One Thing Is Necessary: Learning to Live From His Presence Instead of Our Pressure

Luke 10:38–42

I’ve been having a very Martha summer.

Normally, I love pouring into people. I love ministry, my business, creating, speaking, serving women, and being involved in the lives of the people I love. But this summer, I realized I couldn’t keep saying yes to everything. I was emotionally tired. My nervous system felt constantly on alert. I found myself pulling back from some commitments and even some relationships, not because I stopped loving people, but because I finally recognized that I couldn’t keep pouring from an empty cup. And honestly, I wrestled with whether slowing down meant I was becoming selfish. Maybe you’ve felt that too

. 

As I sat with the story of Martha and Mary in Luke 10, I began to see something I had missed before. Jesus never tells Martha to stop loving people. He never tells her that serving is wrong. He invites her to stop carrying what she was never meant to carry. And I think that distinction matters for so many of us.

Luke 10:38–42 is often presented as a story about two sisters, one busy and one sitting quietly at Jesus’ feet. But the setting matters. Jesus is traveling toward Jerusalem and teaching His followers what it means to live as His disciples. Luke intentionally places this story immediately after the Good Samaritan. The Good Samaritan asks, “Who is my neighbor?” Then the story of Mary and Martha asks, in a sense, “How do I remain with Jesus while serving my neighbor?” Luke is showing us two essential parts of discipleship: love people and remain with Jesus. We cannot separate the two.

Martha wasn’t doing anything sinful. In fact, Luke tells us that Martha welcomed Jesus into her home. The Greek word Luke uses, hypodechomai, means to receive someone with hospitality, warmth, and honor. Her first act was beautiful. Hospitality in the ancient Near East wasn’t simply a social courtesy. It was a sacred responsibility and a way of reflecting the character of God. Abraham welcomed strangers who turned out to be angels. Hospitality mattered deeply to the people of Scripture.

So Martha was doing something honorable. She was serving Jesus. And that changes the way I read this story.

The problem wasn’t what Martha was doing. The problem was what was happening inside of her while she was doing it.

That’s what made this story feel so personal to me this summer. None of the things filling my life were necessarily bad. My business wasn’t bad. Ministry wasn’t bad. Serving people wasn’t bad. Relationships weren’t bad. Creating wasn’t bad. Showing up for my family wasn’t bad. That’s what made it so hard to recognize that something was wrong.

Sometimes the things that exhaust us aren’t bad things. They are good things that have become too much.

Luke tells us that Martha was “distracted.” The Greek word is periespato, which carries the idea of being pulled away or dragged in different directions. She wasn’t simply busy. She was internally divided.

I love that image because it feels incredibly familiar. Our bodies can be in one room while our minds are in six others. We can be sitting across the table from our children while thinking about tomorrow’s schedule. We can be serving our families while mentally running through our business. We can be praying while thinking about the relationship we need to fix, the email we need to answer, the laundry we forgot to move, or the person who needs something from us.

What is pulling your heart in different directions right now? 

What keeps occupying your thoughts?

What do you carry to bed at night?

What makes it difficult to be fully present with Jesus or even fully present with the people sitting right in front of you?

Maybe it’s your children. Maybe it’s aging parents. Maybe it’s your marriage. Maybe it’s work, a business, ministry, grief, or simply the pressure of trying to hold everything together.

I realized something this summer: my calendar wasn’t necessarily too full. My heart was.

Then Luke tells us that Mary sat at Jesus’ feet. That phrase is significant. In Jewish culture, sitting at the feet of a rabbi was the posture of a disciple. Paul even described himself as having been educated at the feet of Gamaliel. Disciples didn’t simply learn information from their rabbi. They learned to imitate his way of life.

So Mary isn’t simply sitting down because she’s tired. She is taking the posture of a student. She is choosing to learn from Jesus and to become like Him.

And there is something remarkable about Jesus allowing Mary to take that position. In first-century Judaism, rabbis generally trained men as disciples. Yet Jesus welcomes Mary. He doesn’t send her back to the kitchen. He doesn’t tell her that this isn’t her place. He allows her to sit at His feet and learn. In doing so, He is quietly breaking cultural expectations and saying, “You belong here too.”

Martha welcomed Jesus into her home. Mary welcomed Jesus into her attention. And Jesus loved both women enough to invite both of them into deeper discipleship.

 

 

Eventually, Martha reaches her breaking point. She says, “Lord, don’t You care?” How relatable is that? When we’re overwhelmed, we can begin to question God’s care. Not necessarily because we don’t believe in Him, but because exhaustion distorts our perspective.

Then Martha says, “Tell her to help me.”

When anxiety grows, we often want Jesus to fix everyone else.

Have you ever felt like you were running in circles while everyone else seemed to be enjoying the moment? Have you ever felt like it was your job to be the peacekeeper? Not the peacemaker, but the peacekeeper. The one who notices everything, carries everything, anticipates everyone’s needs, and feels responsible for keeping everything from falling apart?

And then Jesus says her name.

“Martha, Martha…”

There is so much tenderness in those words. Jesus doesn’t correct Martha before He sees Martha. He doesn’t shame her. He doesn’t dismiss her service. He sees her, and then He lovingly tells her what is happening inside of her.

I wonder what it would feel like if Jesus lovingly said your name twice tonight. What would He gently invite you to lay down?

I don’t think He would begin with condemnation. I think He would begin with compassion.

Jesus tells Martha that she is anxious and troubled about many things. The Greek word for anxious, merimnaō, carries the idea of being divided or pulled into pieces. Her attention was fractured. Her mind was pulled apart.

Isn’t that modern life?

Notifications. Kids. Work. Laundry. Business. Ministry. Schedules. Relationships. Everyone needing something.

We aren’t just busy. We’re fragmented.

And many of us have learned how to look peaceful while feeling anything but peaceful. We can be externally functioning while internally unsettled. We can keep showing up, keep serving, keep smiling, keep getting things done, while inwardly we are exhausted.

That’s what the second word communicates. Martha was troubled, thorybazō, meaning agitated, stirred up, or internally noisy.

And I have found myself asking Jesus a very honest question lately: Have I become so busy serving Jesus that I’ve neglected simply being with Him?

Then Jesus says something that changes the entire story: “One thing is necessary.”

The Greek word for necessary, chreia, refers to what is truly needed or essential. Jesus isn’t saying, “Only do one thing.” He is saying there is one thing underneath everything else.

His presence. Everything else flows from there.

Jesus isn’t asking Martha to love people less. He is inviting her to reorder her loves.

Because serving without abiding eventually becomes striving. Giving without receiving eventually becomes depletion. Doing things for Jesus can slowly replace simply being with Jesus.

Jesus tells Martha that Mary has chosen the “better portion.” That language would have reminded His Jewish listeners of Psalm 16:5: “The LORD is my chosen portion and my cup.”

Our greatest inheritance has never ultimately been what God gives us. It has always been God Himself.

Mary chose the better portion, not because serving is bad, but because His presence cannot be replaced. Mary didn’t choose inactivity. She chose intimacy.

And maybe that’s something we need to remember. The better portion isn’t necessarily a quieter life. It’s a closer relationship with Christ.

Sometimes following Jesus will mean serving. Sometimes it will mean showing up, making dinner, caring for children, leading a ministry, working hard, opening our homes, loving difficult people, and meeting practical needs. Those things matter. But they are meant to flow from our relationship with Jesus, not replace it.

So maybe the question isn’t, “Am I a Mary or a Martha?” Most of us are both. There are seasons when we are called to serve, and there are seasons when we need to sit. There are moments when faithfulness looks like saying yes, and there are moments when the most faithful thing we can do is say, “Not right now.”

Instead, maybe we should ask ourselves: What is distracting me? What is dividing me? What noise have I accepted as normal? Where have I confused productivity with faithfulness? What have I mistaken for faithfulness that may actually be fueled by fear?

 

 

This summer, I found myself stepping back from a few things that were good. Some commitments. Some relationships. Some things I had always said yes to. Not because they were bad, but because I realized my soul needed room to breathe with Jesus again.

I needed to remember that my identity isn’t built on how much I produce. It isn’t built on how available I am. It isn’t built on how many people I help. My identity is built on being His.

Sometimes the healthiest “yes” to Jesus means saying “not right now” to something else. That isn’t withdrawal from love. It is making space to be replenished so that we can love well again.

Here’s what I’m learning from Martha: Jesus never asked her to love people less. He invited her to love Him first.

Because women who learn to sit at the feet of Jesus can stand in the chaos without being consumed by it.

We don’t sit with Jesus so we can avoid the work. We sit with Jesus so we can do the work from the right place. We don’t slow down because people don’t matter. We slow down because He matters most.

When He becomes our portion, our service becomes worship instead of striving. Our yes becomes obedience instead of obligation. Our boundaries become wisdom instead of guilt. And our lives begin to flow from a place of being loved rather than desperately trying to prove that we are useful.

So wherever you find yourself today, especially if you’re in a Martha season, stop and ask yourself one question:

What is the one thing that cannot be taken away from me?

Not the perfectly clean house. Not the full calendar. Not the successful business. Not everyone’s approval. Not even the feeling that I’ve managed to keep everything together.

The one thing that cannot be taken away is Jesus Himself.

 

 

His presence. His love. His invitation to sit at His feet. His reminder that before I am a mother, a wife, a leader, a business owner, a friend, a volunteer, or anything else, I am His.

And that is the better portion. The one thing that is necessary.

May we learn to live from His presence instead of our pressure.

- Jess