Glossing Mary and Martha
From this Sunday's reading of the Gospel:
Most of the sermons and talks I've heard through the years send this passage straight into life-application mode. "Are you a Martha or are you a Mary?" is the question asked from popular devotionals and pulpits. Are you an active or are you a contemplative? If you had an ikon would it be of Martha, or of Mary? If you sympathize with the one, should you get a dose of the other?
It wasn't till a few years ago that a new way of looking at the story occurred to me; and I decided to write it in an essay. But time passes and intentions grow cold, and I had forgotten my idea, until this morning when I saw that Martha and Mary were the gospel text for this the seventh Sunday after Pentecost. I decided I'd let the formal essay wait, but put down the germ of what I've thought now while it's before me.
Susan Bordo, in her essay "Hunger as Ideology," posits that images and advertisements betray the undercurrent of gender bias regarding food and its consumption. Men are depicted eating ravenously and at large volume, the picture of health and appetite; women are depicted, if not merely serving the food, eating small, fat-free, modest and unobtrusive portions. A man, in one magazine ad, flies off the high dive with a huge mound of chocolate ice cream in the background: a woman hides in the closet with a small guilty serving of Hagen-Dasz. The ideological current of these ads and other messages insinuate that if it is at all possible, a woman should not consume; she should be responsible for providing things to consume, for her boys and her husband. She shouldn't have needs, and if she expresses them, she is transgressing. In fact, rarely are women in advertising depicted as wholeheartedly enjoying food (in quantity and without the caveats of weight-loss regimes), just because it's mealtime, without any hint of the guilt of consumption, without any hint that she properly fulfilled her duty as a mom or a wife first, to feed the others before she ate.
To do so would be to transgress the tacit mores that surround one. And yet it is done: a woman eats, three squares a day if she's not poor; feels the pleasure of fullness, of bodily fulfillment; talks of, asks for, purchases, good food. Most of us ignore the tension between that daily fulfillment of basic need and the daily reminders that need in women is suspect, overbearing, and possibly sinful -- especially when the bodily appetite for food is metaphorically linked to the bodily appetite for sex, as it so often is. Women who eat without shame, might have sex without shame. And that would be a shame.
And, as so often, the correction and chastisement of women who express need without reserve, and reach to fulfill their needs actively rather than waiting passively for whatever food might be coming -- the chastisement of these women falls to other women. Martha says to Jesus, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work all by myself? Tell her to come and help!" Martha, who invited Jesus into her home precisely for the same reason Mary sat at his feet, is angry that Mary gets to feed on the Bread of Heaven without first serving all the men in the house, as Martha is doing. Martha may be so imbued with this convention that she is angry Martha is sitting at Jesus's feet at all: doesn't she know that women subsist (both spiritually and physically) on the leavings of the men, in the kitchen after their meal?
Jesus says: "Martha...Martha...you're fretting about many things. But only one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the better part --" which I am told in Greek is gastronomically applicable, equivalent perhaps to "the good stuff" -- "and it shall not be taken away from her." Mary has chosen to feed on Jesus, the good stuff -- which is what he came into the world for, to be food. She came into the room with the other men and sat down at his feet and drank him in. And not only did Jesus let her; he defended her against charges of unwomanliness, and insisted she be left alone to fulfill her need as she chose.
In this passage, physical and spiritual transgression are turned to everyday privilege, just as Jesus turned water to wine at a wedding: done almost behind the scenes, almost without remark, as a small blip that is soon forgotten in itself but which leaves many ripples radiating out from it. Jesus Christ, in this passage, is declaring that a woman's need is legitimate; and by declaring this in the context of a meal, he tacitly gives legitimacy to Mary's physical needs as well.
Which is why I would want to revise the trope of Mary as the contemplative and Martha as the active spiritual life. Mary may have been contemplating Jesus: but this was no passive contemplation, it was an active claim made on behalf of her spiritual need, an active response to the invitation Christ poses by merely being there, himself, delicious and beneficial. Martha, whose active response to Christ's invitation consisted in inviting him into her home, continued in the passive role prescribed for her, and was angry when her sister stepped out of it. Of course, the point is often made, if Martha had also sat down at Jesus's feet, none of them would have had supper. But Jesus said that "only one thing is necessary" -- himself and his nutritive words. The rest are subordinate claims, which may or may not be filled. If Martha had invited him home and yet served him no dinner, the passage implies, it wouldn't have been the end of the world. She did, however, choose to serve dinner, and so why should she begrudge another person sitting down to "the good stuff" -- delicious logos, sweet Torah?
It begs the question why we now should begrudge another person sitting down to drink Jesus in -- or even just eat a meal -- without first serving their supposed superiors. Why should we be angry if those who are usually last choose a place that is first? Why not leave behind in kindergarten the urge to tattle and be officious about others' so-called transgressions? It's not like our Lord has given us a scriptural mandate to do so.
Nevertheless I have a great sympathy for Martha and the emotions that actuated her. I would not have the message of this story be, "Don't be like Martha." These things, these people, are complicated and deserve our goodwill and attention. But two things I gather from this story that stick with me every time I hear it: that I, a woman, will not be refused what I need by the Lord no matter what others say; and that wherever the Lord is, there is "the good stuff" -- and everything else pales in significance.
From this Sunday's reading of the Gospel:
While they were on their way Jesus came to a village where a woman named Martha made him welcome. She had a sister, Mary, who seated herself at the Lord's feet and stayed there listening to his words. Now Martha was distracted by her many tasks, so she came to him and said, "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to get on with the work by myself? Tell her to come and give me a hand." But the Lord answered, "Martha, Martha, you are fretting and fussing about so many things; only one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen what is best; it shall not be taken away from her." Lk. 10: 38-42
Most of the sermons and talks I've heard through the years send this passage straight into life-application mode. "Are you a Martha or are you a Mary?" is the question asked from popular devotionals and pulpits. Are you an active or are you a contemplative? If you had an ikon would it be of Martha, or of Mary? If you sympathize with the one, should you get a dose of the other?
It wasn't till a few years ago that a new way of looking at the story occurred to me; and I decided to write it in an essay. But time passes and intentions grow cold, and I had forgotten my idea, until this morning when I saw that Martha and Mary were the gospel text for this the seventh Sunday after Pentecost. I decided I'd let the formal essay wait, but put down the germ of what I've thought now while it's before me.
Susan Bordo, in her essay "Hunger as Ideology," posits that images and advertisements betray the undercurrent of gender bias regarding food and its consumption. Men are depicted eating ravenously and at large volume, the picture of health and appetite; women are depicted, if not merely serving the food, eating small, fat-free, modest and unobtrusive portions. A man, in one magazine ad, flies off the high dive with a huge mound of chocolate ice cream in the background: a woman hides in the closet with a small guilty serving of Hagen-Dasz. The ideological current of these ads and other messages insinuate that if it is at all possible, a woman should not consume; she should be responsible for providing things to consume, for her boys and her husband. She shouldn't have needs, and if she expresses them, she is transgressing. In fact, rarely are women in advertising depicted as wholeheartedly enjoying food (in quantity and without the caveats of weight-loss regimes), just because it's mealtime, without any hint of the guilt of consumption, without any hint that she properly fulfilled her duty as a mom or a wife first, to feed the others before she ate.
To do so would be to transgress the tacit mores that surround one. And yet it is done: a woman eats, three squares a day if she's not poor; feels the pleasure of fullness, of bodily fulfillment; talks of, asks for, purchases, good food. Most of us ignore the tension between that daily fulfillment of basic need and the daily reminders that need in women is suspect, overbearing, and possibly sinful -- especially when the bodily appetite for food is metaphorically linked to the bodily appetite for sex, as it so often is. Women who eat without shame, might have sex without shame. And that would be a shame.
And, as so often, the correction and chastisement of women who express need without reserve, and reach to fulfill their needs actively rather than waiting passively for whatever food might be coming -- the chastisement of these women falls to other women. Martha says to Jesus, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work all by myself? Tell her to come and help!" Martha, who invited Jesus into her home precisely for the same reason Mary sat at his feet, is angry that Mary gets to feed on the Bread of Heaven without first serving all the men in the house, as Martha is doing. Martha may be so imbued with this convention that she is angry Martha is sitting at Jesus's feet at all: doesn't she know that women subsist (both spiritually and physically) on the leavings of the men, in the kitchen after their meal?
Jesus says: "Martha...Martha...you're fretting about many things. But only one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the better part --" which I am told in Greek is gastronomically applicable, equivalent perhaps to "the good stuff" -- "and it shall not be taken away from her." Mary has chosen to feed on Jesus, the good stuff -- which is what he came into the world for, to be food. She came into the room with the other men and sat down at his feet and drank him in. And not only did Jesus let her; he defended her against charges of unwomanliness, and insisted she be left alone to fulfill her need as she chose.
In this passage, physical and spiritual transgression are turned to everyday privilege, just as Jesus turned water to wine at a wedding: done almost behind the scenes, almost without remark, as a small blip that is soon forgotten in itself but which leaves many ripples radiating out from it. Jesus Christ, in this passage, is declaring that a woman's need is legitimate; and by declaring this in the context of a meal, he tacitly gives legitimacy to Mary's physical needs as well.
Which is why I would want to revise the trope of Mary as the contemplative and Martha as the active spiritual life. Mary may have been contemplating Jesus: but this was no passive contemplation, it was an active claim made on behalf of her spiritual need, an active response to the invitation Christ poses by merely being there, himself, delicious and beneficial. Martha, whose active response to Christ's invitation consisted in inviting him into her home, continued in the passive role prescribed for her, and was angry when her sister stepped out of it. Of course, the point is often made, if Martha had also sat down at Jesus's feet, none of them would have had supper. But Jesus said that "only one thing is necessary" -- himself and his nutritive words. The rest are subordinate claims, which may or may not be filled. If Martha had invited him home and yet served him no dinner, the passage implies, it wouldn't have been the end of the world. She did, however, choose to serve dinner, and so why should she begrudge another person sitting down to "the good stuff" -- delicious logos, sweet Torah?
It begs the question why we now should begrudge another person sitting down to drink Jesus in -- or even just eat a meal -- without first serving their supposed superiors. Why should we be angry if those who are usually last choose a place that is first? Why not leave behind in kindergarten the urge to tattle and be officious about others' so-called transgressions? It's not like our Lord has given us a scriptural mandate to do so.
Nevertheless I have a great sympathy for Martha and the emotions that actuated her. I would not have the message of this story be, "Don't be like Martha." These things, these people, are complicated and deserve our goodwill and attention. But two things I gather from this story that stick with me every time I hear it: that I, a woman, will not be refused what I need by the Lord no matter what others say; and that wherever the Lord is, there is "the good stuff" -- and everything else pales in significance.
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