Sharing a Feast Day with Saint Martha: Action, Anxiety, and the Better Part


Editor’s note: Article originally published on July 29, 2025.


Every year, July 29th rolls around and I get to celebrate two things: my birthday and the feast day of one of the most relatable saints in all of Scripture—Saint Martha of Bethany.

Over the years, I’ve come to see Martha not just as a biblical figure who shares my birthday, but as a spiritual companion who understands my temperament, my wiring, and even my weaknesses. She’s a person of action, but also anxious. A hostess, a worrier, a doer, a disciple. And in many ways, she’s me.

Constant Motion and the Martha Mindset

Diagnosed with ADHD as a kid, I’ve always been moving. Fidgeting, bouncing, thinking ahead to the next thing. Even now, I find it hard to sit still. My kids inherited this gift too. Trying to get them to sit through an entire meal is like herding caffeinated squirrels.

So when I read the story of Martha bustling about the house while Mary just sits at Jesus’ feet, I feel seen. Martha isn’t lazy. She’s not uninterested in Jesus. She’s working, preparing, and hosting. She wants everything to be just right.

But Jesus gently interrupts her whirlwind:

“Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things. There is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part” (Luke 10:41–42).

It’s not a harsh correction. It’s a loving invitation to pause. To recognize that Jesus isn’t asking for a five-star meal. He’s asking for you. Not your perfectly arranged table, but your heart.

Prayer Isn’t a Checklist

If I’m honest, I still fall into the same trap Martha did. I love the order of devotions, the structure of routines, and the sense of checking off boxes. But I’ve learned, again and again, that when I turn prayer into performance, I risk missing the Person.

Saint Martha reminds me to prepare the home and the heart. But her sister Mary reminds me how to receive. Both are necessary. As Pope Francis put it in a 2021 homily:

“These are not two attitudes opposed to one another… but are two essential aspects in our Christian life… works of service and charity are never detached from the principle of all our action: that is, listening to the Word of the Lord.”

Martha’s mistake wasn’t serving—it was forgetting to anchor her service in love. And Jesus didn’t scold her because she worked too hard. He lovingly redirected her toward the One Thing that truly matters: Himself.

The Tension Between Trust and Doubt

One of my favorite Martha moments happens in John 11, after her brother Lazarus dies. When Jesus finally arrives, she runs to meet Him and says something I’ve whispered in prayer more times than I can count:

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (John 11:21).

It’s honest and raw. The voice of someone who believes but still struggles. Been there? Me too.

But what follows is incredible. Martha, the same woman who once fretted over dinner, proclaims one of the most powerful confessions of faith in the Gospels:

“But even now I know that whatever you ask of God, God will give you… I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God” (John 11:22, 27).

Her faith grew in the soil of sorrow. Doubt didn’t disqualify her. It prepared her for deeper trust. That encourages me more than I can say.

Holy Order vs. Hollow Ritual

Order is good. But order without encounter becomes empty. I’ve had moments in my spiritual life where I went through the motions—saying the prayers, doing the devotions, hitting the marks—while my heart remained untouched.

Martha reminds me that external service should flow from internal receptivity. Our rituals are meant to lead to relationships. Our prayers aren’t performance; they’re presence.

Mary of Bethany shows us what it looks like to sit, to be still, and to listen. To place ourselves at the feet of Jesus. I’ve found it helpful to reread Luke 10 as a form of prayer. First imagine yourself as Martha, then as Mary. Where are you distracted? Where are you receptive?

Pope Francis said it beautifully:

“When ecclesial service is attentive only to doing… we forget the centrality of Christ. When time is not set aside for dialogue with Him in prayer, we risk serving ourselves and not God.”

That one hits close to home. I want to serve, but I want my service to be rooted in prayer. In presence, not performance.

From Scrubbing Floors to Scrubbing Souls

Martha is the patron saint of cooks, cleaners, and homemakers. I may not be much of a cook, but I can scrub a sink like a champ. My OCD tends to show up in my need for control and cleanliness, but even that God has used.

I worked fast food through high school and college. Helped my mom with her cleaning business. At the time, it all felt mundane. But looking back, I can see how God was quietly forming a friendship between me and this New Testament saint.

Martha teaches me that holiness isn’t just found in the chapel—it’s found in the kitchen. It’s found in laundry rooms and drive-thrus and carpool lines. God sanctifies the ordinary, if we let Him.

Image: Jesus, Lazarus, Martha and Mary | St. Botolph without Aldersgate

Martha and Mary, Ora et Labora

Saint Benedict’s motto for monastic life was ora et labora—pray and work. Not pray then work. Not work instead of prayer. But a life that is both active and contemplative. That’s the balance I want to seek. And that’s the balance Martha eventually found.

She reminds me that it’s okay to be the one who wants to set the table. Just don’t forget to sit down and eat with the Guest of Honor.

So today, as I celebrate another year of life, I’ll also celebrate a friend in heaven who gets it. Who knew anxiety, doubt, distraction—and still became a beloved disciple of Christ.

Happy Feast Day, Saint Martha. Teach me to love Jesus in the serving and the stillness.

Related Links 

Saint Martha- Disciple of Our Lord 

Martha, Mary, and Lazarus: Friends of Jesus

Martha, Mary, and the Heart of Discipleship: Putting God First

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From Weeds to Wheat: The Transforming Mercy of God

Guest Post by: David Tonaszuck

A reflection on the Gospel of Matthew 13:24-30

Dear Friends in Christ,

There was once a boy, not much older than fourteen, who wandered the dusty back roads near a small farming town at the turn of the century. He was an orphan, left to fend for himself in a world that hadn’t shown him much kindness. Hungry, alone, and desperate, he became a thief—not by nature, but by necessity. He learned to move in the shadows, taking just enough to survive. One night, while slipping into a barn to steal some bread and milk, he startled the farmer’s dog and in his scramble to escape, he tripped and broke his leg. He lay there, helpless, expecting the worst.

But what happened next changed his life. The family who owned the farm—devout Catholics—found him in the morning. Instead of anger or condemnation, they showed him mercy. They tended his wound, gave him food, and offered him a place to stay. They prayed together at meals, went to Mass on Sundays, and worked the fields side by side. Slowly, the boy’s heart softened. He learned about Jesus—a savior who welcomes the lost and heals the broken. He became a son in every way that matters, growing from a frightened orphan into a young man with hope and purpose.

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The Simple Catholic Sunday Funnies: Episode 34

Welcome to another The Simple Catholic Sunday Funnies! Growing up, one of my favorite parts of Sunday was flipping to the comics section of the newspaper: a little pocket of humor, color, and light-heartedness to start the week.

Now, in that same spirit, I’m excited to share this weekly collection of wholesome, funny Catholic comic strips. Thanks to the incredible talents of artists like Father Alvaro Comics, The Catholic Cartoonist, Sam Estrada, Tomics, and Fr. Michael DeBlanc. These comics bring a joyful twist to our shared faith, reminding us that laughter is one of God’s great gifts.

Enjoy Catholic comics!

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The Leo House: A Catholic Guesthouse for Pilgrims Visiting New York City


Sponsored: This article is made possible by The Leo House, supporting quality and engaging Catholic content.


We are meant to be a pilgrim people

One of the strangest things about modern life is how easy it is to travel without actually going anywhere spiritually.

We book flights, plan itineraries, take photos, and rush from one attraction to the next. Sometimes we return home more exhausted than when we left. Vacationing can become little more than consumption with better scenery.

But Christians were never meant to live merely as tourists. Scripture constantly describes God’s people as pilgrims, sojourners, and travelers.

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Rest for the Weary: Trusting Jesus to Lighten Our Burdens

Guest Post by: David Tonaszuck

A reflection on the Gospel of Matthew 11:25-30

Dear Friends in Christ,

I want to begin today by sharing a story that might sound familiar to many of us. There was a family in our parish—a mother, a father, and three young children—who, just last year, found themselves walking a path they never expected. The youngest child, only seven, was diagnosed with a chronic illness. Suddenly, life became a series of hospital visits, sleepless nights, and endless worries. The bills stacked up. The parents, already stretched thin, began to feel the weight of the world pressing down on them. Even the simplest tasks—preparing dinner, helping with homework, taking a moment to breathe—became burdens too heavy to carry.

At first, the family tried to manage everything on their own. They told themselves they had to be strong, that they couldn’t show weakness. But as weeks turned into months, exhaustion set in. Tensions ran high, patience ran low, and the joy that once filled their home seemed lost beneath the stress and fear.

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What Is True Freedom? A Catholic Reflection


Editor’s Note: Post originally published on July 7, 2025.


Each year on July 4th, Americans pause to celebrate a powerful ideal: freedom. Enshrined in the First Amendment of the Constitution are the freedoms of religion, speech, press, and peaceful assembly. These are no small matters; they’re essential to any flourishing civil society.

But beyond fireworks and parades, deeper questions remain. What exactly is freedom? Is it merely the right to do what we want? Or is there something more? What does freedom mean from a Christian perspective, and how do we live it in our daily lives?

Freedom To vs. Freedom From

Our culture often confuses two very different ideas of freedom. The first is freedom to do whatever we want—to chase every desire, express every opinion, follow every urge. Let’s call that negative freedom: the removal of restrictions. But there’s another kind of freedom: positive freedom, which is the ability to choose the good. Not just to act, but to act rightly.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church explains it like this:

“Freedom is the power, rooted in reason and will, to act or not to act, to do this or that, and so to perform deliberate actions on one’s own responsibility. By free will one shapes one’s own life.” (CCC 1731)

Put simply: freedom is not about license. It’s about love.

The Wound of Sin and the Hope of Redemption

Of course, we all know that our freedom is wounded. The Catechism puts it bluntly:

“Man’s freedom is limited and fallible. In fact, man failed. He freely sinned. By refusing God’s plan of love, he deceived himself and became a slave to sin.” (CCC 1739)

Sin tricks us. It whispers, You’re free when you follow your impulses. But we know where that leads: addiction, broken relationships, pride, despair. Yet even in that brokenness, God does not abandon us.

In Christ, we discover what true freedom looks like:

“In him we have communion with the ‘truth that makes us free.’” (CCC 1741)

And Jesus doesn’t mince words:

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” (John 14:6)

Freedom

John Paul II: Freedom Anchored in Truth

Saint Pope John Paul II, in Redemptor Hominis and Redemptoris Missio, tackled this very issue. He reminds us that the Cross is the fullest expression of divine love. The redemption Christ won for us is the restoration of freedom—not freedom from suffering or sacrifice, but freedom for love and truth.

“He and he alone also satisfied that fatherhood of God and that love which man in a way rejected by breaking the first Covenant…” (Redemptor Hominis, 9)

Freedom is a gift, but it must be received rightly:

“Freedom is only a gift if one knows how to use it for everything that is true good.” (Redemptor Hominis, 21)

In short: Freedom finds its fulfillment not in self-expression but in self-gift.

Wrestling with Freedom in Daily Life

I don’t write these reflections as someone who’s mastered the art of holy freedom. Quite the opposite. I wrestle daily with control, pride, and anxiety. My OCD has often convinced me that peace lies in organizing my inbox or cleaning the kitchen to perfection. And for a brief moment, that illusion holds. But inevitably, my self-made “freedom” crashes against reality. Usually, it’s in the form of a diaper blowout or a child needing my attention.

When my comfort is disrupted, I’m forced to choose again. Will I insist on my version of freedom? Or will I surrender?

Confession has been a powerful reset for me. So has the Eucharist. Grace doesn’t magically remove my tendencies, but it does remind me that I’m not alone. And that I don’t need to save myself.

Discernment: Choosing What God Wants

Living in a culture of endless options can leave us paralyzed. Sometimes freedom feels like a burden. Too many roads. Too many doors. But Catholic spirituality gives us a compass: discernment.

Discernment, as St. Ignatius of Loyola taught, is about listening. Clarifying, not inventing, what God is already inviting us into. His Spiritual Exercises culminate in a radical prayer of surrender called the Suscipe:

Take Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, and my entire will…

It’s not a sentimental gesture. It’s a battle cry against the tyranny of self-will. It’s the only sane response to the insane love of God who gave us everything, including the freedom to reject Him.

As Amy Welborn explains, Ignatius believed love is better shown in deeds than in words. True love involves a mutual exchange of gifts. The Suscipe is a prayer of detachment from anything that would keep us from living in total communion with God. And this detachment isn’t just for monks and nuns. It’s for every soul God made—parents, teachers, artists, mechanics, children.

When we pray this way, we’re not forfeiting freedom. We’re finally using it well.

Mary: Model of Free Surrender

One of the most beautiful images of holy freedom is the Virgin Mary at the Annunciation. When the angel Gabriel presented God’s plan to her, she paused, asked a clarifying question, and then said the most earth-shattering “yes” in human history:

“Be it done unto me according to thy word.” (Luke 1:38)

St. Josemaría Escrivá reflected on this moment, writing:

“This is the fruit of the best freedom of all, the freedom of deciding in favor of God.”

Mary didn’t choose ease. She chose love. She shows us that the highest use of freedom is surrender, not in defeat but in trust.

True Freedom Begins with Christ

There are two extremes we must avoid. One is the belief that we can save ourselves by sheer effort—Pelagianism. The other is presumption, the belief that Christ will save us no matter what and our choices don’t matter. Both are lies.

The truth is that we are free. And Christ, in love, respects our freedom enough to invite, not coerce. As John Paul II said:

“Faith demands a free adherence on the part of man, but at the same time faith must also be offered to him.” (Redemptoris Missio, 8)

That means each moment, each decision, each act of love or resistance to sin becomes an opportunity to use our freedom well.

It also means that freedom isn’t found in escaping our limits. It’s found in choosing the good, even when it’s hard. Even when it costs.

A Prayer for the Journey

So what do we do with our freedom? We offer it back to the One who gave it. As St. Ignatius prayed:

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,
my memory, my understanding, and my entire will,
all that I have and possess.
You have given all to me.
To you, O Lord, I return it.
All is yours; dispose of it wholly according to your will.
Give me your love and your grace, for this is sufficient for me.
– St. Ignatius of Loyola

This is not a prayer of defeat. It is a declaration of trust, hope, and love—the freedom that only Christ can give.

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A Cup of Cold Water: Serving Christ in the Little Ones

Guest Post by: David Tonaszuck

A reflection on the Gospel of Matthew 10:37-42

Dear Friends in Christ,

There’s a house on the edge of town, old but warm, with wide porches shaded by tall trees. In it live Mary and Joseph—an older couple, married nearly fifty years. Their children are grown, the rooms are mostly empty, but their hearts have only grown larger with the years. They’ve made a quiet promise to God: if someone is lost, hurting, or needs a place to begin again, their home will be open.

One winter, a man named Tom came knocking. He’d once worked with Joseph, years ago, when things were easier. But Tom’s world had unraveled—alcoholism, a painful divorce, and now, jobless, he was left with two small children and nowhere steady to go. He was ashamed to ask for help, but Joseph and Mary didn’t hesitate. They welcomed him and his children in. Mary cooked warm meals; Joseph sat with Tom late into the night, listening, praying, helping him plot a way forward. For months, Tom lived in that house. The children slowly smiled again. Tom found sobriety, and eventually, work. He moved out, but he never forgot the gift of shelter and hope—given not because he could repay it, but because he was in need.

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