Genesis 18:1-10a
Psalm 15
Colossians 1:15-28
Luke 10:38-42
(The content of this sermon was 100% written in Canada by a human)
This morning we hear the story of the two sisters—Martha and Mary—a story that has been interpreted through the centuries. It’s one of those gospel stories that seem straightforward, but when we look at it carefully, we find it’s nuanced, and full of tension. The kind of tension we live in every day.
Jesus is welcomed into the home by Martha. She gets to work. She organizes, she prepares, she takes on the invisible labour that often gets overlooked until it’s missing. Mary, meanwhile, sits and listens—she’s present, attentive, grounded. And then comes that moment we all relate to: Martha, overwhelmed and perhaps feeling a little alone in it all, says to Jesus, “Lord, don’t you care that I’m doing this by myself? Tell Mary to help me!”
It’s a fair question. And Jesus’s answer—“Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things, but one thing is necessary”—has too often been read as a dismissal. Over the centuries, we’ve been told that Martha was wrong, and Mary was right. That contemplation matters more than action. That domestic work is lesser work. And that Martha, the doer, should have been more like Mary, the listener.
But maybe we’ve misread the tone. Maybe Jesus wasn’t criticizing Martha. Maybe he was seeing her.
Martha is not being scolded for working. In fact, she is the one who invites Jesus in. She is extending radical hospitality. She is creating the space where listening can even happen. Her labour is not insignificant. It’s important work.
But something is weighing on her. The text says she is “worried and distracted.” The Greek implies not just busyness, but inner turmoil—being pulled in many directions. That’s the real issue here. Not that she is working—but that she is pulled away from her own center.
Mary, on the other hand, is still. She is rooted. She has chosen to be fully present to Jesus in that moment, despite what may have been expected of her as a woman in that household. She resists the cultural norms of the time—she refuses to be shamed back into the kitchen—and Jesus affirms her place at his feet, in the posture of a disciple.
This is not a story about choosing contemplation over action. It’s a story about the challenge of aligning our inner lives with our outer lives. It’s a story about what it means to be whole.
Let’s bring this story into our own time. Earlier this year, the Canadian Institute for Health Information reported that over the last five years, there has been a 31% drop in mental health-related emergency room visits for young people. Hospitalizations are also down. On the surface, this sounds like good news—and in some ways, it is. But dig a little deeper, and the picture is more complicated.
Doctors are warning that many youth in Canada are still struggling with anxiety, depression, and disconnection. But instead of reaching a crisis point and ending up in emergency, more young people are accessing community-based care earlier—like family doctors, counselors, and mental health programs in schools.
They are learning, in a way, to recognize when they’re becoming overwhelmed—and to choose help earlier. They’re beginning to say, “I don’t have to keep doing all of it alone.” They’re starting to see that slowing down, reaching out, and making mental space is not a weakness, but a strength.
And maybe that’s the kind of choice Jesus is lifting up in Mary—not because it’s better than Martha’s way, but because it reflects a life lived with presence and attention. Because it’s a reminder that we can’t be everything to everyone all the time. And that choosing to listen, to breathe, to be grounded in what matters—that is sacred work too.
Now let’s return to Martha. What if the issue isn’t that she’s in the kitchen? What if the issue is that she feels alone? That she isn’t being seen? She’s not just asking for help—she’s asking to be noticed. She’s asking, in her own way, “Don’t you care about me?” And that is a deeply human question.
How many of us have felt that way? How many of us have done all the work behind the scenes—planned the event, hosted the meal, held the family together—and still felt invisible?
Jesus doesn’t tell Martha to stop serving. He invites her to notice how she’s being pulled away from her own joy. “Martha, Martha,” he says—repeating her name in the style of the prophets, in the tone of love. “You are worried and distracted. But one thing is necessary.”
So Jesus is not saying “You’re wrong,” or “Be more like Mary.” Perhaps Jesus is saying, “Come back to the centre.” In other words, “You are loved not because of what you do, but because of who you are.”
Mary and Martha represent two parts of the human experience. Mary reminds us to pause. To take in the moment. To listen to the voice of God that still speaks, even in the chaos of our lives. And Martha reminds us that care, hospitality, and action are not lesser forms of discipleship. They are necessary. They are sacred. But even the most faithful work must be rooted in love, not anxiety. In purpose, not performance.
Both sisters are faithful. Both are loved. And we are called, not to choose between them, but to embody them both at different times.
This story also speaks to our life in community as a church. We live in an age of deep distraction. We are pulled in many directions—programming, budgets, attendance numbers, social media metrics, cultural expectations. It’s easy to become like Martha—not in her work, but in her worry. We forget why we do what we do. We forget to rest at Jesus’s feet.
And yet, we also know that someone has to make and bring the food for coffee hour. Someone has to unlock the doors. Someone has to plan the next worship service and work on the property.
Martha is alive and well in our churches. And thank God she is. But we also need Mary. We need those people who remind us that listening, learning, and resting in God’s presence are not optional. They are essential. The strategy for a viable expression of who we are in the future requires both.
The good news in our gospel story today is not that one sister is right and the other is wrong. The good news is that Jesus shows up in their home, just as they are. He receives their hospitality, listens to their questions, and calls them both—gently, honestly, compassionately—back to what matters most.
The life-giving news is that we are defined not by the distractions or our duties in our personal lives. We are not more worthy when our calendar is full, or our checklist is complete. We are loved for who we are right now. We are seen now. We are invited to sit and rest and breathe and remember who we are.
It means choosing connection over comparison, presence over pressure, wholeness over hurry. It means knowing that whether we’re making sandwiches or sitting in silence—God is with us. It means trusting that we are not alone in the work, and we are not alone in the stillness either. It means, as our Canadian youth are slowly beginning to teach us, that we don’t have to wait until we’re in crisis to ask for help. We can choose what makes us whole now.
That’s the better part. And it will not be taken from us. Amen.