Christians often seem to be so busy! And that’s not surprising, as we are devout people, who take our faith seriously; we are caring people, who spend time looking after our friends and neighbours; we are serving people, who sit on committees and get involved in charitable and community activities; we are people committed to our churches, who take our turn on coffee duty, the flower rota, the diaconate, or in teaching Sunday School. And that’s before we factor in raising a family, looking after elderly relatives, cleaning the house, digging the garden and (of course) going out to earn an honest crust. Yes, Christians are busy people – which means we get tired. It’s no wonder we sometimes drift off to sleep during Sunday morning’s sermon!

Why is this? There could be several reasons. One is that Christians try to follow the example of Jesus, who spent so much of his time mingling with people, healing them and tending to their needs. Over the years many Christians have been drawn into the so-called “caring professions”; it isn’t always easy to know when caring must stop. Added to this is many Christians’ desire to share the faith: even if we don’t necessarily think that we must “rescue the perishing” or pluck the lost from the jaws of hell, we recognise that Christianity is a proselytising faith and that Jesus has given us a command to spread his message to the far corners of the earth.

But might there be darker reasons for all this busyness? For instance, many of us take the Apostle Paul very seriously and, to me at least, he often comes over as guilt-ridden and hyperactive. I get the impression that he never quite got over his sense of shame at having zealously persecuted the Church and that he was always trying to show himself equal to the true Apostles who had been with Jesus. Furthermore, Paul constantly speaks of a sense of failure, of trying to be the person he knows he should be yet falling short of God’s expectations; he also wants to be a person who uses his God-given gifts as wisely and effectively as possible. Somehow you can’t think of Paul taking a holiday, sunning himself on a Mediterranean beach; he has to be up and doing, redeeming every moment that is left to him. So do we share Paul’s guilt? Are we trying to keep up with him?

And there’s something else. I don’t know if you’ve ever come across the phrase “the Protestant work ethic”. This was first expressed by the great Reformer Martin Luther when he, quite rightly, described everyday work as a “calling” from God – up to that time only priestly or monastic duties had been seen as vocational, which Luther felt was wrong. This fusion of supposedly sacred and secular employment was a good thing, as it gave value to even the most menial work – we only need to think of that hymn which speaks of the servant sweeping the floor “for God’s sake” and “making drudgery divine”. But there was a sting in the tail; for this idea also had the negative effect of turning our work into a divine obligation, even a spiritual treadmill, which could never end. (Luther, by the way, never intended that to happen: he was a down-to-earth fellow who worked hard and achieved much – but who also knew how to play and, presumably, relax!)

Of course, Martha and Mary knew none of this! They were just two sisters who lived with their brother Lazarus in Bethany and who became Jesus’ friends. We meet them first in this domestic scene which we all know so well and which offers us two contrasting images: of Martha, the “homemaker” bustling around with her chores; and of Mary, the submissive woman, meekly kneeling and listening to her Master’s voice. I’m sure we’ve often understood this story in terms of personality traits, with Martha as the active type and Mary as more passive or contemplative. And we’ve noted how Jesus affirms the importance of both sorts of people, or even says that devotion is – at least sometimes – more important than busy service. But there’s a lot more going on in this story, things we may never have noticed.

What I want to say first is something so obvious that we can easily miss it: this was Martha’s house, not Martha-and-Mary’s. Why it was hers and not Lazarus’s, I can’t possibly say: we might well have expected the house to have been passed down from the parents to their son, but this doesn’t seem to be what had happened here. And the reason I’m focusing on this point is this: it made Martha into the host, the person responsible for offering hospitality to guests. So it’s not in the slightest bit surprising that she’s the one rushing around and trying to get things organized for Jesus. In a society which valued hospitality very seriously, where you would have been considered very rude if you only offered a cup of tea and a biscuit, it was extremely important that she performed her hostly duties conscientiously.

I also don’t think it’s irrelevant to point out that we find this story in Luke 10. For this is a chapter which begins with Jesus sending out seventy disciples as “labourers into the harvest”. That might seem to have nothing to do with this story of Martha and Mary, but listen to his words to the disciples: “When you go into a house, say first of all, ‘Peace be to this household!’ If there is a lover of peace there, he will accept your words of blessing. Stay in the same house and eat and drink whatever they put before you – a workman deserves his wages.’ But whenever you come into a town and they will not welcome you, you must go into the streets and say, ‘We brush off even the dust of your town from our feet as a protest against you’.” In other words, failure to offer hospitality wasn’t just regarded as being unwelcoming or rude – it’s actually seen here as a blatant rejection of God’s Kingdom. So, by offering Jesus good food and drink, Martha was actually welcoming God into her house, whether she knew it or not. Should we ask ourselves if we are as willing to offer divine hospitality – even (as the intervening story of the Good Samaritan shows us) to people who we wouldn’t normally call our friend or neighbour?

And there’s something else going on here. We read that Mary sat at Jesus’ feet lapping up his words (I’ve sometimes wondered if she was a bit smitten with him!). This meant that she was acting like a rabbi’s disciple, a role usually reserved for men. We might not realise just how counter-cultural this was until we read about the famous first-century Rabbi Eliezer (a contemporary of Jesus) who said that “there is no wisdom in women other than the spinning-wheel” and that “the words of Torah (the Jewish Law) should be burned rather than be taught to women” – ouch! Jesus not only commended Mary for taking this position of an avid learner but, when Martha complained that her sister wasn’t helping her as she should have been, violated Rabbinic teaching even more by praising Mary for wanting to learn about God.

Now, the Christian Church has not always been very good at giving both genders equal value. To take a trivial (but significant) example, many years I was helping out a church that was between ministers. Eventually a new minister was called and arrangements were put in place for his welcome service, to be followed by tea. “We’ll get the ladies to make the sandwiches while the men can move the tables and chairs”, they said – at which point I chipped in, “Why?” and suggested that there might be some women who were strong and hefty and some men who were good at catering. The church leaders looked at me as if was bonkers, took a deep breath, and then continued planning as if I hadn’t spoken! Admittedly that was some time ago – but attitudes in churches don’t change quickly; indeed some make a point of defining the roles which men and women should and shouldn’t carry out.

Yet we know from both the book of Acts and Paul’s letters that some of the most prominent leaders in the early Church were women (although their teaching ministry seems to have been restricted in some places). We also recall Paul’s radical statement that Jews and Gentiles, males and females, are all equal in Christ. It’s notable that Luke’s Gospel – written, we must remember, to Christians in those first churches – seems to lean over backwards by portraying women sympathetically. All this means that we could well see the story of Martha and Mary as an early hint of Jesus breaking the ancient bonds that had kept women secluded, silent and subservient, and giving them a freedom and dignity which had been unknown in Greek, Roman and Jewish cultures. If that’s true, then Martha represents the old order, while Mary and Jesus together are striking a major blow for women’s rights and freedom. I hope you picked up that point in our little drama.

Nevertheless I want to close by going back to the traditional way of looking at this story. Let’s notice that Christians must always retain the correct balance between activity and meditation or reflection; between service and worship; between busyness and prayer. I’m not talking about a self-indulgent religion which purely concentrates on sitting back and feeling good; rather, I’m thinking of the need we all have to recharge our spiritual batteries so that we can then sally forth to serve God with renewed vigour. I’m sure we’ve all known Christians who have become so preoccupied with committees, rules and agendas that they have stopped waiting on God. Their relationship with him must surely be suffering; after all, no friendship can survive if you never sit down and simply make time to be with each other.

So we need to repent. We need to repent of our busyness, which makes us think that time spent sitting still is always wasted. Or we may need to repent of the opposite, of laziness, if sitting still is all we do, while we expect others to do all the work! We need to repent of attitudes which patronise one group of society, whether that be expressed as sexism, racism or ageism, recognising that Jesus values all people as unique individuals. And we need to repent of the fact that we have not been the students of Jesus that we ought to have been, that learning from him hasn’t always been our priority.

Above all, we need to recognise just how Jesus – and his Gospel – challenge and break conventions: which is why I choose to end with this African picture of the Martha and Mary story, even though I know Jesus wasn’t black. For in the Sermon on the Mount, he tells us to love our enemies. In his acts of healing, he says that the Sabbath is made for humans, not God. In the story of the Good Samaritan, he breaks taboos surrounding race and ancient enmities. And in this story of Martha and Mary, he quite literally brings women out of the kitchen and into the front room, treating them as equals with men. We are Jesus’ people, which means there will be times when we must be as radical as he was, swimming against the tide of convention, even causing shock and outrage – in order that everyone’s humanity may be cherished, nurtured, taught and be allowed to freely flourish.