On being Martha (and Mary).

A blessing for all who care.

Laundry fluttering in my parent’s back yard.

Our midweek-ish blessing reaches you today from the back country of the former East Germany where we visit my elderly parents in the parish they have served for many years. Thank you for reading, sharing and supporting Cloister Notes, a letter for dancing monks, weary pilgrims, and wounded healers.

My dear fellow pilgrim,

Since I stepped over the threshold of my childhood home and into caring for my aging parents 10 days ago, I am Martha.

Just Martha.

For all who wonder I am referring here to the bible story of Mary and Martha¹, the first sitting at the feet of Jesus, listening, the other working feverishly in the kitchen. Since then there are whole traditions identifying more with Martha (e.g. the active monastic orders) or Mary (e.g. the contemplative orders).

I do not like myself very much as Martha. Do you?

The realization came to me somewhat as a surprise while strolling the overgrown backyard of my childhood, watching the lilacs in full bloom, while our little one was crisscrossing the new paths Chuck had cut into the tall grass.

Little one roaming the back yard.

As a mentor and counselor I speak with many who are unhappy with their Martha roles. It is as if some of us have been born into a helper role and can’t quite strip it off for good.

Slowly, I have come to understand that not only might we identify (or over-identify) with one role or the other, Mary or Martha, but that those roles might also be domain specific — called out, expected, and enforced by specific situations.

There are simply places where we show up as Martha, both in the eyes of others and in our own hearts. When we fall into certain situations, we unwittingly conspire with others to limit our options.

For some it might be the church home, for others their family home. Or their work home. Or their home of origin.

And frankly, it might be a blessing. Mostly, sort of. When we can carry it lightly.

My mother enjoying Spring.

It might be ok that I am slipping into a care giver role when I am with my old parents. Frankly the purpose of the whole visit was to give my father some respite from his usual 24/7 care for my mother who is fading more and more into Alzheimer’s land.

And still. Something surprised me.

Probably, it was that I fell into the Martha role so suddenly and so deep that I could not find Mary in me for a whole week. As I stepped over the threshold, the light of Mary clicked off. She was simply buried under a schedule of new tasks trying to adopt to the schedule of my parents’ home, organizing family meals, caring for both my father, who promptly fell ill as soon as we arrived, and my mother, constantly wandering through our home in search of the anchor she had lost.

And I felt lost too, somehow, in caring about everyone else’s well being, that there was not much left in me to even take advantage of a moment of calm.

Not enough calm even to write to you.

And this finally got to me.

A small voice was whispering: take care, do not lose yourself in your care for others.

Do you hear that small whisper sometimes, too?

I apparently keep forgetting how difficult it is in this space of my childhood, sleeping under the rafters of the parish home of my upbringing, to make space for my whole self, not just the daughter who shows up to help.

How I wish for Mary sitting at the feet of wisdom just listening. I am not sure Mary, or the Mary in me, was ever much welcomed in this home. Sometimes it is easier to show up as Martha. Isn’t it? She is always welcomed, but less often thanked.

Still, sometimes being Martha is also more needed. But we need to find some freedom for discernment in the midst of the swirl of service.

So I took a walk in the woods. To come to my self again.

Having a walk into the country side to contemplate Martha & Mary.

When I am talking with mentees and clients, we always come to the realization that we need to be both, Martha AND Mary, and that we long to be both in order to become whole.²

Though we might identify more with one role or the other according to our gifts (an important part of discerning our vocation) there is always a risk to overemphasize one role and to lack the other.

Each is needed to balance the other; each is needed to complement the other.³ I need to remind myself every year again when I return to, and am immersed in, my parents home.

Speaking about Mary and Martha as archetypes also helps us be aware of their light and shadow qualities. Every archetype has both — an ideal image we strive towards, and a shadow side which comes with it, which we only find when we look more deeply:

Martha as the helper archetype holds the beauty of service and compassion, and also the shadow of self-annihilation and exhaustion. Thus Mary, the one who sits at the feet of Jesus listening to wisdom incarnate speaking, is the needed counter weight to get the balance right.

Mary, who strolls the fields of my childhood, watching the birds building nests and the fiddlehead ferns unfold, is who I need in this time of service. Mary, the one who actively listens without the need to jump up and clear the table, is who I long for.

Spring flowers in my parents back yard.

So this blessing today is for all the Marthas who care for others and who long for a Mary moment:

Dearest Martha,

Blessed be the work of your hands

the work you do
before any one asks
or knows or notices.

Blessed are you for
your care and compassion
for the one in need,
even your loved ones.

Blessed are you
for your loving kindness
in doing what needs to be done,

accommodating
feeding
nursing
cleaning
clothing
the one in need.

May you be surprised by wisdom
hiding in your soul
peering out from the bushes
dancing on the dishes
singing with the birds of Spring.

Animated by compassion,
May you sit at the feet of Love Eternal.

Yours, Mary

With great love, Almut

PS: If you can, leave a heart, a word or a line which resonated with you in the comments, so we know you have been here :-)

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In case you missed it

Whatever you are carrying, love carries it first:

To your broken heart

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1. You can find The story of Martha and Mary in Luke 10:38-42.

2. Sister Mary Dolores from St Benedict’s Monastery in MN has written beautifully about this in “Martha and Mary: Archetypes of Integral Discipleship.”

3. Richard Rohr’s Center for Action and Contemplation holds this necessary balance already in its name.