Open Table, June 2021
Tend the Wound
Luke 10:38-42 (N T Wright): On their journey, Jesus came into a village. There was a woman there named Martha, who welcomed him. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the master’s feet and listened to his teaching. Martha was frantic with all the work in the kitchen. “Master,” she said, coming in to where they were, “don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work all by myself? Tell her to give me a hand!" “Martha, Martha,” he replied, “you are fretting and fussing about so many things. Only one thing matters. Mary has chosen the best part, and it’s not going to be taken away from her.”
Even though Jesus does not specifically name what Mary chose, if you’re like me, you’ve probably heard dozens if not hundreds of sermons on what Mary chose. I assure you, my heart this afternoon is not to add yet another one of those.
I actually want to focus on Martha, but before I do…Mary.
Will you ponder Jesus’s words with me? “Only one thing matters. Mary has chosen the best part…”
What if the best part was an invitation to wholeness, an invitation for Mary to be true to herself? An invitation that Mary fully and completely owned; this is who I am – I am a disciple of Jesus. This is where I want to be – I want to sit at his feet and learn. This is the yes I’m living into in this moment.
This is my holy sacrament - to fully and consciously participate with self-emptying love in this present moment.
What does choosing the best part look like for you? Could it be, as Paul Young encourages, living in the grace of this one day?
And if that looks like sitting at the feet of Jesus, soaking in his teaching and wisdom, sit. If that looks like cooking and serving for you, serve. If that looks like academic rigor for you, study. If it looks like solitude for you, meditate.
“Mary has chosen the best part,” or “the good portion.” She knows what she has said yes to in this moment; and her yes is hers alone. She’s owning what she has chosen, what she holds most precious in the moment. She’s not projecting it or trying to force it on another; she’s not demanding her sister or anyone else take up the causes she’s passionate about or do the same things she does. She’s chosen the best part - she’s given her full attention to this moment she’s said yes to AND she’s not trying to pull her sister out of conscious participation with what she’s said yes to. I am, may you be…
And then, there’s Martha. I wonder… What judgment did Martha make? What did Martha assume about Mary? About Jesus? What lie did she believe? What cultural practices had she normalized and bought into? What assumptions, traditions, and expectations shaped Martha’s role and the way she moved and ordered her existence?
She welcomed Jesus. She was frantic with the work in the kitchen.
Whether this story is literal, metaphorical, allegorical or perhaps a multilayered, complex mix of all three, I’ll leave that for theologians and those scholars who are trained for that discourse. I always like to be clear that I’m neither when entering the conversation. I’m just curious about the text and what Love is inviting me to see.
And while the historical-cultural context of this story certainly is important, I’d like to make a comparative leap through the lens of my own lived experience and invite us to think about:
What assumptions we make with the little we are given of the exchange in this text. What assumptions I’m making as I share my thoughts with you.
What did Jesus observe? Seeing Mary at his feet. Seeing the same Martha who had welcomed him now rushing in anxious and disturbed about many things. What was it like for Jesus to observe this interplay?
I think a lot about systems, people groups and relational dynamics. What I see, what I’d like to see, what moves me, what grieves me and I think about how rigid we can be in what we think is right. And how our sense of certainty doesn’t often leave room for people trying to find their way, their own language. How, in an effort to right the sinking ship of individualism or move too quickly past the discomfort of current events playing out in our day to day, we can paint the collective in such a broad stroke that we lose the distinction and beauty of particularity.
I think about how it scares us when others deviate from our “shoulds” and then what we do with our own fear, the demands we make, the things we say. And over and over again, I keep bumping into this line from The Shack, “I suppose since most of our hurts come through relationships, so will our healing.”
But I’m not certain we can get to healing without acknowledging our hurts. And as I think about all the things, I wonder if we can adequately articulate what we need to heal. Have we sat long enough with ourselves and with Spirit to articulate what is the real cry of our heart in the racial discord and political divide of our day?
If love is the structure in which freedom is governed then how do we live freely with those who oppose or care less about our existence and full humanity? How do we live and move and have our being in concert with others among the dissonance and clashes?
Martha had an idea of what needed to be done and set about doing it. Inside of the execution of that idea, there was never a moment in her mind’s eye where Mary’s assistance was not included in that plan. She assumed her sister would take her proper, “rightful” place in serving their honored guest and his companions. Women were and still are in most settings expected to fulfill these duties.
If I could pull out for emphasis some words I just used – Martha had an idea, had created a narrative or picture, imagined how this would go.
She built a plan around the story she told herself, which included how others (namely Mary and Jesus) should operate in a given role to get to the outcome she desired.
Imagined. Assumed. Expected.
And what happened when things didn’t go as she imagined? Did she spiral into disappointment, frustration? Did she feel abandoned by Mary? Did she get mad at her? At Jesus?
Expectations tie us to outcomes. Expectations are often disappointments waiting to happen because people are one variable that we cannot control, even though it never stops us from trying.
When facing the disappointment of what we imagined, assumed, expected, how do we posture ourselves in relationship to be mended by Love?
How did Martha balance the tension of what she expected her sister to do and what her sister actually did? Did her observation of Mary’s actions become judgment statements, assaults on her character, blame? Was Martha seeking to shame her sister, use her perceived flaws to force what she wanted? How did Martha hold the tension when Jesus did not respond to her request to use his authority to make a paternalistic demand of Mary?
There was so much not said about Mary in what Martha did say.
And so much left to infer in between the lines. Like, we don’t know if she grumbled under her voice. I know I would have if I were the one slaving away unaided in the kitchen weighed down by perfectionism, performative behavior, and societal norms.
But this is the thing about the text, sometimes it says a lot about our complexity as humans without saying much at all.
Even between the lines of what’s not said. Like, when relationships are ruled by a sense of hierarchy and dominance of power it breeds disconnection and distance.
When hierarchy is abolished, relational dynamics shift and each participant is 100% responsible for their part of maintaining connection, meaning they get to choose. Obligation is off the table when Love abounds because Love always recognizes the gift of choice and honors one’s freedom to choose.
Martha demanded that Jesus correct Mary. You have the power, Jesus, force her to do what I want her to do.
But that’s judgments and expectations, right?
We get all up in our heads about how a person should be, should act, what they should do and shoulding all over everything we birth expectations from these convictions of our own expert opinion.
Projections, really, of my own imagination. The story I’ve told myself based on my culture, my background, my religious upbringing, the standards and norms I hold myself to – all these things factor in to how we react or respond in certain situations and then consciously (more often, unconsciously) demand that same response from others. Do it my way or suffer my disappointment.
How did Martha manage herself in this exchange? Did she huff and slam serving trays so Jesus and the others, especially Mary “heard” her disenchantment? How else would the writer know she was frantic in the kitchen? Did she get mad at Jesus’s response or did it trigger a moment of remembrance? Did she come to herself, take a deep breath, and own the part she had chosen?
Again, we don’t necessarily know. We only know that Martha was feeling some kind of way that she was in the kitchen and her sister was not. When she asked Jesus to reprimand Mary and essentially take her side, he did not. Instead, Jesus tells Martha that Mary had chosen the best part.
Is that to say that serving is bad? Making sure your guest has food not a desirable choice? Absolutely not. So, what did Martha do with Jesus’s response? Did it fuel more judgment statements, shoulds, and injured expectations?
Did she own the way she felt and surrender to the moment, yield to acceptance?
As I said earlier, many a preacher have went down a rabbit hole of filling in the blanks on what Jesus’s response meant and what we should take away from these few verses. I don’t want to join them. But I’m struck by the opportunity in this story for us to wrestle with what we do when things don’t go our way. When we have expectations of people to act with decency, honor their responsibility, do what they should do. But they don’t.
Sometimes it’s easier to act out – get frantic, get mad, cuss people out, cut people off – than to own and name what we feel. Like manipulation and control, displays of anger and brashness are often tools we pick up to avoid the hard work of dealing with ourselves.
We avoid asking ourselves Why? Why do I need you to do what I want you to do? Why do I need you to believe what I believe the way I believe it or use the same language I use? Why is sameness so comforting that we set out to recreate the world in our image, with our likes and preferences? Why do we buy into the lie that we can control people? Why have we tied our sense of safety to getting the outcome we most desire instead of trusting in Love’s goodness?
I wonder, how might this story have been re-written if Martha had been able to give herself the validation and permission she wanted Jesus to issue?
To acknowledge her feelings—the power and depth of each one—to give them space to roll through her, to breathe and take on life, to be able to articulate well what was going on inside: “Jesus, I feel left out. I feel alone, abandoned. I feel trapped in gender roles that require me to serve when I too want to sit at your feet and glean.” OR “Mary, when you leave me to handle all the preparation of the meal to myself, I feel angry. I feel frustrated under the burden of having to get it right, get the food out in a timely manner...”
How might our stories be re-written if we were more versed in heart language? What if we lived unafraid, unashamed to hand another a sacred part of our internal world? Completely aware that vulnerability can sometimes feel like running naked through a packed gymnasium, still we decide to trust another inside the place where we process our pain and how things are affecting us. What if we felt our feelings instead of disconnecting from them?
We use a lot of body analogies but live very disembodied realities.
Connection happens when you hear my heart, when you hold my heart with deep regard and I respond in like manner to you. We share how we feel to create opportunities of being known.
One of the most valuable gifts a person can give to someone who says "I feel..." is compassionate listening.
Feelings don't require fixing.
You may feel discomfort in not fixing, in the raw expression of another’s feelings. That is ok.
Discomfort is a necessary tension that helps facilitate growth opportunities. When discomfort arises, touch your heart or the place on your body where you are noticing discomfort, take a deep cleansing breath and offer yourself reassurance: “This is a moment of discomfort. Such moments are common in the world. Even in my discomfort, loving kindness sustains me. And I offer loving kindness to others impacted by this moment as well.”
As a black person and one who aspires to follow the way of Love, in my wrestle with injustice sometimes I struggle to remember that even those who bandwagon what I think are silly theories, those who deny systemic racism exists, or those who choose to be silent in the face of ongoing oppression and police brutality are God’s beloved too.
I am Martha, frantic in my rightness, wanting my brothers and sisters of lighter melanin to jump in the kitchen and help me. Let’s work this out together. I don’t want to serve alone. I don’t want to clean up this mess alone. I want to sit and glean too, but there is so much work to be done.
I am Martha wanting something of Jesus. Jesus, speak to my sister. Speak to my brother. Tell them to help me. I shouldn’t be the only one preparing the food, serving the meal. You’re the authority here, command her to get to work.
I am Martha. With a history slights, whether race related or gender related, overlooked, forgotten, relegated to the kitchen. Invisible threads that weave the fabric of my lived experiences, begging to be seen, to be acknowledged by someone outside of myself. Do I stew in overwhelm until I blow my top, storm out of the kitchen and interrupt whatever is being said – make my hurts known? Demand to be heard because I’ve suffered under the weight of my own plot hole and what’s happening inside of me can no longer wait. I need the outcome I imagined and I need it right now. Jesus, can’t you of all people see? Tell my sister to help me.
I am Martha. We have suffered in silence, unseen for far too long.
I am Martha — grumbling, slamming things – often with a lot of expletives to make sure everyone knows I am upset with Mary and if I’m honest, Jesus too. After all, didn’t I expect him to take my side?
How do I move from upset to right alignment? From frustration to restoration? How do I marvel with awe at the transcendent staring into the bowels of hell? How do I resolve the tension?
How do I move to the place where I’m remembering this person is a burning bush, a sign and a wonder, not an irritant?
For me, judgments, assumptions and expectations cloud the lens of my heart, and when I’m staring out at the world through a dirty lens, there’s no amount of changing what I see until I clean the lens. My eye is not clear and my body is not full of light.
I realize my need to gaze into the eyes of Love. Only Love burns away the whispers, the judgments, the expectations, the demands, the desire for what I perceive to be right. Only Love tends the wound of offense.
Even in the story of Mary and Martha, when I gaze into the eyes of Love, I find hidden underneath the surface of Martha’s frustration, the weightiness of her burden, that another truth is incubating, waiting to yield its fruit.
In Jesus’s response, I don’t hear a denial or even a dismissal of Martha’s angst; I hear an invitation: “Only one thing matters. Mary has chosen the best part, and it’s not going to be taken away from her.”
You can also choose the best part, Martha, and neither will it be taken away from you.
Could it be that choosing the good part unburdens us of our dogged determination to control the outcome of other people’s actions?
Instead, I am Martha, projecting outward; looking for resolution, missing the invitation to sit with Spirit in my feelings, breathe through them—allow them to be as they are within me without judgment or shame. To be present in my body, with my body.
Like Martha, could Jesus be inviting us to consider a different way? There she was likely feeling angst and animosity, a desire to lash out at her sister, perhaps respond ruthlessly but rather than scold Mary herself, Martha beseeches Jesus to command Mary and instead of giving back to Martha what she expected to receive, he offered her a choice.
And I know I keep coming back to that point, but I’m struck by how much has stayed the same in relational dynamics from the writing of that story ‘til now. We still look for someone we perceive has power to save us, to fix our life.
External validation. External permission. External controls.
Martha, what will you choose? How will you orient yourself? Will the way you interact in this relationship lead to further demise or to healing? Will you choose the Way of Love?
Gazing in the eyes of Love does not deny that sometimes we just need a little help in the kitchen. The way of Love does not deny our pain, or the need for continued reform in policies and systems, nor does it mitigate the complexities of the issues that our communities continue to face. But it does free us from the narrative of the negative, from demanding that others conform to performative behavior that best aligns with our ideals.
“Mary has chosen the best part and it will not be taken away from her.”
Martha, will you pause your doing, fulfilling your societal roles, your shoulds and your narratives long enough to gaze in the eyes of Love?
Will you allow Love to inform the way you relate to others? The way you live and move and have your being in the world?
What do we glean from Love when we still our busy-ness enough to rest, to be still and know?
What will rise as we gaze into the eyes of Love?
Tender Mercy, perhaps. Compassion. Unconditional Acceptance. Lovingkindness. Understanding.
May our judgments, assumptions and expectations bow their knee as we sit as the feet of Jesus and gaze into the eyes of Love. May it be so, Lord. May it be so.
Copyright, Felicia Murrell, 2021.
These insights are amazingly timely for me, a 70 year old! My desires are vacillating between caring for community for the rest of my days or reading theology. Thank you! —Maribeth
Posted by: Maribeth Trueblood | July 07, 2021 at 11:40 AM
What refreshing and remarkably timely insights Felicia has prophetically mined from this familiar text! It’s as if Trinity was opening our eyes anew, like the disciples on the Emmaus Road, to see what has been there all along in Scripture but hidden from our perception because of inherited religious, racial and/or gender-based stigmatism.
There is SO much real-world wisdom in Felicia’s article that is worthy of further reflection and honest conversation. Each could fill weeks of transformative conversation for those willing to hold space for the ‘other’ across the unhealed wounds of social injustice as we learn to embody the way of kenotic Love in all of life. With the intensifying of social media driven culture wars that further polarize and paralyze both the Church and society from meaningfully addressing personal and systemic change, we would do well to sit with Felicia’s many soul-searching questions and recognize how often we are unconsciously out of alignment with the uncoercive and unconditional love of our co-suffering God:
“If love is the structure in which freedom is governed then how do we live freely with those who oppose or care less about our existence and full humanity? How do we live and move and have our being in concert with others among the dissonance and clashes?... Why do I need you to believe what I believe the way I believe it or use the same language I use? Why is sameness so comforting that we set out to recreate the world in our image, with our likes and preferences? Why do we buy into the lie that we can control people?”
In light of recent revelations regarding the thousands of unnamed indigenous children lost to the cultural genocide of residential schools here in Canada, for those who are learning what it means to walk the path of real reconciliation, this is a timely call to deeper empathy and vulnerability that authentically enters into the ‘others’ space, place and pain, to listen and learn without self-serving expectations or agenda.
I am so much like Martha, loved and embraced by Jesus as I am, yet so needing “to gaze into the eyes of Love. Only Love burns away the whispers, the judgments, the expectations, the demands, the desire for what I perceive to be right. Only Love tends the wound of offense.”
Felicia, we need to hear more of your voice and look through your lens as Trinity continues to open our collective ears and eyes to prophetically hear, see and respond to what the Spirit is saying. And Brad Jersak and others who carry the vision for The Clarion Journal, thank you for all you have done and are doing. Please keep this depth and calibre of enriching content coming.
Posted by: TrinityFlix_com | June 30, 2021 at 06:47 PM
Michael,
Thank you so much. I greatly appreciate you sharing how this article resonated and the echo for us to sit in Love's invitation together. May it be so, dear brother. May it be so.
Posted by: Felicia Murrell | June 30, 2021 at 06:43 PM