Dig Deeper into Sunday’s Gospel: Read Luke 10:38–42

“Lord, do you not care?”

I read the words that spilled out of Martha’s mouth directed toward Jesus from this week’s gospel, and within my heart, a profound understanding resonated. 

Girl, preach. (That was me, not the Lord.)

If I weren’t already familiar with this passage, I would be expecting Jesus’ response to be one of compassion and understanding. Also, I would expect Him to nudge Mary up off the floor.

Martha desired not only to serve our Lord and His apostles, but to serve them well: the house to be welcoming, the food to be warm and ready, and the guests to be comfortable. In her efforts of hospitality, she wanted to offer Jesus her very best. Her pursuits are noble, all of which warrant empathy.

Yet, while her hands were busy, her heart grew weary. Resentment stirred as Martha glimpsed Mary sitting at ease while she was standing, flustered and laboring.

Martha wanted to serve well, but more importantly she wanted to be well seen in her need, in all she was doing, alone, and for everyone else. What she wanted was someone (looking at you, Mary) to know what she needed without having to ask. And something in her snaps, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me by myself to do the serving?” (Luke 10:40).

It’s as if Martha cried out, "Lord, do you not even see me?"

We’ve all been Martha, haven’t we? How often have we found ourselves whispering, silently praying, or crying aloud something similar?

Lord, do you not care? About my heart? My exhaustion? My loneliness? About me? 

Martha’s world feels achingly familiar, doesn’t it? As women, we bear the burden of numerous roles and responsibilities. We juggle logistics, relationships, emotions, and expectations for those we love, for ourselves, and even for strangers. 

We show up with full arms, often pouring out from empty hearts. We know all too well what it feels like to be unseen, overextended, and burdened by the invisible work of love. We have all felt the tension between striving to do everything perfectly and being perfectly present, between the urgent and the essential. We feel deeply Martha’s anxiety and resentment, and, like Martha, we long for someone—anyone—to notice. 

Jesus notices Martha, but His response is not quite what we expect. “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” (Luke 10:41–42).

(Insert my snarky comments: I’m sorry, is that a reproach for serving? Not even a slight nudge to Mary?)

Upon closer reflection, it‘s less a critical reproach and more a gentle call closer to Him.

Jesus names what He sees, not just Martha’s activity, but her anxiety. No, He doesn’t urge Mary to help, nor does He command Martha to stop serving. Instead, He invites Martha to stop striving. He gently calls her to shift her focus, not outward in frustration, but upward in trust. 

In a culture that glorifies busyness, perfection, and constant availability, choosing the “better part” over productivity can feel radical, maybe even a little lazy. Yet, Jesus names it as precious, necessary, and worthy of protection. Mary is not shirking duty; she is choosing intimacy. She isn’t avoiding responsibility; she is choosing relationship.

Sitting at the feet of Jesus is not about avoiding work or evading our responsibilities or service to others; rather, it’s the choice we make to be filled with His presence before we begin our tasks, to keep the Lord first in our hearts and minds as we serve. One of the most powerful truths in this gospel is not that service is less holy or that it doesn’t matter, but that service means more when Jesus is at the center of it.

When we serve with Him in our hearts, our work becomes more than a to-do list—it becomes worship. We are not the focus of our efforts; He is. 

A meal prepared becomes an offering. A diaper change becomes a moment of hidden holiness. A wiped table becomes a quiet sacrifice of love. A meeting led in charity becomes a reflection of His mercy. When our hearts are aligned with Jesus, even the most ordinary service becomes an extraordinary act of grace.

This gospel meets us where we are—in the whirlwind of our vocations—and reminds us that while our call to serve others is holy and righteous, it must first be nourished by the One who calls us to it.

Mary chose Jesus before all else. And in her decision, she confidently embraced her truest identity, one that Martha, distracted by her many worries, had forgotten; an identity the Lord invites us to receive and reclaim as our own.

Not “perfect workhorse.”
Not “hospitality queen.”
Not “doer of all the things.”
But, daughter, beloved, seen, and cherished by God.

When we serve from this identity, when we begin with His love and not our efforts, everything changes. We yearn to sit with Him as His daughters, because we understand that it is there, at His feet, where we receive the supernatural graces He longs to pour over us—graces that are sure to sustain us in moments of anxiety when we are distracted and burdened with worry. 

Choosing the better part means prioritizing His presence over our performance. As a result, we serve with a full heart, rather than a frantic one. Resentments give way to charity and joy, and the pursuit of perfection is replaced by a peaceful acceptance of being fully known. Our service becomes less about duty and obligation and more about the freedom and generosity of spirit that it brings. 

Maybe Jesus’ invitation to choose the better part is an invitation to be both Mary and Martha, to seek Him first, to be seen well in order to serve well. 

Serving alongside you,
Jeannine

Food for thought or journaling …

Do I invite Jesus into my work or do I carry it all on my own? What is one way I can “sit at His feet” before or during my daily tasks this week? How does reclaiming the identity of “daughter” change how I serve?

Jesus, teach me to choose the better part, You, not by abandoning my work or my duties but by anchoring it all in Your presence. Help me to sit at Your feet and to be still in Your love. Reorder my heart, Lord. Remind me that I am first Your beloved daughter. May all that I do begin and end with You. Amen.

P.S. The journeys of Mary and Martha of Bethany are powerful stories of abiding love and true redemption. Learn more about both of these women, who were so dear to our Lord, in the Walking with Purpose Bible study, Discovering Our Dignity.