Listen to Your Heart

We all know someone like Martha, don’t we? We ourselves might even be a Martha. A doer. A fixer. A take-charge-and-get-it-done kind of person.

There’s nothing wrong with being a Martha, and to be honest: I think Martha has gotten an unfair rap. Just like Thomas shouldn’t be remembered as only being the “doubter,” Martha shouldn’t be remembered as the “complainer.”

But she is. The message we often walk away with when we hear this Gospel: Don’t be a Martha. Be a Mary, instead. Sit at the feet of Jesus and adore him. That’s our task; it’s what He wants.

But is it really? The short answer: yes, but not in the way we think.

Too often, when we hear sister Mary being praised for having chosen the better part, we often walk away with: Contemplate. Pray with quiet devotion. Be a humble, listening servant of the One who comes to dine with us. Again, not bad things. We are made for moments like this. We all need times of rest and grace with God, both offering and receiving hospitality in the way Mary offered it to Christ and Abraham offered it to the visitors.  Prayer moments fill us and sustain us, and in ways known only to our Lord, are used by Him for His Kingdom. 

We must choose Mary’s part along our life journey. But that doesn’t mean we have to stop being Martha. Jesus wasn’t telling her to stop being who she is, but he was challenging her: “Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things.”

Well, Jesus, aren’t we all?

Looking at the original wording that Luke uses in his Gospel, he actually has Jesus say to Martha [my modern translation]: “You are making things more difficult for yourself.”

They are hard words to hear, but I actually appreciate the invitation that God holds out here to all of us who have Martha personalities. How are we making life more difficult for ourselves and others?

Martha certainly wasn’t wrong in asking for help. And no doubt she was doing all she was doing out of love for her guest (with a little obligatory hospitality thrown in). We’ve all been in situations where we feel overwhelmed by the task at hand. We want things to be perfect. And yet, in doing all of this, we sometimes lose sight of the reasons why we do what we do for others and for God.

A good priest friend of mine whose first assignment was in a college town north of Harrisburg was on fire for ministry as soon as he was ordained. At his suburban parish, he was head of the youth group; started adult Bible studies; visited the grade school daily; worked with the university students; and offered Mass at 4 area nursing homes and the state prison. His days and nights were filled. He was happy. Balance among the pillars of his life – physical, mental, social and spiritual – were sturdy in those first years.

But the demands kept coming. Demands with fewer volunteers to help. Requests from the diocese and his parishioners; needs that he just couldn’t fill on his own.

The first thing to slip was his prayer time. He told himself that his work was his prayer; if he weren’t so busy, he could make his Holy Hour. Surely, God would understand. 

Within weeks of dropping the prayer time, though, others things started to slip through the cracks: Mass homilies were hit-or-miss; appointments not kept; even times with friends were set aside. By the end of the year, he discerned out of the ministerial priesthood and now works in an upstate department store. “I had enough,” was all he said when I reached out. 

It was his cry of “tell her to help me.” To which Jesus replies, with all compassion: “You are making it harder on yourself, beloved one.”

In what ways are we, too, living in that space? It’s a question that must be examined if we want to grow as a disciple and, quite frankly, as a person of virtue.

Are we making it harder on ourselves by placing burdensome expectations on those around us? Are we jealous of others’ joy or success? Are we spending our days passive-aggressively banging pots and pans in the kitchen instead of honestly and compassionately addressing an important issue with a loved one? Have we replaced God time with mindless scrolling and harmful pastimes? Is our worry and anxiety a result of our own doing?

If the answer is ‘yes,’ then here’s how to choose the better part: First and foremost, return to prayer. It doesn’t matter how or when or where, just do it. It may seem awkward and somewhat distracted or sloppy. And yet, keep showing up. Just like one would when he or she is practicing a sport or activity that is important: Be there. Don’t give up.

Secondly, choosing the better part requires a real openness to humility. Genuine humility is quiet strength: I know when I am wrong and when I need help. I know that I can’t fix everything to my standards. I need not be affected by others’ brokenness or lack of joy. Humility is the way of sitting at the feet of Christ. It is Paul’s way of rejoicing in sufferings for the sake of Christ. Pray for the gift of humility, for when we do, God can do great things in and through us.

Lastly, when the Martha moments come and we begin pointing fingers at others who seem to have missed our memo, it is helpful to remember: the expectations we give to ourselves do not have to be the ones we place on others as a heavy burden. Martha expected Mary to just know that her sister needed help serving. Imagine if Martha took the time to simply ask Mary to give her a hand. Even more importantly, imagine if Martha offered some grace in that moment, perhaps recognizing a weary Mary needed some Jesus time herself to keep from falling apart. Mary, in fact, might have been sitting at the feet of Jesus placing all of her sisters’ worries into His Heart.

“Why, beloved one, are you making things harder for yourself than they need to be?”

This final thought, and it comes from the evangelist of this Gospel who has such a heart for the lost souls who seek the Lord. Just like Mary and Martha, there was another set of siblings in Luke who similarly had an encounter with grace: the younger (prodigal) son who came home after a long period of running from the Father and his older brother who refused to enter the house after coming from the field. One son humbly returned and accepted forgiveness and merciful love. The other, as the story unfolded, remained in a whirlwind of anger, worry and anxiety, most of it his own doing. To which the compassionate Father says: “My child, you are here with me always – everything I have is yours.” 



Why are you making it harder on yourself than it has to be?