s a little more comfortable with her own belovedness in God’s eyes.  Some of that’s probably just who Mary is.  But some of it comes from her spiritual practice of being still long enough actually to hear Jesus knocking on the door and then realizing, “Wait, he’s come to me – and not with an arrest warrant but with the light of God’s love in his hand.”

That’s the “better part” Mary chooses – not just sitting in the living room with the guest of honor but resting in the peace that she’s actually God’s beloved.  As the bumper sticker on my refrigerator says, “God loves you whether you like it or not.”  And Mary’s living into it.

So, what are we supposed to take away from this well-worn story?  Let me update it just a bit.  I was at a friend’s house for dinner the other night with a few other people.  Let’s call her not Mary, not Martha, but Maude.  Now, Maude is blessed with an open-concept kitchen.  So, when we guests arrived, she led us to the kitchen, where we found drinks and light appetizers on the table.  After welcoming us, Maude went behind the counter, within the kitchen proper, as the rest of us stood or sat around, talking and laughing, drinking and eating.  Meanwhile, Maude made dinner.  She prepared chicken for the grill, sliced tomatoes, washed basil leaves, made a fruit salad, sliced a loaf of hearty bread – all the while listening and talking and being just as much a part of the conversation as everyone else.  Maude was the perfect host because she recognized we weren’t there to eat the best meal of all time.  We were there to spend the time with her, and with each other.

I know it’ll shock you to hear me find a middle way, but here you go:  In the lives we inhabit, day by day, we can’t be either Mary or Martha.  Mary chose “the better part,” recognizing her inherent belovedness – but we can’t spend all our life on retreat.  Martha was “worried and distracted by many things,” which kept her from seeing that God wanted her heart, not her cooking – but still, there are always those guests in the other room who do expect something to eat.

So, instead of striving to be the perfect Mary or beating yourself up for being the perfect Martha – instead, be a good Maude.  Jesus is knocking on your door because he’d like to be welcomed into the life you actually live.  He’d like to be there while you’re praying or meditating, absolutely.  But he’d also like to be there while you’re cutting up chicken or doing the dishes or talking to your customers or watching a movie.  Why?  Not to reward you for doing life well or to upbraid you for doing life poorly, but simply to stand alongside you as you live it.  Because, after all, you are God’s beloved, made in the divine image and likeness.  And that knock on the door you hear is Jesus trying to remind you of that – that you are worthy of a sit-down with God in the flesh.

1.       The painting The Light of the World that hangs in St. Paul’s, London, is the third version of this piece by William Holman Hunt. The first version was completed in 1854 and donated to Keble College, Oxford, to hang in the college chapel, but conflict with the architect led to the painting being hung in the college library until, later, a side chapel was built for the painting. Meanwhile, Hunt painted a second, smaller version between 1851 and 1856, which now hangs in the Manchester City Art Gallery. Finally, because Keble College was charging a fee to view the original, Hunt completed a larger, life-sized version in 1904, which was purchased by a British social reformer, Charles Booth, and donated to St. Paul’s in London after being taken on a world viewing tour. See The Light of the World (Hunt) on Wikipedia.