Introduction
Luke 10:38–42 comes immediately after the parable of the Good Samaritan, and the juxtaposition is key. In the previous passage, Jesus told the lawyer to “go and do likewise.” Now, Jesus enters a home, and the contrast between “doing” and “being” becomes central.
This is not just a story about personalities or domestic disagreements between sisters. It’s part of a larger theological pattern in Luke’s Gospel, where hospitality, listening, and discipleship intersect.
Mary and Martha’s story isn’t a rejection of service, nor is it a simple corrective of contemplation over action. Rather, it calls into question the quality and attentiveness of our discipleship. Are we serving in love, or serving with resentment? Are we distracted by tasks, or grounded in presence?
This story doesn’t negate the call to serve our neighbor. It reminds us that to serve with integrity, we must also sit and listen. Love of God and love of neighbor aren’t competing priorities; they must be held in rhythm.
Personal Context
As the baby of the family with four older siblings, my role in the household evolved quite a bit over time.
When I was little, I didn’t have many responsibilities. I was just too young to do most chores, and luckily for me, my older siblings were all old enough to pick up the slack. So when family came to visit (like aunts and uncles) I had the best seat in the house. While my siblings vacuumed, cooked, and straightened up, I sat happily on someone’s lap, soaking in stories and snacking on whatever goodies were within reach.
My siblings called me spoiled.
I preferred the term enlightened.
But things changed. There’s a big age gap in my family (my oldest sibling is 15 years older than me, and the closest in age is 6 years older). So by the time I hit sixth grade, everyone else had moved out. Suddenly, I wasn’t the baby anymore. I was the only one left at home… which meant one thing: the chores were now mine.
When people came to visit, I was the one helping to prep the guest rooms, folding towels, checking that the shower had shampoo, conditioner. I’d stock the fridge with sodas, check the snack cabinet to make sure we had enough chips, and then during the visit, help with meals and dishes, tidy up toys, fetch drinks, and try to keep the chaos under some form of control.
I remember one Christmas in particular, I was 17, had just gotten my license, and fully conscripted into hosting duty. All my siblings came home, with their spouses and children in tow. And suddenly they were the guests, and I was the one doing all the things.
It felt like three full days of running around: cleaning, organizing, playing fetch-the-juice-box, and being sent to the grocery store for “just a few things”—milk, eggs, bread, peanut butter, jelly. You know, the basics for feeding a small village.
**Now, this is all according to my memory of being 17 and convinced that this entire situation was deeply unfair. In reality, my parents were still doing the lion’s share of the cooking, cleaning, shopping, and hosting. But at the time, I felt like I was single-handedly holding Christmas together.
By the end of day three, I was praying for it to be over. And when they finally left, I collapsed on the couch, the quintessential picture of teenage angst.
But an hour or two went by, and I realized afterward that I had no idea how any of them were doing. I didn’t know how work was going, how school was going for my nieces and nephews, or what was new in their lives. I had spent the whole holiday working around them, or more than that, being bitter about it all. And I never actually spent time with them.
Narrative Context
Martha’s frustration is deeply relatable. Her hospitality is sincere, but it becomes clouded by distraction and worry (especially when she feels she’s shouldering the responsibility alone). We can hear the exhaustion in her voice: “Lord, do you not care…?”
There’s also significant societal and cultural context embedded in this narrative that we can’t ignore. In first-century Jewish households, hospitality was not just a matter of kindness but of honor and obligation. Women were expected to provide behind the scenes, managing meals and home space while men engaged in theological or public discussion. The assumption would be that both Mary and Martha should be serving.
And yet, Luke gives us a scene that breaks open that system.
Mary does something radical: she refuses the traditional role and instead sits “at the Lord’s feet.” That phrase is not incidental. In Luke-Acts, “sitting at someone’s feet” or kneeling is a phrase reserved for discipleship or someone interacting with Jesus (recall the man healed from the demon Legion sitting at Jesus’ feet when he’s found by the townsfolk). Mary is positioning herself not as a passive listener, but as a student (a disciple). She chooses presence over productivity, and in doing so, claims a place/space in the inner circle of disciples.
Meanwhile, Martha is doing everything she believes is expected (preparing the home, feeding the guests, showing love through action). And Jesus does not condemn that. He doesn’t say Martha’s service is unimportant or wrong. But he does name what’s going on beneath it. She’s distracted, worried, and isolated.
The scandal of this scene is not that Martha is serving. It’s that she’s missing the presence of Christ right there in her own living room. You might go as far to say, she’s working for Jesus, but not with him.
That’s the theological heartbeat of this story. Discipleship isn’t just about what we do for Jesus, it’s about being with Jesus. It’s not about abandoning service but about grounding it in relationship.
This passage is often misused to pit attentiveness against action. But Luke’s placement of this story immediately after the Good Samaritan parable (a call to active mercy) suggests that the two belong together. Love of neighbor and love of God are not opposites; they are two movements of the same faithful rhythm. One cannot sustain love of neighbor without first being rooted in the presence and voice of Christ. And presence with Christ will always compel us outward in mercy and justice.
In Martha’s house, Jesus doesn’t dismiss her labor, he invites her into relationship. “There is need of only one thing.” That one thing isn’t passivity, it’s presence. It’s choosing to be centered in Christ so that we won’t become consumed by everything else.
Preaching Possibilities:
Hospitality is More than Tasks
In many of our congregations, hospitality looks like ushers, cookies, casseroles, and church clean-up days. These are valuable and often beautiful expressions of service. They reflect a willingness to give of ourselves, to prepare a space for others, and to help our community feel safe and welcome. But this week’s Gospel pushes us to reflect on these and to go deeper.
Hospitality isn’t just about making things ready. It’s about being ready to see and hear the person in front of us.
So many of our ministries are built around acts of service: food drives, clothing collections, donation campaigns. And these are deeply good things. But if we never stop to learn the names of those we serve (or hear their stories) then we’ve missed the deeper call of the Gospel. We’ve reduced hospitality to a checklist, when Jesus invites us into relationship.
In Luke 10, the difference between Martha and Mary is not one of value, but of posture. Martha is busy with the work of hosting, but Mary is present. Martha is doing things for Jesus; Mary is spending time with him. The implication is not that Martha’s work is wrong, it’s that her service has become disconnected from her guest.
The same can happen in the church. We may find ourselves handing out bags of food without ever asking what brought someone to our doors. We may give generously without ever engaging the humanity of the people we’re helping. And sometimes, perhaps too often, we serve out of frustration, habit, or obligation. We grumble through a coffee hour shift. We silently resent that we’re always the one folding chairs. We feel bitterness growing where compassion used to live.
This text invites us to ask: Is our hospitality grounded in relationship? Or has it become distracted and performative?
This week we’re challenged to reimagine hospitality, not just as a task list, but as a spiritual posture. Hospitality in the Gospel is about presence, about drawing near enough to someone that their story shapes our story. It’s about listening deeply enough to be changed. When we welcome others as Christ has welcomed us, we aren’t just providing for their needs, we are honoring their dignity.
And in order to do that well, we must also be people who sit at Jesus’ feet. Who let ourselves be seen and known by God. Who receive before we give. Because true hospitality, like true discipleship, requires both presence with Christ and presence with one another.
Time With Jesus Prepares Us for Ministry
Mary sits at Jesus’ feet and listens. Mary isn’t being passive; she’s choosing to be a student of Jesus. That’s what discipleship is: choosing to learn, listen, and be shaped by the Word.
This can be a powerful message for congregations that are burned out or stretched thin. When service begins to feel like a burden, it’s often because we’ve lost our center.
This week’s text could be a time to invite your congregation into deeper practices of renewal. Whether that’s scripture reading, prayer, silence, or simply sitting in community together. Before we can embody Christ in the world, we need to rest in Christ ourselves.
Balance, Not Binary
Resist the temptation to pit Mary against Martha. Instead, lift up the balance and rhythm that faithful living requires. There is a time to serve, and a time to listen. A time to act, and a time to be still.
This Sunday is a great opportunity to ask: Where are we being called to slow down? Where have we become so worried and distracted that we’ve missed the presence of God in our midst?
This isn’t about choosing between two roles. It’s about remembering that our action flows from our relationship with Christ.
Micah Krey 
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