The day began with a start when I realized that my bad dream (really more like a recurring nightmare) jolted me back to reality. I was so thankful that my fears of running out of grain before this year’s harvest was-just that- a fear and not the real thing that I savored it as I lay on my bed pallet, alone. I had been alone for many years now, the woman in charge of a household even though my brother Lazarus still lived with us.
He seemed to be ill a lot so we sisters couldn’t count on him to contribute to the family. We loved him dearly but truly sometimes I was annoyed with how much work I do compared to him. But not so Mary. She was as active and productive as me. Yesterday, she finished up the weaving while I was at the threshing floor gathering up the grains of wheat.
No, I don’t have any complaints against Mary, except when she stays too long at her daily prayers. Then I can get irritated. She finds it so easy to be devoted to prayers. Me, I like giving to the poor, caring for the widow of Benjamin but when I sit down for very long my mind starts to wander and I get to worrying. I do that well. So well do I let my mind go to “anxiety level” as Mary calls it, I wish it were considered a spiritual gift. Yea-the gift of pessimism or anxiety. I would be top achiever in that field.
Back to the main point. I got up, splashed water on my face and knotted my hair back, putting on my working dress. Today I had a long list of things I wanted to accomplish and hoped that nothing unusual would happen. Figures. Something unusual always happens to days like today! As soon as I stepped out into the courtyard I heard the hub-bub of the neighbors talking about how Jesus of Nazareth was headed this way.
Jesus! How he intrigued me. I couldn’t help but notice how he made some people uncomfortable and others felt right at home around him. I am kinda’ in the middle, feeling like he stretched my categories and my way of thinking but that he still loved me somehow-like a father would.
Mary, usually more reserved, was apoplectic with delight. She was almost childlike in her adoration of him. We both looked at each other and without saying a word, decided that we wanted Jesus to stay with us. I have to remind myself that I did agree to have Jesus here. Well, because frankly it is easy to forget that I had that choice. Oh yes, Mary helped get the sitting area swept clean and free of bugs. She even beat the old rugs we kept on the dirt floors and saw to gathering extra plates and cushions from the neighbors.
I have to remind myself of all this because once Jesus arrived-well she played a different role! It didn’t help that she was in the courtyard hovering around, ready to invite Jesus to come stay with us while I was caught up trying to track down our jar of olives which I had hidden away. I did formally invite Jesus and his pupils to come eat with us and Jesus did graciously accept the honor of our invitation. If Lazarus had not been so ill, on and off, he would have been in Jesus’ little band, I am sure of it. Jesus was fond of him, I could tell.
But I got called away, just as they were coming in and Mary directed the guests where to sit. This is where she made her fatal mistake. She indicated seating for everyone and then, like a ninny, made sure she was seated right at the feet of the teacher-in the middle of a crowd of disciples and our neighbors. In the middle!What was she thinking? Was she thinking? How could she possibly extricate herself to help with meal preparations without disturbing the whole crowd? Everyone knows that only the true pupils (learners of Torah) were allowed to sit at the rabbi’s feet. Here she is-putting herself there as if she had been invited and were Jesus’ favorite pupil, A WOMAN! Learning from the rabbi!
But you know what? That is just like her. She lost herself in the moment, overwhelmed with her love and devotion to Jesus. I wish I could be more like her sometimes. No distractions -nothing else in the world.
But well, I am not. I was stuck in the kitchen. Alone. Abandoned. I had almost finished my daily grinding to make the flour. But the mint, parsley and onions still had to be chopped for the salad. The flour is not edible as flour but needed to be mixed with water and cooked on a kazan-big flat grill over a fire. The lentils had soaked but not cooked. The chickpeas were looking plain and needed to be mashed and fried. The nuts, at least some of them, were not yet shelled. The only thing ready to serve were the olives (the jar had been found) and the dried figs from last summer. That’s it. I even still needed water from the well for goodness sake! There sat my sister in the middle of it all.
I contemplated asking some neighbors, the ones who didn’t make it into our salon and who hovered at the window. But I was too proud. I’ll do it all myself! I started to fume-my sister obviously thought I could do the rest alone so why couldn’t I?
I must confess that sometimes when I work quietly and efficiently in the kitchen I can still hear the talk of the guests in the salon. Jesus had a remarkably penetrating voice, and I daresay that if I had tried to be quiet I might have heard what he was saying. No one had actually banished me to the kitchen after all. Well, except me. I did it to myself. And the grumbling inside my head started to come out as clangs, bumps loud enough for others to hear. Yes, I did that on purpose. Because I had let my bad attitude spill over into a martyr-complex that affected not just my sister and my primary guests, but others as well.
I couldn’t take it anymore. Wiping my hands on my apron and smoothing back my flying hair (can’t let on how frazzled I felt I remember thinking self-deceptively), I marched into the room, hands on my hips. Good hostess reputation-well that was quickly going out the window. I was overburdened, distracted and it was my sister’s fault! I knew that if I demanded of Jesus he would set things straight. He knows the roles people are supposed to play and Mary’s role is in the kitchen with me- not sitting idly at his feet like a disciple! With a demanding fire in my eyes I said, “ Jesus help bear my burden. Make my sister get up!”
I knew he would take my side so that is why I risked being so forthright. After all, hadn’t he told that story about a Samaritan and the point of that story was “do the neighborly thing.” This is neighborliness. Anyway, the demand did sound shocking, even to my agitated ears. And he did stop speaking although he did not indicated yet that Mary should get up. All was quiet and the flustering heat of my anxiety was rushing to my face, but then started to leave.
Slowly he said my name. Twice. It was so gentle, so articulate. So much like one who truly cares and sees the situation differently. And oh, he did see it differently. And his words, like a prophet still ring in my ear as I looked from his face to Martha’s and back again.
“Martha, dear Martha, you’re fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing. One thing is essential and Mary has chosen it. It is the main course and won’t be taken from her “ (Eugene Peterson, The Message).
I backed up into the kitchen away from all the faces staring at me, then Jesus and then to Mary and back to me. I had to sit down. I had to figure out what he meant, while the hammering in my chest began to lessen little by little.
The better portion; the main course; this is the kind of meal that cannot be taken away. Obviously he does not mean literal food, I said absentmindedly picking up one of the fresh pieces of bread I had made. I stopped, looked at it and the memory of a verse, flooded into my mind.
God humbled the Israelites by letting them hunger and then feeding them manna ( my mind quickened) in order to make them understand that one does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord (Deut. 8:3).That’s it! That cannot be taken away from Mary- even by me!
I looked at the bread, remembering my nightmare about the wheat harvest and my worries all morning. Bread can be taken away. It has to be made by hand for sure-but someone could come in here and steal it or it could fall on the floor and be trampled in the dust. Anything could happen to this meal, I though staring at the bread in my hands. But what cannot be taken away, the word of the Lord-from the very mouth of God. I gasped. Mary knew what she was doing seating herself right at the feet of Jesus, drinking in his every word-the word of God!
She will have time later to reflect on Jesus, to reflect on Jesus’ teaching, sadly I will not. She somehow knew how to order her life this day as to make the best choice. Not just a good choice, but the best and I could have too.
I had spent my whole day distracted, pulled away, pulled apart, fretting, worrying about my reputation, stewing about my lack of resources, agitating about all manner of daily life and forgetting to let my hunger for God’s word be what drives me. Even as I reflected on whether I hunger for the word of God the way I hunger for food or security, I know another truth.
I’m going to fail in this area again. No doubt about it- it’s my personality. Even though I know service of the hand cannot supersede service with the ear, since the ear guides the heart and the hand (Darrell Bock Baker Exegetical Commentary, 1037).
Martha of Bethany’s diary has been found by archaeologists. I don’t know where. This is her journal entry for the day we read about in the passage. Entirely my imagination.
