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Because I am a lot like Martha, I’ve always balked at the interpretations of this story that make it seem as if there is something intrinsically flawed in Martha’s nature.
Mary is the ultimate illumination of a woman filled with Christ’s presence, of a woman lit up from within by grace.
Luke’s Gospel tells us Elizabeth, the mother of John the Baptist, was barren for many years. I can picture Elizabeth averting her gaze and hastening past the crowd outside the gates as the years got long and the hope faded. I can understand how she might have grown weary of the journey—tired of the eyes that watched her and wondered what she could possibly be hoping for, tired of the whispered questions and growing assumptions. I know that tiredness. But I know too that, in that silence, there is a hope that even if God has not answered us the way we wished, he is still good.
Depression has taught me that perhaps the greatest act of trust is to know that how God heals us is way less important than how he loves us.
When we don’t turn away from our own suffering and declare it unworthy of compassion, consolation, and love, we learn to recognize pain rather than run from it.
Elizabeth and her babe recognize God present in Mary’s womb and proclaim with wonder and joy
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