I imagine Martha rushing about the house,
setting down the water jug with a louder than necessary thud.
Each footstep falling just a bit too heavy.
Every action punctuated by a loud exhale,
But passive aggressive is giving her no satisfaction (surprise, surprise),
and the exasperated words finally come bursting out of her:
Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.
Martha expects that, yes of course, Jesus will care.
She is certain that Jesus will see things from her perspective.
That he will listen to sense.
That he will agree that they have all forgotten themselves, their place.
That he will do as he’s told and direct Mary back to the way things have always been done.
That he will stop disrupting the order of the household, the plans for the day, the social expectations.
That he will give her the answer she expects.
Lord, do you not care?
Jesus, In fact, does not care.
He does not care what our plans are,
or how important we think they may be.
He does not indulge our hurt feelings,
or condone our animosity toward others.
He will not suffer our passive aggression,
or our aggression out right.
Yes, there are many other things. But you know what? They don’t matter.
And it doesn’t matter what you think you know,
or who else you heard it from,
or how long you’ve believed it to be true.
This is something new.
This is something that will be hard to hear.
This is something that will disrupt a whole lot more than your little dinner party.
So sit down, Martha,
and listen to what Jesus has to say.