It was a very important thing that they should have a good dinner that
day. Christ was hungry, and He did not often have a luxurious
entertainment. Alas, me! if the duty had devolved upon Mary what a
repast that would have been! But something went wrong in the kitchen.
Perhaps the fire would not burn, or the bread would not bake, or
Martha scalded her hand, or something was burned black that ought only
to have been made brown; and Martha lost her patience, and forgetting
the proprieties of the occasion, with besweated brow, and perhaps with
pitcher in one hand and tongs in the other, she rushes out of the
kitchen into the presence of Christ, saying: "Lord, dost Thou not care
that my sister hath left me to serve alone?"
Christ scolded not a word. If it were scolding I should rather have
his scolding than anybody else's blessing. There was nothing acerb. He
knew Martha had almost worked herself to death to get Him something
to eat, and so He throws a world of tenderness into His intonation as
He seems to say: "My dear woman, do not worry; let the dinner go; sit
down on this ottoman beside Mary, your younger sister. Martha, Martha,
thou art careful and troubled about many things, but one thing is
needful." As Martha throws open that kitchen door I look in and see a
great many household perplexities and anxieties.