Lord, Can You Send Martha Over to Clean My House?

Are You a Martha Trying to Live in a Mary World?

Lord, I want to be like Mary today, but can you send Martha over to clean my house? I found that quote during extensive research on Google, and it so perfectly fits my personality I just had to share it. Now be honest. How many women can relate? I believe there are a lot of us Marthas trying to do our best in a Mary world. After all, someone has to cook, clean, do the laundry, and drive the kids to soccer practice. I have to give Martha some slack as I wonder who is going to do the work if everyone just plops down at the feet of Jesus.

Hey, I’d Like to Sit, Too!

I’ll admit that one thing that really bugs me about hosting a dinner (which maybe happens once a year for Thanksgiving or when relatives visit) is when all the women sit in the living room watching sports with the men or being otherwise occupied instead of helping me in the kitchen, where they belong. Not that I’m comparing watching football to sitting at the feet of Jesus, mind you, although, from the enthusiastic reactions of people at football games compared to those at church, I sometimes have to wonder about priorities. I’m also not so narrow-minded as to expect only the women to help in the kitchen when men have two perfectly good hands, but I suppose society’s stereotypic molds are hard to break. I blame our mothers and grandmothers who conditioned men to be helpless when it comes to preparing meals. (I will digress and brag on my husband who makes a mean Hamburger Helper.)

What if Jesus Came to My House for Dinner?

I have to admit I have always identified with Martha, despite all the Bible lessons, commentaries, and sermons that explain the significance and true meaning of this story. If I knew Jesus would be coming to my house for dinner, I would be in a tizzy to be sure everything was spotless and the meal perfect. The pressure would probably kill me. First of all, my house is never spotless. Even when it’s not in danger of being condemned by the Department of Health, I know my house will never grace the pages of Southern Living. The only way I could ever have a prayer of having a clean, orderly house would be if the husband, sons, and all the animals moved out. In my home, it would be just my luck that when Jesus walked through the door, my son would deposit his muddy football cleats in the middle of the coffee table and the dog would poop in the dining room. Such is my life.

Second, my meals are never perfect. The cooking gene was not passed down through generations of my female ancestors to me. Usually, my meals are simple—something I can quickly nuke in the microwave—because that’s about all I can handle. With my husband usurping Hamburger Helper as his specialty, that doesn’t leave me with much to offer except beanie/weenies. Of course, I would never serve Hamburger Helper or beanie/weenies to Jesus, so I would spend hours poring over a cookbook to try to find a meal fit for a King. Then I wouldn’t be able to understand the complicated directions and ingredients I have never heard of, let alone know where to acquire them. I would get myself into a mess, which would only stress me out even more. I couldn’t bear the thought that my one, never-fail, go-to casserole I always serve guests didn’t turn out right because I accidentally used low-fat cheese instead of regular cheese which didn’t melt in the oven. It would be mortifying to discover my cheese topping turned into a gelatinous blob while I was sitting at the feet of Jesus.

I Would Have The Dinner Catered

If I ever hoped to be sitting at the feet of Jesus when He visited, I would just have the whole dinner catered. It would be worth going into debt to be sure I didn’t inadvertently afflict Jesus with food poisoning. Or perhaps I could always order a pizza. I don’t think Jesus ever had the pleasure of a pizza supreme during His days on earth, although I suppose He could eat all the pizza He wants in Heaven. But since they didn’t have catering or pizza delivery back in Biblical times, that put extra pressure on poor Martha to be sure her guests were fed properly.

Don’t get me wrong. I realize the whole point of the story is to show where our priorities should be. But give Martha a break. Even in this modern day, someone has to clean the toilets in the church.