Odd images of Martha and Mary

One dear friend of mine, a brilliant woman but not one all that conversant with theology, could never bear mention of Martha and Mary. She would bristle, annoyed that Jesus 'told Martha to get back to the kitchen!' I have many a New Testament text in my library yet, even allowing for that my Latin and Greek can use improvement, I have yet to see any edition which has Jesus saying any such thing. I would not blame Him if he had (apart from the indiscretion of Martha's usurping the servants' position in the first place were she to do so.) With the way the anxious Martha was needling her sister, I would have told her to go to the market.

Martha or Mary are so seldom understood - sometimes with hilarious, if unfortunate, results.

On Saturdays, I often attend a midday service at a charming Anglican church near the library where I am a permanent fixture. The vicar is a welcoming, pleasant man whom I regard highly, but his preaching, shall we say, shall never be compared with that of John Wesley, nor even with Fulton J. Sheen whose folksy genre is well known. I found myself in tears from suppressed laughter at his sermon today - and am still trying to decide whether he meant it to be funny at all. (Correction - I think he did intend humour, but not for the reasons that made me nearly fall on the floor.)

Content was along these lines:

"Most of us have to work. We all know people with a more passive approach to life, and they usually have people to wait on and take care of them. I never had that - I might like to try it, but I'm not good-looking or rich enough to find someone to support me. I picture myself flipping hamburgers. I cannot understand Mary's sitting listening to Jesus, so I leave it to your own meditation. Let us just hope that, in heaven, Martha gets to rest while Mary does the work."

I come from a Franciscan background, and, if Francis' gift for contemplation is undeniable, nonetheless the Order is one where constant work (whether 'in the vineyard,' because of demands of the house or neighbourhood, or for no reason other than that superiors fear a moment unoccupied might lead the underlings to idle and useless talk) is the norm. I'm an anomaly in being an intellectual Franciscan. Bonaventure, Anthony of Padua, and John Dun Scotus notwithstanding, the intellectual sorts are an embarrassment. It is stressed that Bonaventure was cooking when he received his cardinal's hat, and that Anthony was so unprepossessing that no one even knew he was a priest until there was a situation where one was immediately needed.

I was an avid Martha for many years, I must add (and, like many Franciscans, unfortunately neglected my intellectual development in the process.) Adjusting to the life of 'a Mary' is difficult. A part of me cherishes the life - the other teases that it has no value and is mere indulgence. I alternate between gratitude, even awe, that I could be privileged to have intimicy with Christ and serve his Church in a hidden but special manner - and the knowledge that 99% of people, including the clergy, well might hope that Mary is flipping burgers in heaven while Martha gets a rest. (Calvinist influence, undoubtedly... I have papers on that topic, which I shall be happy to photocopy for anyone interested.)

The life of the contemplative is not, and never was, understood. The mystics of whom I have written on my site had to live with the doubt, questioning, uncomfortableness, to which I have made reference on this entry. They were valued, in an era when purgatory seemed to loom, as intercessors, but I doubt too many people saw them as anything except puzzling, totally dependent oddities. (Essays on those from the 4th century who really were parasites seeking exemption from taxes or the military also are available on request...) The 14th century "Rule for Anchoresses" gives the impression, considering how much its author cautions against this, that the solitaries were thought of, if at all, as ready ears for village gossip.

Martha would see Jesus raise Lazarus from the dead, and would confess that He was the Christ - she cannot be seen as having a lack of inspiration or openness to same, and one cannot be much more intimate with Jesus than having him as a dinner companion. Martha well may have provided at least a part of the support for the Son of Man who had no place to rest his head. Yet she herself could not see the 'best part' which Mary had chosen.

So, through the centuries, the Marys of this world shall inspire a frown. If recognition of this ever troubles me, I shall laugh at the memory of this new image: Mary flipping the hamburgers, Martha finally not troubled and anxious.