Read: Luke 10:38-42 (See also John 11:1-45 and 12:1-7)
Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care than my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” (Luke 10:38-42, NRSV)
Martha wiped the wooden bowl and set it on the shelf with a sigh. It was a sigh of satisfaction—one she often released at the end of the day when her kitchen was set to rights.
Of course, she hadn’t always felt so at ease about her role as “chief cook and bottle washer.” But that was water under the bridge. She’d moved on now. These days she was more at ease with who she was, and the memory of that episode brought no lingering sense of chagrin. On the contrary, she loved to linger over the way Jesus had said her name. “Martha, Martha…” He’d said it twice—and gently, as if it meant a lot to him. Even in the moment, she’d understood it less as a reprimand than as an invitation.
After hanging up her apron, she poured two small cups of wine and carried them outside. Mary looked up from the bench in their courtyard and smiled. This evening ritual was something they both looked forward to. Sometimes they used the time to talk about the past—mining their memories for undiscovered treasures. Other times—like tonight—they were content to sit silently in each other’s company, listening to the hush that fell like a benediction on the day.
Martha smiled and glanced fondly at her sister. Mary had taken longer to get past Jesus’ words than Martha had. For weeks after what they’d come to call “the incident,” Mary had made an absolute pest of herself, constantly inserting herself into every household chore. Honestly, she was harder to shake than a bur. One day, after an awkward tug of war over a dishtowel, Martha had finally lost her patience. “Stop overcompensating!” she’d yelled. It was cathartic, in a way. And in the end, they’d worked out a kind of detente. Mary would offer to help, and when that help was welcome, Martha would accept it. When it wasn’t she’d say so, and Mary would go away with equally good grace. Simple as that. Done and dusted.
Some years later, Lazarus had died—again. With an unsettling sense of déjà vu, they’d returned from the tomb to find the house overflowing with mourners. Some of them—in Martha’s estimation—were there more out of curiosity than grief. It was as if they wanted to be there just in case Lazarus might show up and shout, “Surprise!”
Mary had been a wreck. Grief was one thing; morbid curiosity was quite another. Rushing back to the kitchen—ostensibly to fetch another platter of stuffed grape leaves—Mary had hidden her face in her hands and tried to stifle a sob.
Martha had taken one look at Mary and handed her the dishtowel. “Stay right where you are,” she’d ordered and marched back into their over-crowded living room.
Conversation—and speculation—had stopped abruptly at Martha’s appearance. “Friends, neighbors, and guests,” she’d said to the sea of upturned faces. “My sister and I can’t thank you enough for your expressions of comfort at this difficult time. Those of you who actually knew our brother Lazarus…” She paused to glance meaningfully around the room, and some of the guests had the grace to look sheepish. “Those of you who knew Lazarus can testify to the fact that he passed his last days in peace. He knew he was close to death—who would know better, after all! But he faced the prospect with hope, knowing that our risen Lord would be there to greet him.”
At that, a murmur had rippled through the crowd. Martha waited until it had died down. Then she’d said, “I will miss our brother, of course. But I am as convinced as he was that one day Jesus will stand outside my tomb. ‘Martha, Martha,’ he’ll say. ‘Come forth!’”
A hush had fallen over the room like a benediction.
Martha had turned on her heel and gone back to the kitchen.
Ponder: What parts of this imagined continuation of Martha’s story seem most convincing to you? Why or why not?
Pray: May we live long enough to learn the lessons you’ve tried to teach us.