194/365 Mary and Martha

I'm an incurable Mary. Today the homily was about hospitality and ora et labora. Finding the balance between prayer and work. But also, I think, between being busy and just being. I think most people, like Fr. Miguel said, are Marthas. And I know I can be. I like to do things and prepare things and get stuff together and all that. But I also hate that. I remember so many extended family gatherings with women washing dishes and being busy--my father's family and my inlaws--and menfolk sitting in some other room watching sports, or out in the garage looking at this or that piece of machinery that can kill you. I have never felt completely comfortable making myself busy in someone else's kitchen, and I certainly have nothing to say about football games or British sports cars that wouldn't be completely derivative and passe.

I am a Martha sometimes in my own house, especially with new people. Once I know someone and have fed them a few times, though, I find myself slipping out of that role. It takes too much effort to keep treading water in my own home. This has gotten me in trouble with friends' girlfriends who expected me to be doing and instead I was just being. In trouble in a backhanded way, of course, just like Martha: tell her to help me, Martha tells Jesus. In these cases it goes something like "I can't believe she didn't...." [fill in the blank]. And sometimes I am in the wrong. My hospitality style does not involve putting on a vintage apron and polishing the silver. But it does involve the assumption that whatever is in my house is at your disposal. Stay and don't feel like you don't belong. Assume you know where the milk is for the coffee. Ask if you need to but don't read into my forgetfulness some sort of sinister plan to make you feel unwelcome. Because I want to sit and talk to you, not wash dishes and have you stand around awkwardly wondering if you should be doing something.

My friend Rachel has an older friend who has helped her out along the way who takes my style too far. Rachel made up a quote about Joan one time that went, "I would have gotten things ready for you today but I got distracted by this pretty plate." I don't want to go that far. Missy at our parish is a little like that, too. Come over and bring your child but wait, I forgot to mention that my child the same age was going to be at preschool and oh, don't you want me to read Pablo Neruda poetry to you in the original Spanish?

It's hard not to get distracted by a pretty plate or desire someone to sit and be with you all day long to the point that you forget that other people have actual needs. I do try. I don't want people to be burdened by me. I don't want them to feel like they have to cater every time they come over to my house (which has happened to me, again, a friend's girlfriend...and it was so bizarre for everyone else present). Maybe I should keep more beer and lemonade in the fridge and ice cream sandwiches in the freezer. And never read Pablo Neruda in the original Spanish to anyone.

But also not be disturbed when folks appear on my doorstep. Even if I really need a shower and ibuprofen and a bed and kids to be quiet. Because I can do all that later. I want you to come in and sit in my living room and talk about why I have marbles in a printer's tray on the wall. And give you garlic and let my kids get all riled up (it's summer after all, but even if it's not) and then stand on my porch after you leave and talk to the neighbors.