faith & works

Text: Luke 10:38-42

Jefferson & Sueli traveling from Rio de Janeiro to Lins, São Paulo

The story of Mary and Martha is one of those passages that lingers with us. It’s been read, re-read, and debated across generations. Biblical scholars, theologians, and everyday readers have wrestled with its meaning, seeking to understand the wisdom it contains, but too often those individuals find themselves frustrated by answers that don’t fully satisfy the mind or bring solace to the heart. Yet this text presents itself to us. 

Are we supposed to identify with Mary, the one who sits at Jesus’ feet? Or Martha, the one who is hard at work, preparing and serving? Is this a lesson about priorities, hospitality, or something else altogether?

What if, instead of forcing ourselves into one role or another, this passage is an invitation into something deeper—an integration that brings faith and works into collaborative partnership?

Every time I read this story, I can’t help but think about my mother. Dona Sueli, as people call her, is a woman of her generation, raised as the eldest of three children, which meant responsibility was ingrained in her from a very early age. She grew up in poverty, having to share school shoes with her sister, and work to help with the family finances. While she didn’t have control over her circumstances, she developed a mantra that she would often tell us: “You may not have a choice about your poverty, but tidiness is an option.”

Whenever we walked through a downtown area and saw makeshift homeless shelters, my mother would take notice of the ones that were well organized. She would point them out to us, and say, “See? You have no excuses. Cleanliness and order are within your control.”

As kids, we didn’t always appreciate those lessons. But looking back, I realize how much her sense of responsibility shaped our family. When we went on youth retreats, we often brought back extra people. These were friends who lived out of town and needed a place to stay for a couple of days before returning home. The number would vary, but with only a couple of hours notice, we would show up as few as three and as many as fifteen friends. My mother, exhausted though she was, never turned them away. She was like Martha, making sure things got done, making sure people were fed, making sure there was order in the chaos.

And yet, I don’t know if I ever wondered: Did she ever have the chance to be a Mary? To sit, to rest, to be served, to simply be in the presence of God without worrying about what came next?

Luke tells us that as Jesus and His disciples were traveling, they entered a village where Martha welcomed him into her home. Hospitality in the ancient world was a sacred duty. It wasn’t just about preparing a meal—it was about honoring a guest, making them feel safe, providing for their needs. Martha was doing what was expected of a host. We can look to Old Testament and see parallels in this type of hospitality. Abraham, for example, hurried to prepare a meal for his three divine visitors in Genesis 18, demonstrating the deep cultural and spiritual significance of welcoming guests. In that story, Abraham and Sarah’s hospitality was met with a divine promise, showing that acts of welcome often become moments of revelation. Likewise, Martha’s actions align with this tradition—her service is not mere busyness; it is an expression of devotion, a tangible way of honoring Jesus.

But then there’s Mary—sitting at Jesus’ feet, listening to His teaching. In that culture, sitting at a rabbi’s feet was a position of learning, something usually reserved for men. Yet here is Mary, choosing to be a disciple, breaking societal norms to be close to Jesus.

Martha, meanwhile, is left to handle the work. Have you ever found yourself in Mary and Martha situation? A moment in time, when there is work to do, but the other party—it may be a significant other, child, friend, relative—seems oblivious that the work won’t happen by itself? Martha finally reaches her breaking point and says, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her to help me!” Martha’s cry is not one birthed of pettiness or jealousy, but a deep desire to the best.

And yet Jesus responds: “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things. One thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the better part. It won’t be taken away from her.”

Let me tell you, the Martha’s in my life wouldn’t have complained to Jesus, they would have put everybody to work. 

For centuries, this passage has been used to create a divide: Mary, the contemplative one, represents faith. Martha, the busy one, represents works. And since Jesus says Mary has chosen the “better part,” it’s been interpreted as a call to prioritize spiritual devotion over action. Some of the mystics of the church have called to have a Mary-like faith, to stop, reflect, and sit in stillness until all is revealed.

But the Greek text offers a more nuanced view. When Jesus speaks of Mary’s choice, He doesn’t say she has chosen the “better” part—He says she has chosen the “good portion.” And interestingly, the word Luke uses for Martha’s “tasks” is the same word for “ministry.”

What if this story isn’t about pitting faith against works, but about reminding us that both are needed? That faith and action are not in opposition, but meant to be held together?

The Apostle James in his book reminds us that “faith without works is dead” (James 2:17). Likewise, works without faith become empty busyness. Martha’s mistake wasn’t in serving—it was in allowing her service to become a distraction rather than an offering.

Let’s be honest: most of us live in a Martha world. We are busy, constantly moving, filling our schedules, checking our to-do lists. We value productivity. And yet, Jesus reminds us that sometimes, we need to pause.

The invitation here is not to abandon our responsibilities, but to approach them with the right posture. Martha was anxious and distracted—not because she was serving, but because she had lost sight of why she was serving. She was so consumed with doing for Jesus that she forgot to be with Jesus.

Some of us are like Martha, always moving, always giving, always pouring ourselves out for others—but rarely stopping to refill our own spiritual cups. If that’s you, Jesus’ words are an invitation: Come, sit, be still.

Some of us are like Mary, drawn to the presence of Jesus, eager to learn and grow in faith—but sometimes hesitant to step into action. If that’s you, the call is to rise from contemplation and move into the world.

And some of us are both, depending on the day. The good news is that Jesus doesn’t ask us to choose between being Mary or Martha. He calls us to live into both—to work from a place of worship, to serve from a place of stillness, to live in a rhythm of action and contemplation.

So, where is God calling you to slow down and listen? Where is God calling you to step up and serve?

This is not an invitation to choose between binaries. This is a call to live a new reality. 

May we, like Mary, sit at the feet of Jesus, soaking in His words.

May we, like Martha, serve with open hearts, free from anxiety and distraction.

And may we hold both faith and works together, choosing the good portion that will not be taken away.

Amen.