This week we are jumping back into the story of Lazarus. But I’d like to shift my focus to a different character woven into that narrative. 

The story of Mary and Martha is a very well known story in most Christian circles. But over the past year it has taken on a depth I didn’t expect. 

I never realized how much of a Martha I was until I took a step back and looked honestly at my own life. And let me be totally clear, there is nothing wrong with being a Martha… we need people in this world that get things done.

 Honestly, I have wondered more than once what her Enneagram type would’ve been if that test existed back then.

Would she be a One? Striving for perfection, wanting everything to be just right for the greatest teacher she had ever known? Seeking justice for everyone to play the part they are supposed to. 

Would she be a Two? Overflowing with a servant’s heart? 

Maybe she would have been a Two with a One Wing like I am – a blend of both. 

Whatever she was, she was busy trying to make things perfect… because Jesus deserved perfection. 

As Jesus and the disciples continued on their way to Jerusalem, they came to a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. Her sister, Mary, sat at the Lord’s feet. Listening to what he taught. But Martha was distracted by the big dinner she was preparing. She came to Jesus and said, “Lord, doesn’t it seem unfair to you that my sister just sits there while I do all the work? Tell her to come and help me. But the Lord said to her, “My dear Martha, you are worried and upset over all these details. There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her.”  Luke 10:38-42

Martha was annoyed and frustrated – and honestly, who wouldn’t be?  She was busting her tail preparing this big, elaborate meal for Jesus while her sister just sat there – breaking every expectation for what a woman should be doing. Her frustration wasn’t dramatic or petty. She was doing what she was supposed to do, and Mary was crossing all kinds of cultural boundaries. 

But tucked inside this moment is someone whose posture has been quietly reshaping my own – Mary. The one who wasn’t in the kitchen, but at His feet. The one who chose presence over pressure. And that’s where I want to linger for a moment. 

Mary the Listener

I’ve often wondered what happened in Mary’s life prior to this. I can’t help but feel like there’s a story behind the story here – something that made her so hungry for his words, so desperate to be in his presence. Maybe she experienced a loss of her own. Maybe she knew what it felt like to be overlooked and pushed to the side. Who really knows? But what I do know is this: there is something beautiful about the desperation that rises when you’ve run out of strength. There’s something sacred about the moment a person finally whispers “I can’t do this anymore.”

And that is where we find her – at his feet. Listening. Soaking in every word.

Her sister is irritated, overwhelmed, and voices her frustration in front of everyone. 

“Lord, doesn’t it seem unfair to you that my sister just sits there while I do all the work? Tell her to come and help me.”

I wonder what Mary felt in that split second. Did her heart drop? Did she suddenly remember the cultural expectations she was ignoring? Did she feel guilty for not helping her sister? Was she bracing herself for Jesus’ response – or the judgement of others in the room?

Whatever the feeling she had, it quickly disappeared. Because when Jesus responded – He didn’t correct her. He didn’t shame her. He didn’t send her back to the kitchen. 

He affirmed her. 

“There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her.”

In that moment Jesus let Mary know: your performance isn’t necessary. Your presence is what I want.

He was letting her know that was exactly where she needed to be. 

In his presence. At his feet. 

But Mary’s story doesn’t end in the quiet living room. The next time scripture mentions her, she’s at His feet again – not as a listener, but as a woman undone by loss. And it’s there, in her grief, that we see another side of the Healer who draws near. 

Mary the Griever

When Mary arrived and saw Jesus, she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died.” John 11: 32

She had lost everything. I’ve never seen anything in scripture about Mary’s father or about a husband. So it’s safe to assume that neither exist. With that, her brother’s death likely would have been both a social and economic crisis for the sisters, along with the heartbreak and grief that anyone would naturally feel by losing a sibling.

Mary knew what it felt like to sit at Jesus’ feet – to listen, to learn, to breathe again. But grief has a way of testing even the places that once felt safe. And when Lazarus died, everything Mary believed about Jesus collided with the reality in front of her. 

The same feet she once sat beside in quiet devotion were the same feet that she fell at in heartbreak. 

This wasn’t the Mary who lingered in the living room, soaking in His teaching. This was the Mary who could barely stand. The Mary whose world had shattered. The Mary who had sent for Jesus and waited… and waited… and He didn’t come in time. 

And when she finally saw Him, she didn’t come with composure or calm faith. She came undone. 

She fell at his feet – not to listen this time, but to weep. 

“Lord, if You had been here…”

This wasn’t her being mean, it wasn’t disrespect. It was the raw honesty of a woman who trusted Him deeply and still didn’t understand his timing. 

Mary brought Him her grief without filtering it. Without fixing it. Without pretending she was okay. 

And Jesus didn’t correct her. He didn’t rush her. 

He met her in it. 

Mary’s grief didn’t push her away from Jesus – it pulled her closer. And once you’ve experienced that kind of nearness in your darkest moment, something shifts inside you. 

The next time we see Mary at Jesus’ feet, she isn’t there with questions or with grief. She’s there with extravagant, unfiltered worship. 

Mary the Worshipper

Six days before the Passover celebration began, Jesus arrived in Bethany, the home of Lazarus. The man he raised from the dead. A dinner was prepared in Jesus’ honor. Martha served and Lazarus was among those who ate with him. Then Mary took a 12 oz jar of expensive perfume made from the essence of nard and she anointed Jesus’ feet with it, wiping his feet with her hair. The house was filled with fragrance. But Judas Iscariot, the disciple who would soon betray him, said, “That perfume was worth a year’s wages. It should have been sold and the money given to the poor” – he was a thief and since he was in charge of the disciples’ money, he often stole some for himself. Jesus replied, “Leave her alone. She did this in preparation for my burial. You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me.” John 12:1-8

There Mary was again. 

Making her way through the crowd, pushing past the expectations and unspoken rules. She risked her reputation… again. 

She just had to be close to Him. 

But this time she didn’t come to sit and listen. 

She didn’t come with a broken heart. 

She came with worship. 

Pure, unfiltered, costly worship.

This is why I believe that Mary was a woman with a past. 

There was a story behind her devotion – and I wish I knew what it was. 

She was in awe of Him. 

There was a desperation there that I think so many of us miss. 

I’ve noticed something over the years: There’s a difference in the way that people worship when they’ve been through the fire. When they’ve been in those dark places. When they’ve experienced hitting rock bottom and reached the end of themselves.

There’s a desperation there – a depth that can’t be manufactured. 

God, how I never want to lose that desperation for you.

Mary’s worship was costly. 

Ours is too. 

Journal your thoughts: 

1. What does costly worship look like in my life right now? 
2. Where have I lost my desperation for Jesus… and why? 
3. What am I holding back that Jesus is inviting me to pour out? 

Mary’s worship wasn’t polished. It wasn’t convenient. It wasn’t safe. 

It was costly – and that’s what made it beautiful.

She didn’t care who was watching. 

She didn’t care who whispered. 

She didn’t care what it cost her reputation, her resources, or her place in the room. 

She just wanted Jesus. 

And maybe that’s the invitation for us too – to return to the kind of love that doesn’t calculate, doesn’t hesitate, and doesn’t wait for the perfect moment. The kind of love that pours itself out because He is worth it. 

May we never lose the desperation that comes from knowing what He’s brought us through.

May our worship carry the fragrance of a life fully surrendered.

And may we, like Mary, always find ourselves at His feet – in every season, with every story, and with every part of who we are.