Why fuss over dishes and tidiness when the Son of God is seated in your living room? At first glance, today’s Gospel story seems to nudge us towards such simplicity. But pause and listen closely—this is not merely about choosing Jesus over chores. It is about recognizing eternity amidst the fleeting, stability amidst decay.
Consider this truth: every house we build, every effort we pour into this passing world, is destined to crumble. Our bodies age, buildings collapse, memories fade. All around us is a relentless reminder of impermanence. Martha’s anxious heart mirrors our own. Her worry is not just about serving dinner—it is an existential dread that nothing we do will outlast the pull of decay and death.
To fully grasp what Jesus reveals to Martha, let us travel back to the dawn of creation itself. Imagine a vast, swirling void—a profound emptiness, chaotic and hungry to devour everything. To ancient hearts, this chaos symbolized sin, destruction, and death—different masks worn by the same relentless enemy. Creation was not simply God decorating emptiness with stars and oceans; it was God entering battle against the void. God spoke, and order triumphed. Life emerged victorious from chaos’s grasp.
Yet we, humankind, invited chaos back through sin. Every selfish act, every bitter word, every harm we inflict upon one another or our world, grants chaos strength. Our anxiety, then, arises from a haunting fear—that nothing we do can ultimately withstand chaos’s return. So we work feverishly, desperately hoping our monuments and accomplishments will defy death’s inevitable grip. But deep down, we know: alone, we are helpless before the abyss.
Yet the good news proclaimed today is precisely this: We are not alone. The One who first conquered chaos stands among us—Christ himself. Mary understood this as she sat quietly at his feet. She recognized that the Creator, the One who breathed order into chaos and defeated death itself, was before her. Her calm was not mere tranquility—it was the peace of knowing the eternal God was present, offering eternal life.
Christ’s presence changes everything. He is the unwavering center in a transient universe, the everlasting love that withstands all forces of decay and despair. Mary chose wisely because she saw clearly: to live fully is not to build towers or fortify our possessions against time, but to be fully immersed in God’s everlasting love. To know Christ is to embrace eternity, even in this passing life.
Friends, our lives are brief and precious. Worrying will not add a single moment to our span, nor will it save our legacies from eventual oblivion. But Christ invites us to lay down our anxieties and instead rest in the assurance of his eternal victory over chaos and death.
Let us follow Mary’s example, sitting humbly at the feet of Christ. Let us love boldly, serve generously, and extend Christ’s kingdom fearlessly. For the love of God alone is lasting. It is the one treasure no chaos can erode, the single gift that death cannot take away.