Who Am I Doing This For?
Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
“There is need of only one thing.”
Gospel: Lk 10:38-42
There’s a part of me that really resonates with Martha, working hard at a thousand things, yet secretly giving her sister the side-eye until her resentment finally boils over.
I can think of many days in ministry when I found myself in full-on Martha mode, throwing myself into the day’s demands with every ounce of energy I had. I’d spend the morning hearing confessions, celebrating Masses, and then all afternoon and evening racing between hospital rooms and hospice calls—deathbeds, grief-stricken families, anguished prayers—until well after dark. In between, I’d be juggling text messages, emails, and phone calls, trying to keep my head above water under the weight of so many needs.
I remember many nights coming home, bone-tired and emotionally raw, and feeling a familiar pang of resentment. I had poured myself out all day long. Surely, I thought, I’d earned a little love in return. A little tenderness. Someone to come home to. But the apartment was quiet. God seemed silent. I was alone. And I wondered, “Who am I doing all this for?”
The pious answer that sprang to my lips, of course, was: for God. But if I was honest, I was often doing it for myself, hoping that if I gave enough, did enough, loved enough, then love would finally come back to me.
That’s the danger of Martha energy. It’s the subtle shift that happens when we start working for love, instead of from love.
Consider the scene in today’s Gospel. We see Martha, overwhelmed and anxious, struggling to keep her own head above water. She sees her sister sitting calmly in the other room, enjoying the kind of intimate moment with Jesus she would love to have time for—but doesn’t, because someone has to get dinner on the table. And in that moment, her resentment boils over as she exclaims: “Tell her to help me!”
It’s a deeply human moment. She’s not just asking for some help in the kitchen. Martha is acting out of insecurity and overload, triangulating Jesus into her frustration and rivalry with her sister. She wants him to take her side. To tell her that her work doesn’t go unnoticed. To offer her some love, too.
And Jesus, seeing her weary heart, gently names what’s going on beneath the surface: “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things. There is need of only one.”
Notice, please, what he doesn’t say. He doesn’t tell her to sit down and stop serving. He doesn’t say her work is unimportant. Yes, “Mary has chosen the better part,” but what does that mean? Mary has chosen to be with him, to enjoy this brief and precious visit, while Martha has lost track of the reason she started serving in the first place.
In that moment, Jesus sees Martha, not just as a hostess or helper, but as a friend who’s longing for connection. And so he calls her back to herself: to the truth of what her heart is really seeking. He reminds her that love, not labor, is the point. That being together matters more than what she’s doing for him. That presence is more essential than performance.
Maybe that’s what Jesus wants to remind us, too. Especially the Marthas among us who carry the unseen labor of caregiving, ministry, or relationships. Those of us—especially in the LGBTQ+ community—who’ve spent years trying to prove we belong in a Church that hasn’t always made space for us. We’ve worked hard to be faithful, generous, useful. But sometimes, beneath it all, there’s still that quiet ache: Will this finally make me lovable?
Jesus’s answer is clear: You already are.
“Only one thing is necessary,” he says. Not success. Not perfection. Just presence.
Which brings us back to Martha. There’s a line from Richard Rohr in The Naked Now that struck me yesterday: “Martha’s clumsy, futile attempts at love are the beginning of her eventual transformation into Mary.”
In other words, even our misguided efforts, our anxious offerings, and the embarrassing moments we act out when we’re really looking for connection, can all become holy ground—if we let them lead us back into presence.
That’s the possibility Jesus is offering Martha, and us, this Sunday. A path back to the present moment. An invitation to love.
And so maybe the question today isn’t, “Am I more like Martha or Mary?” but rather: “What’s the why beneath all my doing? Who am I trying to be seen by? What do I think I have to earn before I can simply be?”
Because the good news is: We don’t have to earn our place. We don’t have to prove ourselves worthy of love.
We already are.
Reflection Questions:
Where in my life have I been working for love instead of working from love?
What do I think I need to achieve before I can rest in God’s love and simply be?
What would it look like, this week, for me to choose the better part?