Disciples Who Serve: The Wisdom of Martha and Mary

 17 Sunday of Ordinary Time year C; Luke 10:38–42

When Jesus visited Martha and Mary, He wasn’t choosing between work and worship—he was showing us we need both. Martha teaches us to serve with love; Mary reminds us to stay close to Jesus. The best disciples are those who welcome others and make time to listen at the feet of the Lord.

Listen to homily here:

When I first started my time in seminary, we had a kind of Christmas party in the recreation room. I was a new seminarian, and as you might imagine, seminary life is a bit unusual. You have all these men living together, praying together, reading the Bible together—so the way we interact and the sense of humour we develop can sometimes be a bit strange to outsiders.

After the party, I stayed behind to help clean up. It was just me and a couple of others—most people had already left. As I was working away, another seminarian walked in. He must have thought he was being funny, and he said to me, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things.”

At that moment, that was not the kind of joke I wanted to hear. I felt a flash of anger. I wanted to snap back, “Well, are you going to pick up a broom and help or not?”

Because of that moment, this Gospel story has always been a bit of a sore spot for me. It irks me. Whenever I hear it proclaimed, I feel a bit upset for Martha—she seems unfairly criticized. She’s doing something good and necessary, and it seems like Jesus is scolding her for it.

But the Gospel is the Word of Life. It may challenge us, but it’s not meant to upset us. When a Gospel passage bothers us, it might be because we’re not seeing the full picture. That’s certainly the case with today’s reading.

This Gospel should not be read as a criticism of those who work hard or are busy. What Martha is doing is extremely valuable—she’s welcoming Jesus into her home. She is offering him hospitality. And hospitality, as we see in today’s first reading from Genesis, is one of the key virtues in the biblical tradition.

In Genesis 18, Abraham welcomes three mysterious visitors. We, the readers, are told it is the Lord, but Abraham doesn’t know that. For him, it’s simply three travelers who appear at his tent. He responds with extravagant hospitality—offering food, water, rest. He treats them with reverence and generosity.

This becomes a kind of test for Abraham: will he welcome these guests, even without knowing who they truly are? And he does. Because of this, he and Sarah receive a promise—the promise of a son, Isaac.

This story teaches us that hospitality matters. As the Letter to the Hebrews reminds us: “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it” (Heb 13:2). Timothy Schmalz, a Canadian sculptor, has a piece in St. Peter’s Square titled Angels Unaware. It depicts migrants from all over the world, with angel wings hidden among them—reminding us that in welcoming others, we might just be welcoming Christ.

So if Martha is doing something good and holy, why does Jesus say that Mary has chosen “the better part”?

To understand this, we have to look closely at what Mary is doing. She’s not merely relaxing while Martha works. Luke tells us she is “sitting at the feet of Jesus.” In biblical language, to sit at someone’s feet means to be their disciple. In Acts 22:3, Paul says he was educated “at the feet of Gamaliel”—it’s a phrase that signifies discipleship.

Mary, then, is choosing to be a disciple. That is the “better part.” It’s not that Martha is wrong to serve—but Mary has chosen to be taught, to be formed, to give her full attention to Jesus. And Jesus praises that choice.

Still, he doesn’t condemn Martha. He simply invites her to remember why she is serving. It’s not enough to be busy—we must also be intentional. Our service must flow from our relationship with Jesus, from our identity as his disciples.

That’s the heart of the message: not a rejection of work, but a call to integrate it with discipleship. We are called to be both Martha and Mary—servants who are also disciples, and disciples who serve.

This is true not only for us as individuals, but also as a community. Hospitality in a parish is essential. Many people who come to our church for the first time tell me later: “I came back because someone made me feel welcome. I felt at home here.” That’s the work of Martha. That’s hospitality in action. And it’s beautiful.

Let us then be inspired by this Gospel—not to dismiss Martha, or idolize Mary, but to learn from both. Let us be people who serve with love, and who sit at the feet of Jesus with open hearts. Let us be disciples who serve.

Look for the Helpers

15 Sunday OT, year C | Luke 10

Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan challenges us to examine our own tendency to judge or exclude others based on group identity. Sometimes, the people we least expect are the ones who show the greatest compassion and faithfulness. Like Mr. Rogers taught, our call as Christians is to be the helpers—those who reach out in love, regardless of differences.

Listen to homily here:

 

Some years ago, I was living in a parish in Kerrisdale, and as you may know, Kerrisdale is a very nice neighbourhood—lots of beautiful homes and quite a bit of wealth. As I walked down the main street, I’d often see luxury cars: Ferraris, Lamborghinis, the kind of cars you only see in magazines. What really surprised me, though, was that many of these flashy sports cars had novice driver signs on the back—an “N” indicating a new driver. It blew my mind that students, often on their way to UBC, were driving these expensive vehicles.

So, I began to get judgmental. Whenever I saw one of those cars, I would quietly (thankfully not outwardly!) shake my head and mentally criticize. I looked down on them, assuming they were spoiled or entitled.

But then something happened that challenged my assumptions. One day, I was driving to UBC and my car broke down on Southwest Marine Drive. The clutch was shot. I had to push the car off the road to avoid a tow in the middle of traffic. So there I was, pushing my car, trying to make it to a side street. It was exhausting, and the incline made it even worse.

Out of nowhere, a young man came running down the road and offered to help. I gratefully accepted, and together we managed to push the car safely to the side. Afterward, I thanked him and explained I was late for a meeting at UBC. He said, “I’m going the other way, but I’ll drive you—it’s no problem.”

We walked toward his car… and it was a Lotus sports car. With an “N” on the back. One of those cars.

You can imagine how I felt. Here I had lumped all young drivers in fancy cars into one category, thinking nothing good could come from them. And yet it was one of them who helped me when I most needed it.

If we’re honest, many of us carry this tendency. We judge others based on the group they belong to—political parties, sports teams, religious styles. Even in the Church, we sometimes look down on fellow Catholics who practice differently or hold different views.

This tendency to divide and exclude is growing, especially in the age of social media. But it’s not new. In today’s Gospel, the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus addresses this very problem.

We know the story: a man is attacked and left for dead on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. A priest and a Levite, both religious men who should have known better, pass him by. Then comes a Samaritan—a member of a group many Jews considered outsiders, heretics, impure. And it’s he who stops, tends to the man’s wounds, brings him to an inn, and pays for his care.

The shock of this parable is that Jesus holds up the Samaritan—the outsider—as the true example of God’s love in action. It's a direct challenge to anyone who assumes that goodness only exists within their own group. It’s a reminder that God's Spirit is at work far beyond the boundaries we like to draw.

This parable should stir our consciences. Do we, like I did, judge entire groups as being unworthy of our attention or respect? Jesus invites us to see that love of neighbour goes beyond social categories, and that sometimes, the people we least expect are the ones who act most faithfully.

And more than that, Jesus challenges us to be the Good Samaritan. To help others regardless of who they are.

Fred Rogers, the beloved children’s television host, shaped Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood around this Gospel story. A seminary-trained minister, he saw his show as a form of ministry—teaching children how to be neighbours. He often told a story from his childhood:

When he saw something scary on the news, his mother told him, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”

Those are the Good Samaritans. The ones Jesus wants us to notice—and to become.

So today, let us hear the challenge in Jesus’ words. Let the parable of the Good Samaritan make us just a little uncomfortable. Let it push us to tear down our inner walls of judgment and exclusion.

And above all, let us be the helpers.

Not Couch Potatoes, But Missionaries of Peace

 14 Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year C; Luke 10

Too often, the word missionary brings to mind flashy televangelists or social media influencers chasing followers—but Jesus sends out ordinary people like us to bring his peace to the world. We’re not meant to be “couch potato Christians,” but active participants in God’s mission, especially in our families, workplaces, and friendships. When we leave Mass, we’re not just dismissed—we’re sent to light up the world with peace, hope, and love.

Listen to homily here:

It seems that the idea of being a missionary has developed something of a bad reputation. Perhaps you've seen Christian missionaries on television—so-called televangelists. While some may be sincere, many can appear shallow, overly dramatic, or preoccupied with money and self-promotion. In today's world, this image has largely been replaced by social media influencers—preachers on TikTok or Instagram delivering flashy soundbites, often more focused on followers and sponsorships than faith and service. Understandably, “missionary” can sound like a tainted term.

But in light of today’s Gospel, we are invited to reconsider what it truly means to be a missionary, what it truly means to be an evangelist. Because what we see in the Gospel today is that each and every baptized person—not just clergy or religious—is sent out and called to be a missionary.

Jesus sends out not only the Twelve, his closest followers, but a broader group of seventy-two disciples to go ahead of him and prepare the way. In the same way, each one of us is sent on a mission. We are not merely spectators or passive participants. We are missionaries.

Pope Francis, early in his pontificate, captured this idea with one of his now well-known expressions: he warned us not to become “couch potato Christians.” In a homily on this very Gospel, he reminded us that faith is not about spiritual comfort or passivity. Yes, we must come to Mass and pray—but we are also sent to bring Christ to the world. In that, Pope Francis was simply echoing the teaching of the Second Vatican Council.

In Lumen Gentium, the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, the Council states:

“The laity are called to engage in the apostolate by virtue of their baptism and confirmation. They are consecrated for the royal priesthood and the holy people of God... It is the special vocation of the laity to seek the kingdom of God by engaging in temporal affairs and directing them according to God's will.” (LG §33)

This passage makes three essential points:

1. We are all sent—every baptized person has received a mission;

2. Our mission is not confined to church walls—it is carried out in families, workplaces, schools, and everyday relationships;

3. We are called to be active, not passive, in the life of the Church.

So how can we reclaim the word “missionary”? How can we live out this calling authentically, without falling into the stereotypes we sometimes see in media?

The Gospel gives us guidance.

First, Jesus tells the disciples: “Carry no money bag, no sack, no sandals.” This is not just about traveling light—it’s a call to focus on what truly matters. In our modern world, we often chase possessions, wealth, and material security. But being a missionary means shifting that focus toward what is eternal: our relationships with God, with others, and especially with those in need.

A friend of mine often says, whenever financial stress arises: “Well, in the end, it’s all God’s money.” That perspective is freeing. It reminds us that we are stewards, not owners—that what matters most is how we love, how we serve, how we give.

Second, and finally, Jesus sends his followers as missionaries of peace. The very first instruction he gives them is this: “When you enter a house, say, ‘Peace to this household.’” That’s our task: to bring peace wherever we go.

You’ve probably heard the phrase, “She lights up a room.” It’s said of someone whose presence brings hope and joy to others. What a beautiful way to describe a Christian missionary: someone who, just by their presence, radiates warmth, kindness, encouragement, and peace.

But we might also ask: when I enter a room, what do I bring? Do I bring peace—or something else? Do I bring gossip, criticism, negativity—or do I carry the peace of Christ?

At the end of every Mass, the words of dismissal are clear: “Go forth, the Mass is ended.” We are sent. We have been nourished, yes—but also commissioned. And when we exchange the sign of peace, it is not merely a ritual gesture. It is a reminder of our mission.

So today, as we exchange that sign of peace, let it be with intention. Let it remind us that we are taking on both a responsibility and a joy: to be Christ’s missionaries, sent into the world to carry his peace, his light, and his love to everyone we meet.