Jesus’ Friends, Fully Alive

Back in 2017, as my 30th birthday drew near, I remember people asking, “How do you feel? Are you nervous about ‘getting old’?” First of all, I thought, That’s absurd! Second, I recall joking that Jesus was 30 when his ministry began, so that must bode well for me, right?

Turns out 2017 was the year I moved into my first and only solo apartment,

the year I wrestled with some hard truths about family struggles, five years after my dad’s death,

the year I basked in the redwoods in Yosemite,

the year my work community was shaken several times, and I was called to be present with colleagues and students,

the year I became a godmother for the first time,

the year I rocked out with friends at U2’s Joshua Tree tour, as enthusiastically as my parents said I had in utero,

the year I really discerned marrying my partner,

and the year I finally got my long considered tattoo on my left wrist. It reads:

fully alive. 

The tattoo is a nod to Irenaeus’ beautiful proclamation, “The glory of God is the human person fully alive.” At almost-30, I felt fully alive, indeed. In other words, Jesus “came that [we] may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10). I felt Jesus, my dear friend, along with me on the ride, empowering me to live deeply, and inviting me to stay close to him. 

We meet this same Jesus today, as we celebrate the memorial of Saints Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, siblings to one another, and close friends of Jesus. Today’s Gospel options offer us two powerful scenes of Jesus’ intimacy with this family and their humanity.  

First, in Luke 10, when Jesus enters Bethany, Martha does what all Jewish women would have done; she opens up her home to the travelers and gets to work, ensuring they are comfortable and nourished. Martha prioritizes hospitality—a gift, a need, a religious expectation—while her sister Mary assumes a spot at the teacher’s feet—a spot reserved for men. 

When Martha realizes what her daring sister is doing, she expresses anger that Mary isn’t helping her. (Fair enough!) Imagine Jesus saying: 

“Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things.” 

Well, yeah, she must have thought. Isn’t this my job, Rabbi?

When Jesus pushes back on Martha and commends Mary, I don’t hear judgment toward Martha, but liberation. I hear him saying to the women (in front of men, presumably), and to us: 

My friends,

I am not that kind of man, 

I am not that kind of spiritual leader,

and the One who sent me is not that kind of God.

Come be with me as you are. 

You do not need to prove yourselves, 

and you do certainly do not need to stay shut up in the kitchen to keep men 

comfortable. 

Just come sit with me. 

You deserve to be here.

Jesus came that we—women included—may have life to the full, regardless of societal or religious expectations.

Later, in Luke 11, we see a parallel and a reversal of sorts, with Mary still sitting, but this time at home, and Martha still on the move, but this time going to meet Jesus face to face. Lazarus has died. Jesus hadn’t been there when it had happened, and Martha, overcome by grief, accuses Jesus of negligence for not showing up earlier. 

You said you wanted me close to you as I am, Jesus! Well here I am, devastated, and 

mad at you for not preventing this pain!

Jesus, fully alive, holds Martha in her grief and makes room for its messiness. He never demands, of Martha, or of us, that we skip over sadness and anger because we should have faith; he allows grief and faith to coexist. Jesus, fully alive, weeps with the women, and with all of us, entering into the chaos with his friends by choice. Jesus, fully alive, recognizes that Martha, like all of us, “comes to believe” in the freedom and hope of Christ, not once and for all, but through the goodness, growth, and suffering of being a fully alive human being over time.

As we celebrate Saints Martha, Mary, and Lazarus today, may we remember that Jesus wanted every woman to have equal access to the fullness of life alongside Him. So every Christian should want the same. And when the inevitable pain of the abundant life comes, Jesus, having known the ache himself, joins us there, and loves us.

Today's Readings

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Katie Davis-Crowder is an Ignatian-trained educator and spiritual director, a singer and writer, and a presenter and retreat facilitator in Chicago. Passionate about the intersections of spirituality, social justice, and the arts, she holds an MDiv from Loyola Chicago and a BMus in musical theatre from Catholic U. Katie loves exploring nature with her partner Kevin and their toddler and rescue pup. katiedaviscrowder.com