In Service of the Holy
Adapted from the Christian Gospels of Luke and John, and informed by Renita Weems’ Just a Sister Away
One evening, not so long ago (relatively speaking), a two sisters prepared for a special guest. They had heard of this teacher, this holy person, and finally, he was to come to their home, to share a meal and conversation. And so they prepared, anxious with anticipation and hope, thoughtfulness and care. And they each prepared in their own way.
The one sister, Martha, known for her accomplishments and work ethic, well you know she started by making a thorough to-do list. Once she understood the scope of the tasks ahead, she got to work. Cleaning the kitchen and the dining area. Dusting, sweeping, and mopping. Doing the grocery shopping. Setting the table. And then the meal. Chopping and broiling and heating and stirring. Since this particular guest made a habit of traveling with at least twelve of his closest friends, it was a big meal to put together, and the timing had to be just right. It all had to be just right.
Martha’s sister, on the other hand, Mary was her name. If Mary was known at all, it would have been less for what she did than how she was. I mean, she was quiet. Strangely quiet. You may not notice her near you, but for the way she listened, and kept still. Accordingly, her preparation took an entirely different course than her sister’s. While Martha cooked, Mary waited. Just waited. Hopeful and watchful. She paid attention. She smiled more broadly, walked more softly. She offered thanks. She prayed. She felt blessed.
Finally, it was time. The guest – Jesus was his name – arrived, grateful and unassuming.
Martha was first to greet him at the door – always one for good manners. She brought him in, took his coat, found a place for him and all of his companions to sit, and then went back to her work. There still was so much to do. Her palms were sweating, no, her everything was sweating. She was nervous and unsure, wanting Jesus to see her, to appreciate what she had done, to believe she was a good person. Good enough to serve someone like him, in her home. Good enough to be in the presence of the holy.
She returned to her pots and her hot oven, and kept on working.
Meanwhile, her sister sat at Jesus’ feet, and began to listen as he spoke. Just sitting there, doing absolutely nothing.
Yes, of course, Martha saw her and was not happy. No, she was irritated in the way that only sisters can get irritated at one another, that is: primordially, viscerally, irrationally – in a way that is never straightforward, where one small irritation easily stands in for a lifetime of jealousy or fear, or love.
From this place, Martha stirred her soup around and around, picking up the pace as each thought came to her:
Who does Mary think she is?
Jesus must think she is so rude!
What an embarrassment she is!
And wouldn’t I like to sit there all still and quiet, learning all there is to learn, thinking big thoughts and dreaming big dreams – wouldn’t that be nice?
But then who would do all this work? Who would serve all these holy guests?
And as she stirred, the words suddenly came out from her, she spoke aloud, into the air: “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” (Lk 10:40b)
The holy man was quick to answer, having watched all along, the stirring, the tending, the sighing. And so, with all the love in his heart, he responded: “Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing.” (Lk 10:41a)
Her guest did not say what that one thing was, but left her, left all of them there that night, left all of us here today, to wonder, to seek, to know, to practice this one thing, for ourselves.
One evening, not so long ago (relatively speaking), a two sisters prepared for a special guest. They had heard of this teacher, this holy person, and finally, he was to come to their home, to share a meal and conversation. And so they prepared, anxious with anticipation and hope, thoughtfulness and care. And they each prepared in their own way.
The one sister, Martha, known for her accomplishments and work ethic, well you know she started by making a thorough to-do list. Once she understood the scope of the tasks ahead, she got to work. Cleaning the kitchen and the dining area. Dusting, sweeping, and mopping. Doing the grocery shopping. Setting the table. And then the meal. Chopping and broiling and heating and stirring. Since this particular guest made a habit of traveling with at least twelve of his closest friends, it was a big meal to put together, and the timing had to be just right. It all had to be just right.
Martha’s sister, on the other hand, Mary was her name. If Mary was known at all, it would have been less for what she did than how she was. I mean, she was quiet. Strangely quiet. You may not notice her near you, but for the way she listened, and kept still. Accordingly, her preparation took an entirely different course than her sister’s. While Martha cooked, Mary waited. Just waited. Hopeful and watchful. She paid attention. She smiled more broadly, walked more softly. She offered thanks. She prayed. She felt blessed.
Finally, it was time. The guest – Jesus was his name – arrived, grateful and unassuming.
Martha was first to greet him at the door – always one for good manners. She brought him in, took his coat, found a place for him and all of his companions to sit, and then went back to her work. There still was so much to do. Her palms were sweating, no, her everything was sweating. She was nervous and unsure, wanting Jesus to see her, to appreciate what she had done, to believe she was a good person. Good enough to serve someone like him, in her home. Good enough to be in the presence of the holy.
She returned to her pots and her hot oven, and kept on working.
Meanwhile, her sister sat at Jesus’ feet, and began to listen as he spoke. Just sitting there, doing absolutely nothing.
Yes, of course, Martha saw her and was not happy. No, she was irritated in the way that only sisters can get irritated at one another, that is: primordially, viscerally, irrationally – in a way that is never straightforward, where one small irritation easily stands in for a lifetime of jealousy or fear, or love.
From this place, Martha stirred her soup around and around, picking up the pace as each thought came to her:
Who does Mary think she is?
Jesus must think she is so rude!
What an embarrassment she is!
And wouldn’t I like to sit there all still and quiet, learning all there is to learn, thinking big thoughts and dreaming big dreams – wouldn’t that be nice?
But then who would do all this work? Who would serve all these holy guests?
And as she stirred, the words suddenly came out from her, she spoke aloud, into the air: “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” (Lk 10:40b)
The holy man was quick to answer, having watched all along, the stirring, the tending, the sighing. And so, with all the love in his heart, he responded: “Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing.” (Lk 10:41a)
Her guest did not say what that one thing was, but left her, left all of them there that night, left all of us here today, to wonder, to seek, to know, to practice this one thing, for ourselves.