The One Thing Needed

Preacher: Fr. Columba

Gen 18:1-14; Ps 15; Col 1:21-29; Lk 10:38-42

“But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made…” (Luke 10:40)

When we pick up a Bible today, we often forget what a modern thing it is. Chapters, verses, punctuation, headings—none of that was there for most of history. For centuries, scripture was read aloud in long, unbroken lines of thought. No bold titles dividing Mary and Martha from the Good Samaritan. No verse numbers to separate Jesus’ teaching on prayer from the hospitality of a household. Just one living, breathing narrative.

And when we approach it that way, something changes. We start to see the through-line. We start to hear it like a sermon. The lawyer asks how to inherit eternal life. Jesus responds with two commandments—love God, love neighbor—and then he tells a story: the Good Samaritan. A parable about showing mercy to the outsider. Then we shift scenes, but not themes. Mary and Martha come next. Then Jesus teaches on prayer. In Luke’s Gospel, this isn’t three disconnected stories—it’s one conversation. One movement of the Spirit: love your neighbor, yes, but don’t forget to sit at the feet of the One who teaches you how.

Mary and Martha aren’t opponents in this story. Martha isn’t the villain. She’s doing what every good Middle Eastern woman was raised to do—practice hospitality. Care for her guest. That kind of hospitality was sacred. It’s embedded deep in the Jewish tradition. We see it with Abraham and the three mysterious visitors in Genesis. We see its failure in the story of Sodom. The point is, Martha wasn’t wrong. She was living out a commandment. But she was overwhelmed. Distracted. And Jesus, with tenderness—not rebuke—says her name twice. “Martha, Martha.” He doesn’t shame her. He invites her to refocus. To shift her eyes for a moment from the many things to the one thing.

And Mary? Mary steps into a place normally reserved for men. She takes the posture of a disciple. She sits and listens. She breaks through a gender boundary without saying a word. It’s quiet, but radical. Like the Good Samaritan before her, Mary defies expectations. And Jesus honors her for it.

Look again at the Greek. The word used for Martha’s serving is diakonia—the same word we use for “deacon.” Martha is functioning like the early deacons of the Church: preparing, organizing, tending. She is, in a way, setting the altar. Mary, meanwhile, receives the Word. And here’s the truth—we need both. We need service and stillness. Action and attention.

But the order matters.

Jesus reminds us: love God first. Then love your neighbor. If we reverse it—if we try to serve without being centered—we end up burned out, anxious, resentful. We forget why we started serving in the first place. And the Church has done this, too. We’ve gotten tangled in politics, money, programs, appearances. We’ve invested in systems that don’t reflect the Gospel. We condemn the outsider while padding our portfolios with interest-bearing accounts the Bible warns against. We obsess over sexuality while neglecting justice. We’ve let the noise drown out the voice of Christ.

This passage calls us back. It calls us to sit still. To listen. To be silent long enough to hear the Word speak again.

So here’s the challenge: take five minutes this week. Every day. Turn off your phone. Shut the laptop. Sit in stillness. Let Jesus speak. Let the Gospel rearrange your priorities. This isn’t about doing less—it’s about doing the right things in the right order. Love God. Then love your neighbor. Let your service flow from stillness. Let your action be shaped by attention.

Mary and Martha weren’t at odds. They were two sides of the same coin. And if we’re honest, most of us are a bit of both. May we learn to listen like Mary. May we serve like Martha—with peace, not anxiety. And may Christ be the center of it all.

Amen.