Do you have a Martha?
Each weekday morning I pull the car over just before I reach my destination. I open the glove compartment and read a passage from a gospel. I will read the same passage for two weeks and spend a short time contemplating the words. The purpose is to use the words and the scene they describe and apply it to my day.
Staying with one passage for two weeks allows time for the words to sink deep and create much more than if I moved quickly on.
So for the last 11 days, I have been reading Luke chapter 10 verses 38 to 42, the story of Mary and Martha. Today I read the first verse, verse 38
“As Jesus and his disciples went on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha welcomed him in her home.”
and stopped. That was enough for one day as in the reading I immediately recalled a friend called Martha and how she welcomed me into her home.
In Northern Ireland, from where I originate, the evangelicals within the Protestant community are in the habit of giving biblical names to their children. There are as a consequence lots of Matthews, Marks, Lukes and Johns and for females Sarahs, Ruths, Naomis. My oldest female friend is called Cherith, the name given to a brook as recorded in 1 Kings. Martha is not often given these days and the Martha to whom I am referring was given it in around 1921.
I knew Martha since I was a toddler often meeting her on Montague Street, the street which linked us from our estate to town. She always seemed to be returning home as we were going to town. My mother would stop and have a short conversation. Martha always acknowledged me as a child and gave me a few cheerful words.
She attended the Methodist church which I also visited and when she saw me welcomed me with a gracious smile. In my teenage years as I became wayward she would often enquire after my well-being.
At 17 I returned somewhat bruised to the fold and Martha sensing my need encouraged me to visit her at home. I have never been a great host preferring to think of myself as a good guest hence I enjoyed visiting people in their homes. I often found my way to Martha’s.
It was one of those homes in which you felt comfortable and at ease, even more so by the time you were drinking tea and eating a tart that had just been baked. Martha loved to talk and tell stories and I, although late in my teens, would happily sit by the warmth of the fire and listen.
Well I had no disciples and Martha lived alone but I understand, like Jesus, how important people like Martha are to our lives.
See you tomorrow,
g.
