Homilies

On a clear morning, Abraham stood upon a hillside, his eyes straining through tears toward the place he loved. Smoke rose in tragic columns, a stark reminder of devastation—of loss. Abraham, who once saved Sodom with sword and valor, could now only watch in sorrow as flames consumed it.

This moment, this heartbreaking moment, captures the intersection of God’s justice and the tender mercy sought by human hearts. Abraham did not merely mourn the destruction of buildings and land; he grieved a place deeply woven into his life story—home to his nephew Lot, land of battles won, place of divine blessing through the priest Melchizedek. His prayers to spare the city were not transactions; they were not desperate bargaining. Rather, Abraham stood humbly before the divine justice of God, pleading solely from a place of love: “Will you sweep away the innocent with the guilty?”

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.

Consider the ditches we find ourselves in, those hidden places where the soul feels battered and weary. Everyone, at some point, knows intimately what it means to lie wounded, stripped bare by circumstances we never imagined. It might be a betrayal by someone we cherished deeply, a rejection that stings in silence, or simply the unbearable weight of daily expectations. Indeed, we often find that the deepest cuts come from the sharp tongues or cold indifference of those nearest to us, those who know precisely where our vulnerabilities lie. Pride, envy, greed—these are the thieves that rob us of peace, leaving us isolated and desperate in our own private ditches.