Why I Think We Misread Mary and Martha

I still remember playing a version of Hollywood Squares in Confraternity of Christian Doctrine (“CCD”) class when I was little. My dad taught my class growing up, and one day he turned the popular television game show into a classroom competition. If you never watched Hollywood Squares, contestants answered trivia questions to win squares on a giant tic tac toe board. One question came up: “Who were Lazarus’ sisters?”

My hand practically flew up.

“Mary and Martha!”

I knew their names early, but understanding them well took much longer.

Over the years, and perhaps you have too, I heard the story of Mary and Martha explained in fairly simple terms. When Jesus and his disciples came to Bethany, Mary sat at Jesus’ feet while Martha was the persnickety hostess worried about details and bitter that her sister wasn’t helping more. Mary focused on what mattered while Martha became distracted. Mary represented spiritual attentiveness while Martha represented misplaced priorities. The broad takeaway often felt straightforward. Be more like Mary. Try not to be Martha.

Cultural shorthand has a way of flattening stories that are actually layered, rich, and more nuanced than we sometimes remember.

From time to time, I would hear women criticize themselves by saying things like, “I’m such a Martha,” or, “I wish I had more of a Mary heart.” Usually those comments came after hosting guests, managing family responsibilities, caring for others, or trying to hold too many competing priorities together at once. The comments were often made lightly, but underneath them sat an assumption many of us quietly absorbed over time. Martha became the woman we hoped not to resemble. She became the anxious woman. The woman too preoccupied with details. The woman focused on tasks while someone else focused on what truly mattered.

The older I get, however, the more I wonder whether Martha has been misunderstood.

The story of Mary and Martha appears in Luke’s Gospel immediately after the parable of the Good Samaritan, a placement that’s likely not accidental. Both stories ultimately wrestle with versions of the same question: what does loving people actually look like? Sometimes love looks like presence. Sometimes it looks like service. Most often, it requires both.

Mary and Martha appear multiple times throughout Scripture. Both women clearly loved Jesus deeply. Both served Him faithfully. Both mattered. Yet somewhere along the way, many of us began treating them as opposites rather than complements. Mary became spiritually mature. Martha became distracted. Mary became the example. Martha became the warning.

Scripture itself offers something more nuanced.

The original Greek language in Luke provides an important layer that can easily get lost in modern retellings. Martha is described as being occupied with much diakonia, a word connected to service, ministry, and caring for the needs of others. This was about far more than preparing dinner or managing household tasks. Martha was ministering to Jesus and His disciples through hospitality. She was serving people she loved through attentiveness, generosity, preparation, and care. Service itself was not the problem. Service that crowded out presence and purpose was.

For women who naturally notice details, anticipate needs, create beauty, organize gatherings, and quietly carry responsibility without being asked, that distinction matters.

Martha today might be the woman who remembers everyone’s dietary restrictions without writing them down. She might be the friend who drives across town because she knows one guest loves a particular bakery. She might be the friend organizing meals after someone’s surgery, the woman adjusting the thermostat because she noticed someone looked cold, or the person quietly cleaning the kitchen long after everyone else has gone home.

Many Marthas become overburdened precisely because they care so deeply.

That is part of why I think this story matters so much when we talk about hospitality and etiquette today. Hospitality is often reduced to entertaining, as though it begins and ends with flowers, beautiful tables, candles, thoughtful menus, and getting every detail exactly right. Those details absolutely can matter. Thoughtfulness matters. Beauty matters. Preparation matters. There is nothing shallow about caring deeply about details or creating warmth and comfort for people we love.

The problem in Martha’s story was not that she cared about details. The problem was not that she served. Scripture suggests precisely the opposite. Martha’s service mattered. Her hospitality mattered. The issue was that somewhere along the way, service became burden. The details became so consuming that they interfered with the very purpose behind hospitality in the first place.

Mary focused on who was in front of her. Martha focused on details at the expense of who was in front of her, even though her intentions were pure.

That distinction feels remarkably relevant in a culture that quietly rewards over-functioning. Many women carry invisible labor so faithfully that gifts slowly begin to feel like burdens.

Does this sound familiar?

The friend who automatically takes over the group text because she knows that if she does not share the logistics, confirm the reservation, remind everyone of the time, and make sure people actually respond, no one else will.

Sometimes gifts slowly begin to feel like burdens. The woman gifted in hospitality feels crushed by hospitality. The woman gifted in organization becomes imprisoned by organization. The woman gifted in caring for people becomes so overwhelmed caring for people that she loses the ability to enjoy being with them.

I do not believe Jesus blesses us with gifts so that our blessings become burdens.

We need women who create beauty and women who create emotional safety. We need women who remember birthdays and women who remember to pull up a chair beside someone sitting alone. We need women who organize meals after surgeries and women who linger after dinner because someone needs encouragement. We need women who notice details and women who notice loneliness.

Hospitality itself is broader than entertaining. Hospitality is helping people feel seen, welcomed, safe, comfortable, and cared for. Sometimes that looks like a thoughtfully prepared table. Sometimes it looks like remembering a meaningful detail about someone’s life. Sometimes it looks like dropping off flowers after a difficult week. Sometimes it looks like pulling an extra chair closer or noticing the person sitting quietly by themselves.

Scripture repeatedly calls us toward hospitality because we enrich one another’s lives through the gifts God has given us. Some people create warmth through meals and beautiful spaces. Others through encouragement. Others through organization. Others by helping people feel emotionally safe and deeply known.

Hospitality becomes unhealthy when service becomes resentment, when attentiveness becomes perfectionism, when preparation becomes pressure, or when details begin crowding out people.

Jesus did not rebuke hospitality. He gently called Martha back toward peace in the middle of it.

Perhaps Mary and Martha were never meant to teach us that one woman got everything right and the other got everything wrong. Perhaps the lesson is learning the difference between serving with love and serving under pressure.

And perhaps wisdom is learning which gift a moment requires.

This reflection comes from a much larger conversation on hospitality, etiquette, and serving others with grace that I recently shared at a Ruby Women conference in San Diego.