What do you do for a living?
“Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to his teaching. But Martha was distracted with much serving. And she went up to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.” (Luke 10:38–42 ESV)
It's no surprise that Christianity makes theological claims, that it tells us something about God, claims knowledge about who God is and how we connect with God. But Christianity also makes claims that are anthropological, about the nature of humanity. About how human beings thrive. That is, Christianity makes claims about God in such a way that they clarify how we are to live in the way that is most humane, both to ourselves and others. One of the most important of which is seen right here in the interaction between Martha and Jesus. Mary has a non-speaking role. Martha is doing right by the needs of strangers in her home. They need to be fed, welcomed, treated as family. She is busy with that work. It is not Jesus who comes to her to tell her to stop being hospitable, it is her sense that her hard work is being ignored, by her sister, and maybe even by Jesus. Surely if he were impressed with her hospitality as he should have been, he would have demanded Mary go and help her. To Martha it was an insult and maybe, at a deeper level, a rumbling in her heart that if Mary and Jesus do not seem to think what she's doing is important, maybe it isn't important. And if Martha, who often as not shows up in Jesus' travels with the proper thing to do or say, if what she does is not important maybe she is not important. Jesus responds with typical patience and kindness to Martha, calling her "Martha, Martha," as one would with a grieving child over whom a shadow of self-righteousness has passed. He tells her that Mary has chosen the better portion, the better life-giving choice, and Martha is left to wonder about the word. Portion. Is there such a thing?
“Christianity also makes claims that are anthropological, about the nature of humanity. About how human beings thrive.”
As much as this is about Mary's example, it is perhaps far more about Martha and Jesus. The theological claim is something about which we are all familiar, but the anthropological claim is this: that at our best, we (humans) are not what we do.
Now by that I don't mean that who we are is completely separate from what we do. The world rightly demands integrity; that we act in a way that is consistent with who we are. Though the Bible is completely clear that we are out of luck if we want to save ourselves by our works, it is also clear that defining oneself as a Christian requires the action of Christian love to be present. So our works are not irrelevant. But there is a sense in which have so united our identity to our actions that there is no way to disentangle them. And when our actions are disappointing or curbed by illness or depression or failure of some sort there is a deep struggle to understand our lingering identity.
Christianity is unique in its insistence on human dignity. You may think that human dignity as human identity is a common trait of civilization, but it is Christianity's gift to the world. A gift we have gladly received while separating ourselves from its seating in the Christian faith. The trouble is that we have, particularly in our western culture, so divorced ourselves from the moorings of basic human identity and dignity, that when something like the pandemic strikes or the corporatization of human capital, like when workers at a global company bringing in record-breaking profits are denied even the most basic and dignifying concessions (like bathroom breaks), we do not know how to respond. This "you are what you do" has become so knotted in our collective psyche that it is not able to be disentangled without doing violence to the worlds we've built. If we are not what we do, what are we?
“But there is a sense in which have so united our identity to our actions that there is no way to disentangle them. And when our actions are disappointing or curbed by illness or depression or failure of some sort there is a deep struggle to understand our lingering identity. ”
Talk to a friend who does not claim Christian faith, and they will feel both a comfort in the idea that they are not what they do, and the buzzing of an existential conflict beneath the surface. Are they the good they create in the world? Are they the children they produce or their inherent likability? Are they their own kindness and mercy? The Heidelberg Catechism sheds light on Jesus' "Martha, Martha," by saying this:
Q. What is your only comfort in life and death?
A. That I am not my own, but belong with body and soul, both in life and in death, to my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ. He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood, and has set me free from all the power of the devil. He also preserves me in such a way that without the will of my heavenly Father not a hair can fall from my head; indeed, all things must work together for my salvation. Therefore, by his Holy Spirit he also assures me of eternal life and makes me heartily willing and ready from now on to live for him.
To belong to God and see that broader story of human dignity is how we answer the identity crisis at the heart of what we do. In life: in work, in worth, I belong to God and to the future He is bringing to bear on this earth. Martha may have only been a person seeking to do the right thing, a human being with a good sense of what people need when they come into your home. But at heart the Marthas in our world, which is all of us at least some of the time, do what we do not because it is good but because it is all we've got. And when those things fail, when we have no good answer for the question, "what do you do?" or when failure in the things we do cause us to ask ourselves the same question, there is an answer at the heart of our humanity, given by the one who knitted it together: You are the one for whom I came into the Earth. You are in the index of a story so wonderful that even the angels long to read it, and to know its ending.
What would it mean to human culture, to human history, to the monastic work of keeping our worlds healthy for the living who inhabit them, to remember that the hairs of our head are numbered just as much as our produce, if not more? What if we were doing the things we do, not because they make us or break us, but because they bless our little worlds? Because they pay the bills or make us laugh or cry, or feed the hungry, if we're really adventurous, or maybe because they change the arithmetic at work in our world, where the cold and lonely among us have accepted that we only add up to what we make of ourselves. What if the fire of God-given dignity could light the worlds of a fearful, defensive, relentless work-cult like ours?
Bruce Springsteen can explain the outcome better than I can. “The primary math of the real world is one and one equals two. The layman (as, often, do I) swings that every day. He goes to the job, does his work, pays his bills and comes home. One plus one equals two. It keeps the world spinning. But artists, musicians, con men, poets, mystics and such are paid to turn that math on its head, to rub two sticks together and bring forth fire. Everybody performs this alchemy somewhere in their life, but it’s hard to hold on to and easy to forget. People don’t come to rock shows to learn something. They come to be reminded of something they already know and feel deep down in their gut. That's when the world is at its best, when we are at our best, when life feels fullest, one and one equals three. It’s the essential equation of love, art, rock ’n’ roll and rock ’n’ roll bands. It’s the reason the universe will never be fully comprehensible, love will continue to be ecstatic, confounding, and true rock ’n’ roll will never die.”
“when we have no good answer for the question, “what do you do?” or when failure in the things we do cause us to ask ourselves the same question, there is an answer at the heart of our humanity, given by the one who knitted it together: You are the one for whom I came into the Earth. You are in the index of a story so wonderful that even the angels long to read it, and to know its ending.”
There's oxygen and artistry in Jesus' claim that Mary has found a "better portion." It is a Christian answer, at the microphone, the canvas, the typewriter, that can deliver us from the lesser portion. If we would only give it, hear it, believe it.