Martha is hard at work preparing for dinner in the kitchen. She is dicing the carrots, washing the salad, and setting the table with her very best wedding china, which she’s only used 2-3 times before. She got a roast from the local butcher, but she’s having trouble keeping her eye on it. She’s just too busy, and she’s worried it’s going to burn. And if it burns, dinner will be ruined, and all her guests in the very next room will go hungry. Where is Mary!

Martha peaks around the doorway, sweat dripping on her brow as she wipes her hands on her apron. In the living room, she sees Rabbi Jesus, her honored guest, sitting in the big-leather comfy chair. That’s perfect. He deserves the place of honor. She looks at the sectional and finds his twelve disciples and her brother Lazarus all either sitting along the sofa or relaxing on the floor. Also good. Nothing but the best for Jesus, his followers, and her brother, the breadwinner of the family.

But then she spots her sister, Mary! Air-head Mary is literally sitting at the feet of Jesus, her knees pressed up against her chest, looking up to Jesus, an expression of wonder and awe on her face, soaking it all in. Martha just about loses it! She’s been the host. She’s taking care of Jesus! Isn’t that what they, as the women, should be doing? But Mary, Mary is acting like one of the men! Mary is pretending to be a disciple, and if she pretends to be a disciple, who knows what she might do next!

Mary should be in the kitchen serving, just like Martha! And so Martha stops what’s she’s doing, walks elegantly into the room, and when Rabbi Jesus turns his head to her, she asks, ever so sweetly, with just a splash of New-England bite, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself?” And then she adds, more forcefully, “Tell her to help me!!”

Mary looks up at her sister Martha with a look of shock and dismay on her face. Martha hardly gives her a glance but directs her attention to Jesus. Jesus looks at Martha for a moment, and in that moment, Martha’s determination begins to fade. She can see it in his eyes. She’s not going to like what he says. “Martha Martha,” Jesus says, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.” (see Luke 10:38-42)

And like slowly letting the air out of a balloon, Mary deflates with a squeak. By all outward appearances, Martha was right. Martha was the homemaker, preparing dinner for the guests. As a woman, Mary should have been helping Martha. But Jesus saw beyond the busyness, saw beyond Martha’s role, saw further into Martha than Martha ever thought possible. Jesus doesn’t condemn Martha, but he does call her, just like he’s calling Mary, and just like he’s calling you. What will Jesus say when he calls you? Are you ready to hear his voice? Are you ready to head his call?

Jesus doesn’t rebuke Martha for serving. Not at all. Rather, Jesus calls her not to judge Mary. I think he may also be calling her to enjoy his presence, to slow down and listen to him, a call we can all hear. Who are you judging? What expectations are you placing on others? How might Jesus subvert your expectations?

Mary is crying. She’s not just crying. She is weeping. Tears are rolling down her face. Her gut aches. She is gasping for breath. It comes, she breathes, but then she remembers. Her brother Lazarus is dead. And the tears come again. They come rolling, streaming gushing down her face till she’s all cried out. And then she sits there, hollow, rocking, tired, exhausted, angry, guilty, depressed, dry.

Not ten minutes earlier, Mary saw her sister Martha slip out of the room. Mary knew where Martha was going. He has finally arrived, Rabbi Jesus, the one she loved and admired so much, who could perform miracles and heal the sick. But she wasn’t going out to meet him because when she and Martha had sent word to Rabbi Jesus that their brother was sick