Jesus entered a village where a woman whose name was Martha welcomed him. She had a sister named Mary who sat beside the Lord at his feet listening to him speak. Martha, burdened with much serving, came to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me by myself to do the serving? Tell her to help me.” The Lord said to her in reply, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things. There is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part and it will not be taken from her.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
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Imagine the scene in today’s Gospel. Perhaps we’ve experienced something similar before.
Martha’s hair up in a bun, beads of sweat are forming on her forehead, her waist is wrapped in an apron, her joints are inflamed from standing too long, and flour is covering her hands and the floor.
Meanwhile, water is boiling – and so is she.
Storming into the living room, she accuses Jesus of not caring about her burdens while she blames Mary for being the cause of her anxiety.
But Jesus, the divine physician, diagnoses the root cause of Martha’s stress. “You are worried and anxious about many things,” he says. The root of the verb, “worry,” means, “to strangle; to seize by the throat; to tear.”
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At least that day, Martha seized her work by the throat and squeezed any grace out of it.
In her kitchen, all she saw a giant mess. Water boiling over; vegetables half cut; flour everywhere; and a whole lot of “stuff” to get done with a lazy, absentee sister.
Instead, she could’ve imagined:
The Lord’s voice humming beneath that boiling water; his empty stomach soon to be filled; his gratitude for a hot meal – a labor of love; even Mary’s heart being filled with wisdom as she learned from Jesus.
The entire scene is sacred. Her work is sacred. Her homeis sacred. Most importantly, their guest issacred.
But Martha is too focused on “what” she was doing, as opposed to “why” she was doing it, ruining a beautiful liturgy, as it were, in the process.
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How often are we like Martha? We get so stressed by what we are doing that we forget why we ever started? By the end of the day, we might say, in the words of TS Eliot, “We had the experience, but missed the meaning.”
May we relax our hands and hearts, allowing grace to flow freely throughout our day, and so encounter Christ along the way.
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Image credits: (1) iStock (2) Christ in the House of Martha and Mary, Vermeer (3) Etsy
There was a scholar of the law who stood up to test Jesus and said, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him, “What is written in the law? How do you read it?” He said in reply, “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” He replied to him, “You have answered correctly; do this and you will live.”
But because he wished to justify himself, he said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead. A priest happened to be going down that road, but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. Likewise a Levite came to the place, and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him was moved with compassion at the sight. He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them. Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn, and cared for him. The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper with the instruction, ‘Take care of him. If you spend more than what I have given you, I shall repay you on my way back.’ Which of these three, in your opinion, was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?” He answered, “The one who treated him with mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
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Auto-immune diseases – such as type-1 diabetes and arthritis – confuse the body’s natural defense system, so that the body can no longer tell the difference between a healthy and an unhealthy cell.
Normal cells are mistaken for a threat, causing the body to attack itself, leaving a person reeling in pain.
These days, when we gaze across the world of politics, race, religion, and culture, it’s easy to see this “auto-immune” mentality at work.
People will fight against each other over just about anything. We even set boundaries around conversation when meeting new people; we will not talk about this or that, lest we become instant enemies.
What we sometimes fail to realize is that, beneath it all, most people are good. We’re all made in the image and likeness of God, and we all want the same basic guarantees: food, shelter, peace, security, and love.
In a word, we want to live.
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In today’s Gospel, Jesus gives one of his most famous parables, The Good Samaritan, which challenges our understanding of what it means to be a neighbor, or a member of this world we all call home.
Consider the parable through the eyes of the wounded stranger, who has been robbed, beaten, and left for dead. Unlike the other characters in the story, he is not identified by his profession, social class, religion, or ethnicity.
He could be anyone – a Jew or a Samaritan; rich or poor; someone’s brother, a husband, a son. As he faces his death, the ethnic and religious boundaries that likely defined his life are suddenly erased.
He doesn’t care who helps him; all that matters is that someone helps him. A Jew, a Samaritan, anyone capable of compassion because that is what matters in his hour of greatest need – not politics, culture, or religion, but compassion.
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Perhaps we could live our lives with more of that perspective.
Not with the arthritic spirit of division, rather on what unites us: the short passage of time; our need for a good neighbor, our desire to live.
Will you be my neighbor? If so, what might that look like today?
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Image credits: (1) How to Deal with a Problem Neighbor, NY Times (2) Parable of the Good Samaritan, Balthasar van Cortbemde (3) Won’t You Be My Neighbor, Mr. Rogers Documentary
Jesus said to the chief priests and the elders of the people: “Hear another parable. There was a landowner who planted a vineyard, put a hedge around it, dug a wine press in it, and built a tower. Then he leased it to tenants and went on a journey. When vintage time drew near, he sent his servants to the tenants to obtain his produce. But the tenants seized the servants and one they beat, another they killed, and a third they stoned. Again he sent other servants, more numerous than the first ones, but they treated them in the same way. Finally, he sent his son to them, thinking, ‘They will respect my son.’ But when the tenants saw the son, they said to one another, ‘This is the heir. Come, let us kill him and acquire his inheritance.’ They seized him, threw him out of the vineyard, and killed him. What will the owner of the vineyard do to those tenants when he comes?” They answered him, “He will put those wretched men to a wretched death and lease his vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at the proper times.” Jesus said to them, “Did you never read in the Scriptures: The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; by the Lord has this been done, and it is wonderful in our eyes? Therefore, I say to you, the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that will produce its fruit.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
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While Saint Francis of Assisi was selling his father’s fine linens in the marketplace one day, a beggar approached him pleading for alms. Francis spontaneously emptied his pockets, giving the beggar everything he had.
When the story reached his family, he was ridiculed then scolded by his father.
But that gesture of emptying his pockets served as a turning point in his life, when Francis realized that God was inviting him to become the beggar.
Shortly thereafter, he literally stripped himself bare before his bishop in the public square, renounced his family fortune and his disapproving father.
Francis understood instinctively that everything belonged to God – not only the sun, the stars, and the birds in the sky, but also his very own life.
So, he dedicated the rest of his life to responding to God’s call to, “Rebuild my Church.”
On his deathbed at the age of 44, he said to his friends who became the first Franciscans, “My brothers, I have done what was mine to do. Now you must do what is yours to do.”
Francis’ life stands in stark contrast to the religious leaders of Jesus’ day, who were obsessed – not with poverty or self-giving – but with privilege and power.
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In today’s Gospel, Jesus condemns the religious authorities for plotting his death, which is only days away. Just as their ancestors seized and killed the prophets, so Jesus knew they would seize him and put him to death.
“Therefore, I say to you, the kingdom of God will be taken away from you,” he says, “and given to a people that will produce its fruit.”
The religious authorities were like the “wicked tenants” in the Gospel parable, who tried taking possession of what was not theirs – the land they stood on, the winepress, the vineyard, and the fruit it produced.
They ignored the fact that were stewards, not owners, of the property, begging the question, what belongs to God?
And what, if anything, in this world belongs to us?
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As I was being ordained a priest, I remember lying on the cold, hard marble floor of our cathedral. As songs of praise filled the air, echoing deep into my soul, I felt a profound conviction that my life was no longer my own.
I was being ordained to be, in the words of Mother Teresa, “A pencil in the hand of a writing God who is sending a love letter to the world.”
Since then, I’ve struggled to give God not just something, but everything I have – my time, my treasure, my talent, and the deepest hungers of my heart.
Still, I hear him constantly inviting me to bear good fruit. Or, in the words of Francis, “to do what is mine to do.”
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So what does that invitation sound like?
When a parishioner stops me with a heavy heart or has good news to share after Mass; when a giddy, newly engaged couple asks me to celebrate their wedding; when parents ask me to baptize their child.
When the hospital chaplain calls in the middle of the night; when someone is suddenly in need of confession; or when a grieving family asks me to bury their loved one.
That is God asking for my time.
When your children are standing in the foyer, waiting to ambush you right after you return from a long day of work; when they’re eager to talk about their own day; or when they beg you to read them a bedtime story.
When an elderly parent can no longer walk or drive on their own and asks you to bring them to Mass; when your spouse asks you to listen to their side of the story; when someone asks you to pray for them; or when the pastor asks you to get involved in ministry.
That’s often God asking for your time.
When floods come rushing in, sweeping away entire neighborhoods; when families lose their sole breadwinner and have nowhere else to go; when the poor cry out in need.
That’s Jesus calling out to us in distressing disguise.
When the Lord knit us together, and gifted us with an utterly unique fingerprint that nobody else will ever bear, he also gave us a unique set of talents intended for his glory.
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So, when do you hear God calling you to bear good fruit? And how do you respond?
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We are only stewards in this life. Ultimately, everything and everyone belongs to God.
In this Eucharist, may the Lord intercede for us, that we would live generous lives like Francis of Assisi, doing what is “ours” to do, living like a pencil in the hand of a writing God who is sending a love letter to the world.
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Image credits: (1) Walking Humbly With God (2) Witness Tree Vineyard (3) Pinterest
