Skip to main content

Martha, Martha

How would you feel if Jesus showed up at your house?  And not alone, but with 10-12 of his friends, all of them tired and hungry from traipsing around the dusty countryside.



Christ in the House of Martha and MaryJohannes Vermeer, before 1654–1655, oil on canvas (National Gallery of ScotlandEdinburgh) – Mary is seated at the feet of Jesus “"Almost all his paintings", Hans Koningsberger wrote, "are apparently set in two smallish rooms in his house in Delft; they show the same furniture and decorations in various arrangements and they often portray the same people, mostly women “ [Wikipedia



Reading from the Gospel according to Luke, at 8:00 mass, Friday, July 22, the Feast Day of St. Martha [i]:

Luke 10:38-42

38 As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village[ii] where a woman named Martha opened her home to him.

39 She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said.

40 But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”

41 “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things,

42 but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

The priest who said the mass (not one I recognized) delivered a glib and uncharacteristically humorous homily—more like a comedy monologue--beginning: “My name is Martha and I’m a workaholic.” He went on to portray Martha, and those like her back in that day, even into the present, whose role is to do the preparation and work for big events. In this case, the priest imagined her organizing the Sermon on the Mount. First, she (or someone like her) would have to reserve the venue. After all, the Mount may already have been reserved for another event. Then she’d have to print and distribute the flyers. And then make sure there were enough Porta-Potties for the assemblage and supervise their placement—neither too close nor too far from the crowd. And make sure that the Lord’s podium was visible to all and that the acoustics were good, etc.

It was Friday and the turnout for this particular early mass was pretty good—maybe 50-60. By the end of his monologue, the priest had everyone chuckling. Maybe we weren’t expecting the humor. His point was not exactly original: If you get distracted by practical necessities, however good your intentions, you might be missing something more important. [iii]

I had a strange emotional moment at the very end of his homily. I got a lump in my throat and started choking back tears; no idea why. It was entirely involuntary, similar to my reaction when I see and hear live bagpipers.

I wondered about three adjectives in the passage that seemed to me perhaps unduly modernized.

Distracted, verse 40

KJV gives “cumbered.” --nice word, but a bit obsolete.

Greek is περιεσπᾶτο, a verb (passive), “Was distracted”

Worried and upset, verse 41

KJV gives “careful” and “troubled.”

Greek is μεριμνᾷς (v. “be anxious”) καὶ θορυβάζῃ ( “and troubled” )[iv]

Far be it for me to put words in the Lord’s (or Luke’s) mouth. But these are all translations anyway, and if it were up to me, I’d go with preocccupied for περιεσπᾶτο, anxious for μεριμνᾷς, and disturbed for θορυβάζῃ.

With all that, I think the adjectives in each version give a fair approximation of how Martha was feeling, or at least how the Lord perceived her feelings, or at the very least how Luke interpreted the encounter:

What strikes me now, as I reflect again, is how Martha seemed not to be overawed by the Lord’s presence in her house. She felt familiar enough to him to express her feelings openly, even at the risk of his mild rebuke, which was in fact forthcoming.

What the scripture does not include is what Martha felt and thought after Jesus spoke to her. A modern woman, at least one of them who trained me back in the early 1970s, might consider the Lord’s remarks to be condescending or patronizing.

Here’s how I imagine the following verses:

43b And hearing the Lord’s words, Martha’s face did grow red from his reproach.

44b And she did grumble inwardly, and wax sarcastic, thinking: Well it is for sister Mary, who loungeth comfortably and soaketh up the Lord’s teaching. But she worketh not.

45b Meanwhile, there is much to do around this house to feed Him and His disciples. And no one but Martha, Martha to do the work. Indeed, it would be well if there were two Marthas, or even more.

46b Unless indeed our Lord were to work another of his miracles and have the dinner prepare itself, and then clean up afterwards.

[i] Also for her siblings Mary and Lazarus, much more about whom occurs elsewhere in Scripture.


[ii] Identified elsewhere as Bethany, about two miles from Jerusalem. Perhaps most famous as the place where Lazarus was resurrected by Jesus.


[iii] See also, for example, Mary and Martha Bible Story Teaches Us About Priorities (learnreligions.com)


[iv] I found a nice reference too online, with each Greek word defined: Luke 10:41 Interlinear: And Jesus answering said to her, 'Martha, Martha, thou art anxious and disquieted about many things, (biblehub.com)

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Adventures in Reading Part I: Why I Don't Read Novels Anymore

  February 18, 2022 Something on the Internet recently reminded me that this month marks the Centennial of the publication of the much-celebrated and seldom-read novel Ulysses by James Joyce.   It may have been an article in the New Yorker : “Getting to Yes,” by Merve Emre, an Oxford scholar. [i]   I read the article with an interest that was mixed with a specific nostalgia for the times (twice) that I read Ulysses (lo these many years ago), and a more general nostalgia for the times I read fiction at all.   It seems I don’t read novels anymore and I wonder what happened. The last novel I read was A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles.   According to my “Read (already been read)” [ii] list on Goodreads, I finished it in August, 2020, a year and a half ago. I’m fairly certain that’s the longest novel-free period of my life, at least since I started reading fiction while in junior high school, more than 55 years ago.   I’m wondering now whether to star...

Tattered Blue Genes

  Tattered Blue Genes My chromosomes are jumbled up, but I still got twenty-three With genes a-plenty, all mixed up From Ma and Pa, and their Mas and Pas that somehow make up “Me.” Momma had blue eyes, So do I. Daddy had brown eyes; Their genes are why. Sister got the brown eyes, pretty impressive. I got the blue ones; I think they recessive. Talkin’ about brains, it was easy to see I was taller than than them, but uh, They was both smarter than me. I’ve managed to get old, Thru no virtue of my own, Ain’t no denyin’. Just the luck o’ the draw, And I ain’t afraid of dyin’ Just lucky to be here, Got to be this age, Tho’ my powers is declinin’ Natural thing at this stage, so uh, Ain’t no use whinin’.   These genes o’mine will go unsown, All o’ which, I don’t mind sayin’: Sweet bird o’ youth has flown. I’m the last o’ the line Which I find a bit dismayin’. Them other people’s genes will do just fine But my telomeres are...

Lost Fragment of Marcus Aurelius

 “On Losing Again in the Tournament” Meditations , Book XXIV, lines 50-62 (My translation) Now again our brave lads lie bleeding and broken on the hardwood, Ridden roughshod over by the implacable foe, Yea, the merciless mercenary host from the East, And abandoned again by the unjust zebra-striped officials. And scorned by the scurrilous scribes. Now, again, our fondest hopes are dashed, Our families and friends cover their faces to hide their shame and grief. Even before the tender buds sprout from the trees, And the crocus and daffodil shoot forth from the wet dirt, Lo, the birds, so unconcerned with the affairs of men, Sing from the branches, searching for mates. So again, as every year, our fondest aspirations lie ruin’d in dust, Therefore, we must compose our hearts and minds, Equanimously to relearn the lesson we have learned every year, But have apparently forgotten, our memories annually befogged by Lethe: O, fellow fans! Why rend your raim...