A religious scholar, a wounded traveller, a Samaritan and two sisters walk into a kitchen … (Listen here.)
Some years ago, I attended a church which held a meal after the service. As a bunch of mostly women heated soup and sliced bread and as I set the table, a seated-as-usual woman said smugly to me, ‘I’m such a Mary. I always sit and listen to Jesus.’ Quite frankly, I wanted to slap her.
If ever there’s a story which makes women angry, it’s probably this one. Mary, that goody two-shoes, is lazing adoringly at Jesus’ feet, while I – well, I’m stuck in the kitchen washing the bloody dishes and making sure there’s food to eat. Because someone has to cook the dinner and someone has to set the table and someone has to clean up afterwards. And if everyone just lolls about listening to Jesus, we’d never eat dinner and the house would be a mess. Yet Jesus praises Mary. Typical.
As we all know, this is a story about discipleship, and discipleship means following Jesus. And as we all know, typically male prerogatives, that is, being mentored and wrestling with scripture, are best. And so women the world over feel belittled and resentful as they stir the pot and serve the meal and do the dishes afterwards, while men sit around doing ‘the one thing’ of listening to Jesus.
At least, this is how we hear the story when we read from the dominant point of view. We observe that Jesus praises Mary, who has exploded traditional gender norms and adopted the position reserved for male disciples: sitting at the feet of her teacher. We conclude rightly from this that both men and women are invited to be Jesus’ disciples.
But then we go on to denigrate women’s work, for there are countless sermons and commentaries telling Martha to hang up her apron and, in effect, act like a man. They say that to be worthy she must be like Mary, without ever wondering who will make dinner. In other words, what they see is a woman doing household labour, and then they belittle both it and her.
There’s a scene in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy where Trillian zaps the President of the Galaxy, Zaphod Beeblebrox, with a point-of-view gun. Like many presidents, Zaphod is a narcissist. But when he’s zapped with the point-of-view gun, he suddenly sees the world and himself through her eyes. He reels in shock and horror, then grabs the gun to zap her back. But Trillian looks at him and shrugs. ‘It won’t affect me,’ she says sadly. ‘I’m already a woman.’
It’s a cliché not without truth. As those who buy children’s books will know, most books are marketed by gender. Books with black or grey covers and spaceships and aliens and robots and soldiers are clearly pitched at male readers. Books with pink or colourful covers and pictures of rainbows and ponies and fairies and friends are clearly marketed to girls. But what happens next is interesting. Boys tend to stick to books assigned-male-at-publication, while girls tend to read more widely. And so boys learn to identify with primarily male characters, while girls learn to see the world through everyone’s eyes.
Similarly, when women read the Bible they tend to identify with both female and male characters in all their mess and glory. They know what it is to be one of the faithful women who follow Jesus and support his ministry; they also see themselves in Peter, the archetypal disciple, Thomas, who doubts and questions, and even the betraying Judas. And when women (and men) read a story about two people who happen to be men, they don’t particularly notice that it’s men: they just get on with their usual wondering: Who do I identify with? What is the living Word saying through these characters? How am I being encouraged or challenged? What is my response?
But I’m not convinced that this happens when people read stories about women. As often as I’ve heard women identify with male characters, I’ve not once heard a man strongly identify with a female character in the Bible. And when people read a story about women, they only seem to notice the female bit. This is what happens in a culture like ours, where male is perceived as normal and women are perceived only in their so-called ‘difference’ to that presumed norm. So a story about men is a story for everyone, while a story about women is for the ladies. This is why Martha’s housework is so often denigrated. ‘Be like Mary!’ say the preachers while never really admitting it’s because she acts like a man.
Jesus, however, incarnates a different culture which sees beyond gender and recognises both men and women in their full humanity. The male writers of the gospel may not have included women among the twelve, but women are everywhere: following Jesus, supporting Jesus, listening at his feet, serving him, being held up as examples, and being healed, rebuked, encouraged, challenged and listened to, just like the men. For as the apostle Paul reminds us, in Christ there is no male and female: all are one in Christ Jesus, all heirs according to the promise (Galatians 3:28-29, paraphrased): and it is this Christ-culture we are striving for. What happens, then, if we explore the story of Mary and Martha assuming it’s a story for everyone?
The first thing we might notice is this: Jesus does not actually criticise Martha’s activity per se. He has no problem with her cooking dinner, and it would be completely inconsistent if he did. For the story of Mary and Martha comes immediately after a story about service. We usually call this story The Good Samaritan but really it’s a story about religious scholars. The first religious scholar is talking with Jesus. This man has by definition sat at the feet of rabbis his whole life and now has young men sitting at his feet, and he’s asking Jesus the rabbi to pinpoint the definition of neighbour. In response, Jesus tells a story. A traveller is brutally beaten and left for dead on the side of the road. First a priest then a religious scholar see him, but each avoid the injured man. Then along comes a Samaritan, who dresses the man’s wounds then carries him to safety and shelter. The person who proves to be a neighbour is not the authority on faith, but an irreligious foreigner who offers practical care.
The story of Mary and Martha comes right afterwards. So straight away we know that Martha’s housework isn’t being critiqued. We’ve just learned that neighbourliness is not defined by religious authority but by service: and service is what Martha is offering. She has invited Jesus into her dwelling and is preparing a meal for him: so far, so good.
What, then, does Jesus critique? ‘Lord,’ says Martha, ‘don’t you care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her to help me!’ Notice that Martha doesn’t speak directly to her sister. Instead, she triangulates. It’s passive aggression at its finest. For she tries to rope in a powerful guest, using him for her own purposes: Jesus becomes an object to her. ‘Tell her to get off her butt and set the table!’ she says to Jesus – and Mary is right there, listening.
Martha invited the guest, then blames Mary for not helping. Martha welcomed the guest, then rebukes him for not caring. In her words of accusation, she is speaking with the voice which condemns and divides, the voice more commonly known as Satan. This is what Jesus rebukes. Not Martha’s domestic work, not her cooking, for in God’s kingdom-culture, service is ministry. (In fact, ministry and service are the same word – diakoneo – translated differently depending whether the story is about women or men.) Instead, Jesus rebukes the voice pouring from Martha which tears her and her sister apart.
It’s to this that Jesus responds, saying, ‘Only one thing is essential.’ And this one thing is not any particular action or approach. It’s not Mary versus Martha, scholarship versus hospitality, spiritual versus material, contemplation versus action. Instead, this one good thing is to be in communion with God, the source of integration and wholeness.
‘Dwell in me,’ Jesus says in John, ‘and I will dwell in you.’ In today’s story, told by Luke, Martha has invited Jesus into her dwelling. In other words, the writer is telling us that Martha is inviting Jesus Christ into her very self. But for Christ to make a home in Martha, some things will need to change.
This is what happens when we invite Christ in: we are renovated from the inside out. Maybe our heart of stone will be transformed into a heart of flesh, able to feel both joy and lament. Maybe our tight grip on money will be relaxed into an open-handed generosity. Maybe fear and anxiety will no longer control us, and we will begin to live with trust. Maybe we’ll stop thinking of religion as right definitions and right words, and start engaging in right practice. Maybe we’ll learn to guard our tongues, and reject the voice of the Accuser. Maybe we’ll feel called to upset some gender norms and more women will start preaching while more blokes will start listening and serving and enabling the women to sit. Whatever: there are many paths.
But at the heart of every path lies integration. The story of the Good Samaritan shows that faith is not about being a clever religious scholar, or sitting at the feet of the right rabbi, or saying or thinking the right things, unless these things lead to right action. Thoughts and prayers are all very well, but in the absence of medical care, housing and hot soup, thoughts and prayers are pretty hollow. Conversely, the story of Mary and Martha shows that medical care, housing and hot soup are not the be all and end all either. We can run around for Jesus like a headless chook, but if all it leads to is rivalry and resentment, then our activity is pretty hollow, too. Jesus is calling us to an integrated life where all things are reconciled, and faith and action, word and deed, sing in harmony.
For some of us, this means more soup-making. For others, it means more listening to Jesus. For the Community of St Mark’s, I suggest, it means continuing to participate in the decades-long dance between social justice and contemplation. And for all of us, it means noticing the voice of accusation whenever it rises within us, and confessing and letting it go.
I imagine a next chapter to this story, in which Martha puts down her wooden spoon and apologises, then drapes an arm around her sister as she sits. When they’ve listened some more and when they’re both ready, they head into the kitchen with the religious scholar, the wounded traveller, the Samaritan and Jesus. Then these thinkers and teachers and victims and enemies and disciples and cooks and women and men join forces. Together, they prepare a feast for all people; together, they splash the dishes clean.
God be in our thinking, our praying, our working and our loving; Christ be at the heart of our discipleship: Amen. Ω
Reflect: How do you integrate Mary and Martha in your own life? In your community? Alternatively, do you ever identify with female biblical characters? If not, what is the obstacle? How might seeing beyond gender enrich your faith? Why not ask God to remind you of a female biblical character, then spend some time praying through her eyes.
Reflection on Luke 10:38-42 shared with the Community of St Mark, Clifton Hill (Baptist), on 20 July 2025 (Proper 11 Year C) © Alison Sampson, 2025. Image shows Christ in the House of Martha and Mary by Diego Velázquez. National Gallery, London – online collection, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=9459265.
Alison and the whale 