ALICE KIM | CONTRIBUTOR

Some time ago, I came upon a word sign that hung as the backdrop to an extended farmhouse table at a restaurant in Texas. It read, “where everyone has a seat at a table.”

In Luke 10:38-42, the story debuting Martha and Mary, we discover that there is an empty seat waiting to be filled.

An Invitation to Sit at the Table

The scene opens with Martha welcoming Jesus and his disciples for rest from their itinerate schedule and a home cooked meal. The guests settle in, and Martha is busy with food prep. Mary is co-hostess, but she has abandoned her duties and is instead sitting amongst the company of men, savoring the teachings of Jesus. Aware of this, Martha is upset, and understandably so.

She expected her sister to be by her side, shouldering the responsibility together but from her vantage point, Mary deserted her. Her discontentment is uncontainable, so she takes matters into her own hands. She turns to Jesus and is uncomfortably frank, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone?” (v. 40).

Furthermore, her ability to influence her sister to return to the kitchen is beyond her realm of control. So, she insists Jesus tell Mary to do what she should have been doing all along, and ASAP. But perhaps the worst part is the feeling that her sister doesn’t care and now, she doubts if Jesus cares.

I admit, my easily disgruntled heart sounds eerily similar: Don’t you care? Don’t you see? Do you not know? Because if you did, you would __________________, fill in the blank. You would call or text, visit, offer help, ask how I’m doing, and ultimately, I would not be suffering and be in this precarious predicament, alone. And when I’m unable to manipulate the situation to a desired outcome, I like Martha, demand others to act on my behalf.

Rather than humbly asking for help, the fear of not being heard overshadows me. Or I hide behind the self-entitled belief that I’m right and you’re wrong. I carelessly attack and blame, become readily defensive, and allow resentment and bitterness to fester. I fail to consider the fuller story and entertain that my vision is limited.

When Martha voices her displeasure, Jesus responds “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her” (vv. 41-42).

An Invitation to Something More

Carolyn Curtis James suggests, if our primary take away from their exchange is that Jesus is deeming one action as ideal and exemplary while the other is to be avoided; or he is rewarding Mary for having rightly ordered priorities but rebuking Martha for being distracted by a good thing but not the best thing; or that the gift of hospitality should be exercised without grumbling and falling prey to comparison, then, we’ve missed something vitally important.

In When Life and Belief’s Collide, Carolyn suggests, “Jesus wasn’t drawing lines or categorizing women by personality type and interests. He was defining priorities for all of us, and more important, drawing Martha into a deeper relationship with himself.”^[1] He neither shames her nor sends her back to the kitchen without support, for he knows Martha’s greatest need is not a sous chef, but for her to know that he sees, cares, and longs for her to worship him.

The scene ends here, and we are not privy to whether Martha delegated hosting duties to take a seat next to Mary or resumed food service. But we do know what Jesus did.

He met Martha where she was, deep in her distress. He took time to speak life into her distracted heart, starting with her name, “Martha, Martha.” Then he gave words to her struggle, “you are troubled about many things” (v. 41). He also broke down barriers.

In the Graeco-Roman culture of Jesus’ day, women are not seen in the front row of a classroom or any classroom for that matter. And sadly, in many cultures still today, women are excluded from a seat at the main table. In my home growing up, my mom was in the kitchen while my dad chatted with guests in the living room. When it was time to eat, she sat on the floor at a traditional Korean folding table with the other women and their children, while the men sat at the formal dining table.

But Martha’s story tells us that there is a seat reserved for you, with your name on it.

By celebrating Mary’s unapologetic and audacious choice, Jesus confronted cultural norms, especially those that violated or hindered his intended design for his image bearers. He enlarged Martha’s imagination to include belonging at his feet and partaking in something far more glorious. He extended the invitation to Martha to join her sister at the highly coveted seat and to be a part of his cohort of disciples. This is unconventional, radical, and noteworthy.

Jesus met Martha where she was; how much more will he do so for you? Jesus called her name to get her undivided attention and to draw her to himself; how about you? He knew what troubled her. Surely, he knows the burdens you bear; the season of business, weariness, being spent for others and having very little for yourself; the drought, headache, doubt, loneliness you battle; even the dreams and desires that have been put on hold. And in the middle of it all, he pulls out a chair for you. He loves you.

^[1] Carolyn Curtis James, When Life and Beliefs Collide (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2002), 223.

Photo by Hannah Busing on Unsplash