Martha & Mary: the two faces of hospitality

 

I recently read a story that brought me to think about today’s gospel in a new way…

 

A young minister walked slowly to the office, mumbling to himself that he was not “on call” that day, and that it was almost supper time. There in the office sat a young man. His clothes and emanating stench told the minister that here was a street-person who had not bathed lately. He introduced himself only as “Jim.” As Jim began his story, he mentioned that he had no place to stay.

 

The minister could see it coming. He was going to ask for money. Deep inside himself he was hoping that the housekeeper would interrupt and call him to dinner. The young man continued his sad story. To the minister it dragged slowly on. Then the housekeeper knocked on the office door to tell the minister that he was wanted on the phone. He excused himself and went to answer the phone.

 

When he returned, the minister found that Jim had left. The minister sensed that his manner had revealed his preoccupation with other things. So he looked outside, up and down the street, but could not see his departed visitor. Feeling the growing twinges of remorse, he got into his car and drove through the neighborhood.

 

Finally, he spotted Jim and pulled his car up to the curb. When he called out to Jim, there was no answer. The poor fellow just kept on walking. So the minister parked the car, ran up the sidewalk, and stood in front of the young man. “Jim, I’m sorry that I had to leave. Would you come back with me and finish our conversation?”

 

The young man simply shrugged and said in a low whisper, “You’re just like everybody else. No one wants to listen.” With that Jim walked around the minister and disappeared into the night.

 

This is a story I can identify with. Throughout the years of my priesthood, there have always been people like Jim, obviously in need but hard to deal with. Often, I have wanted to help, but also wondered if I was being ripped off.

 

But beyond that, I learned early on that there were many people who lived alone, were lonely, and had no one to talk to. Often, they had family members, but they either lived at a great distance away or chose not to visit. When I did Communion calls, particularly in Springfield, I was always late for lunch because those I was visiting simply needed someone to talk to.

 

And then there is today’s gospel passage about Martha and Mary. You can learn many lessons and draw various conclusions from it. Some have said that it’s a story about the need for balance in our lives between doing good for others (like Martha) and taking time to spend in prayer (like Mary). Others have noted that in that society it was the woman’s role to do the cooking and take care of the basic needs of hospitality, while it would normally be men who would sit and talk. They suggest, therefore, that Jesus was elevating the role of women above that of cooking the meal and doing the dishes.

 

But now I see another dimension. Jesus, as the gospels show us, often had very long days, filled with teaching, healing, feeding multitudes and casting out demons. I get the impression that Martha and Mary were more intimate friends of Jesus, and he could go there to relax, have a nice meal, and let his hair down. And maybe, as a tired and over-worked human being, he needed a place to vent, speak about what went well and what didn’t, complain if some people were being unreasonable, and let off steam about the Pharisees and other religious leaders who kept contradicting him and making trouble wherever he went. We sometimes forget that Jesus was fully human and that he probably needed close friends like everybody else.

 

And if that was true for Jesus, it’s probably true for us all. I think that’s why Jesus always gathered people into relationship, so that the lonely could have someone to talk to, those who were experiencing injustice could have someone to defend them, those who were hungry or finding it difficult to make ends meet would have someone to help meet their needs, and for street persons and those who are poor to have a place where they could go and be given hope when everybody else failed to listen or let them down.

 

Our gospel is indeed about hospitality, but I think it leads us to something deeper. People need to be fed and have their basic material needs met. But they also need help with maintaining human connection, seeking reassurance, finding encouragement, and having someone to listen and show that they understand and care. Today’s gospel invites us to be such listeners, and to bring the compassionate heart of Jesus into an often cold and uncaring world.

You might also like

Father's Homilies

By Charlene Currie April 25, 2026
Born to Look … Learning to See Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter April 19, 2026 The scoutmaster used to take his troops on hikes along wilderness nature trails. After each hike he would challenge the scouts to describe what they had observed on their excursion. The boys invariably hadn’t seen a fraction of what the scoutmaster had seen. He would wave his arms in great circles and shout, “Creation is all around you, but you are blocking it out. Stop wearing your raincoat in the shower. You were born to look, but you have to learn to see.” You were born to look, but you have to learn to see. One of the questions that always arises about today’s gospel passage is: Why didn’t the two disciples recognize Jesus? Let’s spend some time reflecting on the possibilities. One obvious answer is that they were disheartened. Their lives are at their lowest point. They are sad and confused. The one they had pinned their hopes on had been humiliated and crucified in a horrible way. How could such a disaster be anything but a total defeat? How could a Messiah, or Savior, allow himself to be beaten and put to death? In addition, the two disciples are probably terrorized, full of fear. The leaders of the people, both religious and political, had made their point. Anyone who rocks the boat and challenges authority will be dealt with swiftly and brutally. If the two were recognized as followers of Jesus, his fate could also be theirs. Let me share another story with you, a story which shows how expectations can color what we see and experience. ---------------------------------- A young man from a wealthy family was about to graduate from high school. It was the custom in his affluent neighborhood for the parents to give the graduate a car as a graduation present. Bill and his father spent months looking at cars, and the week before graduation they found the perfect one. Bill was certain that the car would be his on graduation night. Imagine Bill’s disappointment when, on the eve of the big day, his father handed him a gift-wrapped Bible! Bill was so angry, he hurled the Bible across the room and stormed out of the house, vowing never to return again. Bill and his father never saw each other again. Yet it was the news of his father’s death that brought Bill back home again. One night, as he sat going through his father’s possessions that he was to inherit, Bill came across the Bible that his father had given him. He brushed away the dust and opened it to find a cashier’s check, dated the day of his graduation—for the exact amount of the car they had chosen together. ------------------------------- As the scoutmaster said, “You are born to look, but you have to learn to see.” What does today’s gospel passage want us to learn to see? One obvious answer is that the privileged place to encounter Jesus is in the celebration of the Eucharist, or Mass. In the gospel Jesus does two things: he interprets the Scriptures and how they apply to him; and he “breaks bread” with the two disciples. We thus have the two halves of the Mass: the liturgy of the word and the liturgy of the Eucharist. The Bible is telling us where to look, and it is teaching us to learn to see. Like the cashier’s check in the Bible, Jesus’ presence is not always obvious or straightforward. So, where and how should we look? The first place is the Bible. We need to take time to read God’s word slowly, savor it, and allow it to speak to us. If you are having difficulty, a commentary will help. Turning to those who know the Bible better that we do, and asking for clarifications and advice, will also help. The second place of encounter with Jesus is the Eucharist. The mystery of Emmaus is that the disciples recognize Jesus in the “breaking of bread,” which was one of the phrases used for the celebration of the Eucharist. Try to enter the Mystery more and more by giving yourself totally, without distractions, to each part of the Mass. Savor what it means to gather with open minds and hearts; to listen to the message of Scripture, the inspired word of God; to take the message of the homily home with you and reflect on it; to ask for forgiveness and to pray for peace; to intercede for our needs and the needs of the whole world; to receive our Lord mindfully, and not just hurry through the motions. Finally, in the Emmaus story, Jesus approaches his people who are depressed, disappointed and broken-hearted. At first, they do not recognize him. But as they listen more and more, their hearts start to burn within them. So, another way to experience the presence of Jesus Christ is to do as he did, to find value in what he taught and how he acted. He clearly said that he could be found in the poor and vulnerable: I was hungry, and you gave me food; I was thirsty, and you gave me drink; I was naked, and you clothed me; I was ill, or in prison, or lonely, and you visited me. Today’s gospel gives us a blueprint for encountering Jesus and feeling his presence. But we have to give ourselves to it wholeheartedly. We were born to look, but we have to learn how to see. The Bible has a treasure in it, and it’s not a cashier’s check. The Eucharist has a presence in it, and it’s something more than bread. The people around us are children of God. They have a spark of the divine within them. We were born to look, but we have to learn how to see.
By Charlene Currie April 25, 2026
Will You Still Need Me? Homily for the Second Sunday of Easter April 12, 2026 One hot summer afternoon a woman was working strenuously, weeding her flower beds and pruning the plants. The flowers were especially magnificent. A passerby asked, “I really like those flowers—do you?” As she wiped perspiration from her face with a dirty hand, the woman’s weary response was, “Only when they bloom.” The passerby thought how many folks have a similar attitude toward church, family, work, or life in general—“I only like it when it is in full bloom and beautiful.” The passerby thought of those necessary times of hard work—mulching, weeding, cultivating, pruning and transplanting—as well as seasonal dormancy, which are all necessary to bring about the blooms which precede the bearing of seeds and fruit. --------------------------------- I mentioned during one of my homilies during Holy Week that I was always bothered that the risen Jesus, with his risen body, still had the wounds. I compared it to buying a shiny, brand-new car, and insisting that there be dents on the fenders and leaks in the engine. As I thought about it more and more, however, I came to understand that the wounds were there for a purpose. In the case of Thomas, the wounds were the evidence he needed. But, beyond that, the wounds serve as a reminder that Jesus’ love for us is total, down to the last drop of blood. The wounds help preserve the memory of how painful true love can be. It’s easy to love that which is perfect and beautiful, is it not? But Jesus chose to show us a love of that which is less than perfect, and clearly not beautiful. Perhaps the clearest example of that is that he was there for the lepers of his day, those who had a contagious disease that rotted their flesh and forced them to live in isolation. But it was true of others, as well. Jesus went out of his way to embrace public sinners, foreigners, enemies, even those who were involved in putting him to death. From the cross he prayed, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” The risen body of Jesus, still bearing the wounds, means that our Lord is present in a special way to those who are wounded: those with cancer or another life-threatening disease, those who have lost a loved one, those who have been bullied, those carrying the wounds of a failed relationship, those who feel they cannot be forgiven, those who know they are less than perfect. Jesus is there for those living with the daily threat of war, terrorism, violence, domestic abuse, betrayal. In short, the less than perfect resurrected body of Jesus means that now, as then, he is present in a special way to those who are less than perfect. ------------------------------------------------ I was reminded of an early hit by the Beatles. Do you remember a song entitled When I’m Sixty-Four, released in June 1967? Here are some of the lyrics: When I get older, losing my hair Many years from now, Will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine? If I'd been out till quarter to three, Would you lock the door? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four? Ooh … I could be handy mending a fuse When your lights have gone. You can knit a sweater by the fireside, Sunday mornings, go for a ride. Doing the garden, digging the weeds, Who could ask for more? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four? -------------------------------------------------- In a similar way, Jesus’ wounds remind us that he’s not a fair-weather friend, only there for the good times. He’s there, always, and especially when we’re wounded. So, if you’re struggling, if you’re dealing with something painful, don’t run away. Don’t make the mistake of thinking the Lord doesn’t understand, or care. Instead, go to the wounds. Allow yourself to feel what true love is like when you need it the most.
By Charlene Currie April 9, 2026
Daring to Trust by Leaving the Tomb Homily for Easter April 4-5, 2026