I can feel my hackles rise any time someone invites us to turn to Luke 10, the story of Mary and Martha. The narrative in my head goes something like, “Here we go again, let’s take a closer look at how I’m not being enough by doing too much,” accompanied by an eye-roll that I may or may not be able to internalise.

Now I’m clearly projecting a whole lot on to the Scripture here, and on to the people who teach from it. But I’ve wrestled with this portion often enough to come away jaded almost every time it’s opened. Not because of the story or the message, but because of the naivety with which it is often applied.

What I would really like is for someone to talk about how pissed everyone would have been if Martha had taken a seat with Mary at Jesus’ feet.

Mary was breaking all these social norms by taking the posture and position of a disciple. Maybe Jesus’ followers had become accustomed to that by now, the counter-cultural way that Jesus was with women. I bet they didn’t all like it, but they put up with it. But imagine how it would have gone down when the food didn’t turn up.

If Martha had sat at Jesus’ feet too, she would have necessarily abandoned her responsibilities as host – responsibilities that were critical in that culture, and that she had taken on by inviting Jesus and her followers into her home.

I’ve written about this before here. Martha is clearly the leader of the household, the capable one. If this was a Disney version, Martha would break in something like Encanto‘s “Surface Pressure” (sing-along here). (Why not Lazarus? While it galls to even mention his name, Jean Vanier’s suggestion that Lazarus had some kind of intellectual disability works for me.)

It was an honour to Martha and her household for this famous teacher to accept her invitation, so of course she wanted to host them well. It was the women’s job to prepare a meal, and however much Martha might have wanted to sit with Mary, there was no order-in option available.

Of course she shouldn’t have got overwhelmed. Of course she shouldn’t have got so preoccupied with the details that it overflowed into irritability and resentment towards her sister.

But let’s not pretend that for Martha to sit alongside Mary would have been an easy choice, a simple refocussing on what really matters. It would have required a sacrifice of her social reputation, an un-learning of cultural expectations, and the risk of deeply disappointing others.

Jesus, now he wouldn’t have been disappointed, angry, or condemning, but the rest of the crowd? You can imagine the whispers, “this woman invited us for a meal, where’s the food?”, “what kind of host is this?”.

I know that Jesus disappoints everyone’s expectations except the Father’s. He lets them all down when he’s not the son, brother, rabbi, or Messiah that they wanted. We are given the permission – even the invitation – to do the same.

But let’s not pretend that that’s an easy choice.

We can easily sit around and discuss the spiritual practices like solitude, Sabbath, and slowing (all the ones my heart desperately needs). We say “yes… mmm… so good…” as their virtues are extolled. But I’m over here in my seat, frustration and despair mixed in with my longing, because no one is saying out loud “that is not going to go down well with my family.”

I’m tempted by defeatism here. Maybe this emotionally healthy life just isn’t possible for me without cutting back my work, or somehow travelling back in time and recommending ongoing contraception use. That would be an easy lie to hide behind.

Instead, what I need to do is confront the pain of disappointing others. This might be easy for some, but it tears at the psyche for those of us whom life conditioned to believe that we are responsible for other’s happiness.

I find setting boundaries at work relatively easy (thank you healthy work culture). At home though… mummy guilt, wife guilt, daughter guilt – they are loud.

Sometimes choosing “what is better” entails saying no to the daughter who wants last-minute transport across town and back; not calling that widowed father often enough; neglecting bids for connection from friends; closing the door on the little one who “desperately” needs you right now. Sometimes the disappointed people are fine, sometimes they suffer, and sometimes they outright tell me they feel unloved by my choices to pursue solitude, Sabbath, and slowing.

And none of that is easy.

I am not at all saying that choosing the feet of Jesus isn’t better – it is. But it is costly.

I suspect it is a cost disproportionately born by women, and anyone who might be hustling on the margins to keep their head above water economically. This is something we need to name.

It’s a cost worth paying, yes, but a cost we need to pay if we’re ever to take our seat there.