The image of Martha and Mary has become a classic in Christian tradition, symbolizing two kinds of Christian service—the active and the contemplative—and at the same time establishing their priorities, for the Savior speaks quite unambiguously about what matters most in service. His words are usually understood as pointing to what Mary was doing as she listened to Jesus' words without being distracted for even a minute. Yet “one thing” and “many things” also allow a somewhat different interpretation. It is no accident that Jesus speaks of the “many things” as something that causes a person anxiety and distress—at least, that is what follows if the Greek text is read literally.

Martha busies herself with many things; she is constantly thinking about something that troubles her and deprives her of peace. She has no time to listen, not because she is occupied with household tasks, but because of this constant anxiety that robs her of inner peace. Her many tasks worry her precisely because she is wholly immersed in them: inwardly she rushes from one task to another, anxious that she will not have enough strength for everything she thinks she must do. It is her anxiety, not the number of tasks, that exhausts her so completely that she no longer has the strength to listen to the Savior.

There is only one way out, and Jesus points to it: leave the many for the one, for the central thing that sustains a person—a relationship with Him, with Jesus. When this relationship becomes the center and focus of a person's inner life, all outward affairs are also arranged around that center. The person is no longer scattered or fragmented into a multitude of self-projections connected with everyday tasks, but remains inwardly whole and gathered around the one thing that truly fills both the person and all his work with life.

The parable of the Good Samaritan is perhaps one of the most widely quoted and often mentioned Gospel texts. This is not surprising: it is usually perceived as a call to mercy and good works, becoming the Gospel foundation for what in church practice has come to be called social ministry. Meanwhile, on closer reading everything turns out not to be so simple. Indeed, Jesus tells the parable of the Good Samaritan in answer to a question asked of Him: and who is my neighbor? If we follow the logic of the text of the parable, then the answer to the question asked of Jesus sounds quite specific: my neighbor is the one who helped me, who did good to me.

The demand "go and do likewise" sounds somewhat strange against this background: for in this case the issue is not how a person acts, but how others act toward him. The answer to the question asked is connected precisely with this. A transition from the text of the parable to a justification of works of mercy and, more broadly, social ministry is possible only through a semantic inversion: the reader must identify himself not with the traveler who suffered at the hands of robbers, but with the Samaritan who helped him.

Although the question itself was connected precisely with the suffering traveler: which of all of them turned out to be his neighbor? But then the Savior's answer is obviously connected not only with what the Samaritan did, but with the situation as a whole. And the parable becomes not simply a parable about kindness and helping one's neighbor; it turns out to be a parable about relationships between people. And about the primacy of these relationships. About a situation when help comes not from those who think alike or share the same faith, but from those from whom it would least be expected. From enemies, for Jews and Samaritans in those days were bitter enemies. And then it turns out that what in relationships had seemed decisive proves on examination to be meaningless tinsel.

That in a critical situation all social, national, and religious frameworks and ties suddenly prove to be conventions that oblige no one to anything. What becomes significant is something that lies deeper in the human person than all of this, at the depth where a person's true spiritual "I" is found. Only there, at this depth, are help, compassion, and mercy possible. On the surface there is nothing of the sort. There is only social ministry. It will, of course, keep a poor person from starving to death, but it will not give him love. Nor the life of the Kingdom.

Today we read a composite passage from the Gospel according to Luke. The second part of the reading tells how "a certain woman from the crowd lifted up her voice and said: Blessed is the womb that bore You and the breasts that nursed You." These words, like Peter's words near Caesarea, are a form of confessing Jesus as the Christ, the promised Messiah from the line of David.

Later, when the Pharisees demand that the Lord stop those crying out "Hosanna to the Son of David," He will say: "If they keep silent, the stones will cry out." In exactly the same way, if this woman had kept silent, the stones would have cried out, because if we believe that Jesus of Nazareth is the incarnate Son of God, then we cannot fail to glorify the One through whom this incarnation took place.

Her blessedness as the Mother of Her Creator is the pledge and condition of our salvation; without Mary's Son we would still remain in hell. Eastern hymnographers of the first millennium often speak of the All-Immaculate One as the new Eve, whose obedience corrected Eve's sin, just as the obedience of Her Son healed Adam's sin. And it is important for us, with reverence and love, to remember two more things. First, standing at the foot of the Cross, the Most Holy Virgin gives Her Son to God and to us, so that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life. And second, in establishing the New Covenant with us, the Lord Jesus gives us as food and drink His Flesh and Blood, which He received from the Most Holy Virgin.

Jesus' answer to the woman's exclamation is astonishing. In the Synodal translation ("But He said: blessed are...") this is not visible at all, and in Slavonic ("He said: therefore blessed are...") only partly. The point is that He says: "menoun makarioi..." The Greek menoun is an expression of agreement, used in the sense of "of course," "without doubt," "truly." That is, He says: "Of course blessed are those who hear the Word of God and keep it." In this form, these are precisely words about the Most Holy Virgin: "Without doubt, She is blessed, for She heard the word of God and fulfilled it." And this is not only a statement of fact, but also an indication of the path for us.