“And Jesus answered and said unto her, Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: but one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her.”—LUKE x. 41, 42.
MARTHA, it would appear, was the mistress of the house, and most likely the elder sister. It was she who gave the invitation to Christ to come into the house. It is a good thing to invite Christ—in His people, in His cause, or in His spiritual presence—into our houses. None who do so in a right spirit will ever have cause to repent it. Christ is the best guest we can have; for besides that His presence more than pays for His trouble, He will remember it long, and return the favour when our time of need comes. When death shall put us out of house and home, then will Christ receive us into everlasting habitations. “Come, ye blessed of my Father, . . . for I was a stranger and ye took me in.” Many of you will, no doubt, praise Martha for what she did, and most likely you will think you would do the same very gladly, if you had only the same opportunity. But is not Christ now saying to each one of you, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him and he with me”? Why, then, will ye not receive Him? You would esteem it great unkindness, and you could not be sufficiently revenged upon those who would allow Christ to remain all night in the open street for want of lodgings; but may not Christ say to the most of you—in reference to the way you deal with Him—“My locks are wet with the dews of the night”? O, will you not think of that day when you will hear Him say to those on the left hand, “Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, . . . for I was a stranger and ye took me not in”?
But to proceed to our purpose, let us, first, observe the account which the evangelist gives us of Martha and Mary; and, secondly, the character which Christ gives of them; or, the circumstances related of each, and Christ’s verdict on the matter.
I.—The account given us of the two.
I. Mary.
“And she had a sister called Mary, which also sat at Jesus’ feet and heard his word.” This is just what one might expect of her. Both were gracious women, but there was a great difference between the two. Mary had the more grace, and her grace shone with greater lustre than that of Martha. This is evident from the various notices that we have of them elsewhere, as well as from the account given in the text. Let us here observe (1) the effect of Christ’s presence upon her. Her grace had so much real life in it that the very sight of Christ kindled it up into a flame, and made her lose sight of every other object, and forget every other concern. At the death of Lazarus, when she heard that the Master was come and called for her, she instantly forgot the houseful of visitors that came from Jerusalem to comfort her concerning her brother, and left them abruptly, without apology or ceremony, to go to Him whom she loved better than them all. “It is the voice of my beloved” (Song v. 2). That puts everything else out of her thoughts; so now she forgets everything about the house—etiquette and all—forgots serving, and does not think even of going to prepare for Christ, whom she so much loved, although He had just come from His journey, and might be both weary and hungry. Ah! Mary, is this the way you use Christ when He comes to see you? Was He not welcome? Ah, yes! He would have, with right goodwill, the best in the house; but better still, He would first have her heart. (See John xii. 3.)
(2) Her position and occupation.
“sat at Jesus’ feet, and heard his word.” Christ’s feet is the right place for a believer. All who are by grace brought to their “right mind” are found there (Luke viii. 35). Mary would not exchange that place for a throne. And what was she doing there? Hearing His word. She had a true relish for it which soon discovered itself. This was spouse-like. “I sat down under his shadow with great delight; and his fruit was sweet to my taste” (Song ii. 3). Now, all these are signs of grace by which you may try yourselves. Put the question—Is there something in the presence and the voice that overcomes you and makes you forget everything else? Where are you—at Christ’s feet or at the world’s feet? If you are a Christian, you can never feel satisfied in any place but at Christ’s feet. At Christ’s feet as a sinner, seeking mercy, seeking refuge; at Christ’s feet as a scholar, learning; at His feet in the means—the Bible, preaching, the throne of grace.
2. Martha.
“But Martha was cumbered about much serving,” etc. A very unfavourable frame for profiting much by Christ’s discourse. She was a bustling woman, and made her hospitality become a burden to her.
(1) Her state at the time.
[1] “Cumbered.”
Her mind is perplexed, burdened, anxious, confused, concerned, distracted, overloaded. She was going about her business, which was a duty. But there was something wrong when her duty became a cross, a snare, and a sin to her. It was never intended that our duties should be cumbersome to us. If they become so it is our own fault. We have burdens enough to carry without this unnecessary one. She in this instance allowed her business to become her master. When this happens in any case, it at once destroys the comfort and pleasure that a Christian should have in his work, and the mind is, besides, thrown into a discontented and fretful state—discomposed—and thereby rendered both unfit and indisposed for spiritual exercises. This is our misery since the Fall—that our minds are so enfeebled, shattered, and ill-conditioned, that we know not how to go about our necessary work without getting some hurt or bruise from it. The work itself is a harmless thing, but much harm do we, for the most part, come by through it, and this by our unwatchfulness and foolishness. O, what need we have of that heavenly equanimity that would keep us, while pursuing our work here, from running upon either of these extremes on which we usually dash ourselves—the extreme of being cumbered, and the other extreme of negligence and slothfulness.
Is there not here also—without over-straining the point—a lesson for ministers, elders, and others, in reference to their public duties? How often do even the holiest things cumber and confuse the mind? A minister may, through negligence and unwatchfulness, get himself into such a hurry and bustle with his Sabbath duties that he entirely loses the comfort of both the Sabbath and these duties for himself. It should be our rule that when Christ is present, our minds should be perfectly free and prepared to enjoy His presence. It is no honour to Him that we should be cumbered before Him with His own work when He is with us. O, for Mary’s sobered mind, that thought of nothing but sitting down at Jesus’ feet and hearing His word!
[2] What was she cumbered with? “Much serving.”
It was not about what was necessary that she was cumbered, but about much serving. This was the more reprehensible. She was not content to concern and cumber herself merely with what could not be avoided, but must take a right load of it while she is at it. We are not at liberty to suppose that this proceeded from a desire of display on her part, as is the case too often with others; but we would attribute it rather to want of judgment than to anything worse. She was anxious to honour Christ and His company in the best way possible, because she had a high esteem of Him, and this was commendable; but she deprived herself of more than half the pleasure of His company through her weakness of judgment as to the measure of her preparations and the manner of her entertainment. It was entirely about a carnal matter that she put herself to so much trouble, and gave trouble to others besides. Bodily wants must be attended to, but they are too mean and low for the soul to be wholly taken up with them. What a wretched life do those live “whose god is their belly”—who are all their lifetime cumbered and absorbed in this much serving for their bodies, which ere long the worms shall consume in the grave!
A lesson here to such as make a great ado about much serving at Sacrament times, when they have a houseful of strangers, also at ministers’ visits, etc.
(2) Her complaint.
Her burden was heavy, and at last it put her out of all patience. She puts the fault on Mary and, one would think, a little of it, perhaps unintentionally, on Christ Himself. Her complaint was carnal throughout.
[1] Her own trial. “Dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone?”
She sympathised with herself, and thought Christ should sympathise with her likewise. Many such complaints are heard of poor, toil-worn, and harassed people, who have to be late and early at it, and altogether have a hard life of it. They count upon God’s sympathy with them, and think the hardship of their lot sufficiently warrants such an expectation and speaks for itself. Thus the first thing with such persons is to sympathise with themselves in their difficulties and burdens, instead of first inquiring how they came by them. It is a sad but common mistake for people thus to be confidently counting on sympathy from God in hardships which are more their sin than their misfortune, being voluntarily and sinfully brought upon them by themselves. Ah! Martha, who told thee to take such a burden upon thee? Was it I, or thyself, that put that heavy load upon thy back, which so much distresses thee? We are kindly invited to cast our cares upon the Lord, and here is one coming to Him with a great load of them; and what then? He does not take them off her hand, but sends her away rather with a rebuke. And why? Because they are not proper cares to offer him. We must see to this before we go to Him; nay, we ought to see to it before we take them at all upon us, that they be such as we may cast upon Him, and such as He will be like to take off our hands. Was there not some show of reason in Martha’s cares? Was it not entirely on His own account she had taken all this care, and was not that commendable? Yet we see that she was in the wrong, and got reproved for it.
[2] Her complaint against Mary. “Dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone? Bid her, therefore, that she help me.”
Her cross was one of her own making, and, like all the crosses that we make ourselves, so ill made that it galled her severely. She had undertaken more than she could master, and at length got herself so much out of humour, and exasperated, that she could not contain herself any longer, but breaks forth in the presence of all in the house. She was much agitated, no doubt, before she could thus so publicly reveal her weakness—a thing which would most likely cause deep regret and shame to her as soon as the storm subsided. This is what we usually get for our pains when we heedlessly and unwarrantably meddle with things that are not fit for us. We are such weak creatures that temptations—as soon as we come within their reach—make us to reel to and fro like a drunken man, deprive us of our wisdom and self-possession, and make their own sport of us, until we are rescued from them. Our greatest wisdom is to avoid such encounters and keep as far away from temptations as possible, for we are no match for the feeblest of them.
Is it not strange that when our sins begin to cause us pain and trouble, we would not then bethink ourselves and notice our error? But instead of this, when we begin to reap the fruits of our own folly, we are then farthest from seeing our sin or supposing the fault is ours. We begin to regard ourselves as martyrs rather than transgressors, and seek for someone on whom to lay the blame of our miseries.
“Dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone?” Martha thought that Mary carried her religion too far. It made her neglect other necessary things. This is an ordinary complaint among worldly people. They think that if people are very religious it must be at the expense of prudence, which certainly is a higher virtue in the eyes of the world than piety. Nay, indeed, the world would carry its prudence the length of driving piety out of the world.
There are two cases in which pious people are apt to forget, very much, the things of this world, and in which they bring themselves under this charge. (1) When a poor soul is first awakened. The only concern then is how he may be saved. He loses his appetite for worldly matters, and spends much of his time about religion. Perhaps he travels far and near in quest of his object, and it may be, is as often away as at home. Then very likely his worldly relations—it may be his wife, if he is so circumstanced, and she a worldly woman—will fall foul upon the poor sin-sick and sin-burdened soul, and accuse him of neglect of his lawful calling—his special duty—and make sad complaint (like Martha) of the hardships they are subjected to by his improvidence and imprudence. They are left to serve alone! The whole burden of caring for the farm falls upon their shoulders, and they are sadly wronged and abused, and have a right to appeal to the judgment of all about them and expect their sympathy; and among worldly people like themselves their case gets a ready hearing, and there will be no want of sympathisers. Nay, indeed, they verily think that God feels for them too and sees the wrong they are suffering, and it may be they even pray that God would bring the poor man to see his fault and attend better to his duty—that He would bid him help them, since he will mind no other. (2) The other case is the case of Christians in a peculiarly lively and elevated frame—souls sick with love to Christ and having their minds very much away from this world. Such was particularly Mary’s case. These are always censured for carrying their love to Christ too far.
“Dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone?” Poor complaint this to make to Christ—that she cared so little about the world and thought so much about Himself. She is so much taken up with Thee, that she cannot think of me or any person else! Was it not a foolish idea that Christ would find fault with Mary for this? O, that poor worldlings would have cause to complain of this oftener—that they were left alone to mind the world and could get no one to bear them company; that people were now so much taken up with Christ that the poor world could get no one to care for it.
II.—Let us now hear Christ’s verdict on the matter.
1. The Reproof.
Martha expected that Christ would listen to her complaint, and do her justice. So He did, but not in the way she thought. She thought Mary deserved a reproof, and would no doubt receive it; but instead of this she gets it herself.
Martha was a gracious woman, but had great and manifest infirmities, which did her much evil, and greatly hindered her grace from shining as it would otherwise do. Such get frequent reproofs from Christ, sometimes sad blows, to humble them and bring them to their right mind. It is their mercy that He will not “let them alone.” “As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten.” (Rev. iii. 19, and Heb. xii. 6.) One would think that in Christ’s house such a thing as the rod of correction would never be seen. It is a thing that has little attraction in itself, yet it serves a good purpose, and is useful in its own way. “Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child, but the rod of correction shall drive it far from him” (Prov. xxii. 15). God’s end in correcting His children is a gracious end: “that they may be partakers of his holiness” (Heb. xii. 10).
“Martha, Martha.” This is like the address of one who feels an affection towards the person addressed; something like the way in which an affectionate parent would speak to a headstrong and erring child. It showed also the earnestness of the speaker, and that what He said was peculiarly emphatic. “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem”—”Simon, Simon”—and now “Martha, Martha,” thou art altogether in the wrong; the fault is wholly with thee, and it is a great one! “Thou art careful and troubled about many things; but one thing is needful.”
“Careful.”
In its own place, measure, and manner, this is right enough, but in every other case it is sinful and hurtful to the soul. There is nothing that eats out the vitals of the spiritual life in the soul more than the “cares of this world.” O, what havoc do they make in the soul! What are they? They are the “thorns” mentioned in the parable. (Matt. xiii. and Luke viii.) What do these thorns to the soul? Why, they choke the seed of the Word, and hinder it from bearing fruit. And what more? Why, thorns tear and wound whatever touches them. This, then, is the name that Christ gives to the “cares,” “riches,” and “pleasures of this life” (Luke viii. 14). And O, how true! How unhappy they make the mind. How they torment, tear, and wound it, as in the case in hand—”Thou art careful and troubled.” And is it not a thousand pities that we should trouble and wound ourselves with things with which we have nothing to do? “Be careful for nothing.” Surely if ever there was a command given which one might feel disposed to obey, we might suppose this was that command. It is so entirely framed for our own interest, that it might be supposed every person would most willingly and constantly endeavour to obey it. “Be careful for nothing; but in everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto God.” And what then follows? O, that we would only believe it! “And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds, through Christ Jesus” (Phil. iv. 6, 7). Is not this kind? The Lord knows our frame, how feeble it is, and how ill-fitted to carry so great a burden as the cares of this life. He knows they are too heavy for us, and therefore graciously proposes to take them upon Himself, and discharge us entirely from having any concern about them, and invites us to cast them all upon Him. “Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee.” (Psalm lv. 22, also Psalm xxxvii., and 1 Peter v. 7.) But our misery is—we will not trust them to Him, and will on no account part with them, although they make us stoop and groan under their weight, and, it may be, at last break our back, and our heart to the bargain. O, how many have found it so. How many have the cares of this life brought down with sorrow to the grave!
“Careful and troubled about many things.”
Here we have a full view of the evil of the cares of this life, which consist not only of their quality but also in their multiplicity. Our minds are so constituted that we can only manage one thing at a time, and not even that very well at all times. When we attempt more than this, we become cruel to ourselves in driving ourselves faster than we can go, and forcing ourselves to carry a heavier burden than we are able to bear. This is the cruelty that sinners use to themselves. They use themselves worse than the taskmasters of Egypt did the Israelites. There is a mistake in reference to this matter which is common to us all. We think that we can meddle with the cares of this life, as far as we think it is right and necessary to do so, and at that point restrain ourselves with ease. We usually promise this to ourselves, and with this confidence set out fearlessly on this dangerous track. But there could be no greater folly than to imagine that the heart thus once set loose is to be restrained within such bounds. Indulge the mind, only in a limited license, in this way, and you may then as well attempt to command the wind, as to regulate or moderate it in its cares and troubles about the things of this world.
“Careful and troubled about many things.” This is that which perplexes, bewilders, distresses, and kills the mind—to have a host of unmanageable things thrown upon it. It has more of them than it can handle. A man would need a hundred hands to manage his “many things.” Nay, he would need as many hands as he has cares, and as many backs also to carry them, before he could manage them; yet he is so foolish that, instead of being content with what he has of them, he is grasping at every new care that comes his way—never sick of the cares themselves, although sick enough of the trouble they occasion. Men in this matter are like foolish children who attempt to take up a great many things in their arms at once—more than they can manage. While they pick up one thing another drops out, and so on, until they are wearied out with disappointment, and, it may be in a passion, fling away the whole, and retire from the hopeless task, weeping over their failure. This is what we shall have for our pains in the end if we grow not wise in time—we “shall lie down in sorrow.”
And why “many things”? What are they for? And have we need of them after all? Little might serve our purpose in this life as well as much, and we might have that little with much less trouble and pain; but our greedy, intemperate hearts, once they get on the scent of the cares of this life, know not where to stop. We think that our wants are a hundred times more than they really are. We make an intricate, multifarious business of this life for ourselves, foolishly imagining that unless we care and trouble ourselves about “many things,” we must have but a poor life of it. Like Martha, when we get the length to which we may lawfully and safely go, we think we are not half way. Our hearts throw dust into the eyes of our judgment, and we perceive not the line at which we should stop. We step over it, and thus get ourselves into a labyrinth. Might we not learn a lesson of those who get through the world without caring much about it? Might we not get through it so as well as they? Or, which is better still, might we not learn our lesson concerning this matter from the Scripture of truth? “Give us this day our daily bread” (Matt. vi. 11). This is the length, breadth, depth, and height of the care we are allowed to have about this life. Here we are to pray for “bread”—that is all. There are not “many things” there. And we are to seek this only for one day—“this day.” And further, we are not told to care even for that, but only to pray for it. O, how easy and simple God makes this matter besides what we make of it. He brings down our “many things” unto one, and frees that one thing from the evil that attaches to every one of our “many things”—the evil of having to care for it ourselves. There are two things we should ask ourselves concerning these “many things” about which we are careful and troubled: (1) What are they for? and (2) Are they needful? Ah! we might well blush, if we had any right feeling in us, when we consider that all these “many things” are exclusively for this “vile body.” What a troublesome and costly concern it is to many. And then, what is it worth? Ah! but we make too much of this vain life. How much of our precious time is spent about it. And how many of our thoughts are given to it. Ask yourselves the second question—Are they needful? Most people say they are, and they cannot do without them. But we will undertake to prove that they are not needful. Ah! say you, how can you do that? Are not riches needful? And are not pleasures needful? A rich table, a good house, an easy bed, good furniture, fine dress, a good fortune to maintain them? No; these are not needful. Many had them not, and yet did well enough without them; nay, better than most of those that had them. Lazarus had none of them, and yet he did better without them than the rich man did who possessed them to his heart’s desire. But, say you, if not these, yet are not such things needful as a good farm, a good stock, good crops, good credit, and such things as men in ordinary circumstances have? No, we say, they are not needful. But is not a man’s daily bread needful? All the world knows we cannot do without that; and, are we not even commanded to pray for it, and also to labour for it? Are they not then needful? We say no; they are not needful. But you will say, how will you prove that? You have reason, and the judgment of all the world against you in it. Yes, we can prove it in the best way in which anything can be proved—the word of Christ—which we need not go far to seek, for we have it in our text. He says, “One thing is needful,” and it is quite certain that this one thing is none of the “many things,” which make up the cares of this life. What say you to this? Will you believe the word of Christ? I know the most of you will not. You think it must have some other meaning, for, in this sense, it is against reason and the world’s daily experience. But can you look no higher than that? Just look at it for a moment in the light of eternity and of eternal things. A man can die without these cares, can he not? Will they help him to die better or more comfortably? A man can stand before the tribunal of God without them; can he not? Will there be any need of them there? Or, will his not having them in this world prevent him from getting there? And, if he goes to heaven, will his eternal felicity be diminished, or in the least affected for the worse, because he had not these things in this world? Will not eternity be to him as happy and as full as if he had been a king when on earth? And view them now in the case of the man who at this time has no interest in Christ. Can you say that as long as he is without Christ any of the “many things” he has, or seeks to have, can do him any good, or deserve the name of needful? Ah! no. “One thing is needful.” All the others are not. You will all ere long be in the other world! Let me ask you what will be the value of these “many things” to you then? O will you not therefore say each and all of you—“I will henceforth cease from this vain and hurtful business of caring and being troubled about ‘many things.’ Let the world from this time forth walk on its own legs or get some stronger back than mine to carry it, for I will have nothing to do with anything but this ‘one thing needful.’”
2. The commendation.
We shall only notice a few points.
(1) Mary’s portion.
It is described thus—“One thing is needful,” and “that good part.” They both mean the same thing, which certainly is Christ Himself—the salvation of the soul—the kingdom of God—eternal life. “One thing needful.”—The other things for which the world cares, we have seen are not needful; but this does not arise from any fulness in men; as if they were above need, and had in themselves a sufficiency of everything which was necessary for their happiness. Far from it, “they are wretched, and miserable, and blind, and poor, and naked”—Rev. iii. 17,—and in reality have nothing else but need, and it is from this circumstance that the “one thing” here derives its peculiar attribute or quality of “needful.” And hence arises also its peculiar preciousness to us—that it is the very thing, and the only thing that suits our need, and suits it so well, as entirely to remove it. It bespeaks both our misery and our happiness at the same time. It shows that we are truly in a lamentable state—a state of utter want, and nothing within the bounds of the whole universe—away from this “one thing,” that can do us the slightest good, for it “one thing” only that is needful. All the others, although bestowed upon us, would not make us any better than before. They could not apply to us when this need existed—still there would be this one thing needful wanting. Also it shows our happiness, in that while such a need existed there is one thing that suits it exactly—otherwise it could not have this name of the “one thing needful.” If it were not the thing entirely to fit our need, like the other things, we would have no need of it. And although there is but one of this description, it is as good as if there were a thousand; for the one fills up the void, and it can hold no more.
The misery of most among us is that they do not believe that they need it. This is the reason why so few embrace it. O for a sense of this need! If this were once attained, there would be no more slighting of this “one thing.” Every sinner, having this sense, would at once go and serve himself heir to this infinitely precious portion, by making it his choice, as Mary did. The language of most of your hearts is, “Give me the ‘many things’ of this life, and I will let the next provide for itself;” and it is not unlikely, but that God is letting many of you have your choice! Look at your tables, groaning, as they say, under the weight of the bounties of providence with which they are covered—not an inch of room empty—no place for anything more! Have you not a goodly portion? Such abundance, and such variety, that if one thing suits not the taste, there are so many others, that you can be at no loss. What better than this could any one desire! But, sinner, believe me, there is one great want in your feast. I see nothing on that table, that will suit the taste, or satisfy the desire of an awakened and guilty conscience. When that comes—and come it shall—there is but one thing that will suit your need, and this one you have not. If you ask, what much better could you be than you are, even had you that one thing with the rest? I would simply ask—What is the life of a beast to the life of a rational, spiritual, and immortal being? What is the body to the soul—time, to eternity? An earthly portion to everlasting blessedness? A state of guilt and condemnation, to a state of peace with God. In short—without it you can have no true enjoyment even in this life. It is the thing that sweetens every earthly enjoyment; and is itself a feast when other things are wanting. Without this you cannot bear up in troubles. It fortifies the soul against the evils that assail it in the world. You may think you can live without it, but you cannot die without it. You cannot go to judgment without it. You cannot go to heaven without it. A thousand worlds then for the “one thing needful.”
“That good part.”—The poor world is all the time crying out, “Who will show us any good?” which is sufficient proof that there is no good in it. Sinners are thus constrained unwittingly to bear testimony to the truth of Christ’s saying, that there is but one thing needful and this is the “good part.” There is in it, real, suitable, satisfying, and everlasting good. And, withal, it is the only good, and all the good that is to be found in the whole universe. This does not bespeak the scarcity of good, but rather the great abundance of it; for it is so great that there is no room in the universe for more than one such “good part.” We might here dwell on several of the excellencies and preciousness of it, but we will simply in the meantime notice the one here mentioned that it shall not be taken away from those that choose it. Death will strip you of all the others and leave you empty enough.—“Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee; then, whose shall those things be, which thou hast provided?”—Luke xii. 20.