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Martha
“Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the
work by myself? Tell her to help me!” —Martha, Luke 10
In Jericho, the house was washed in white,
Where roses climbed around each windowpane.
The scent of baking drifted through the night,
And laughter rose, then gently fell again.
Martha, with care, prepared a humble dish—
The tail of fish with herbs and wine to pour.
She served Him food, fulfilling every wish,
Her hands and heart worn through by love and chore.
He leaned upon the wall, serene and still,
While Mary listened, eyes upon His face.
Her silence full of trust, her gaze His will—
She held His words as sacred, full of grace.
But Martha, tired, served quietly alone,
Her feet were sore, her spirit stretched and thin.
She hoped the Master, seeing what was done,
Might see the greatness, that she held within—
Yet all His praise went only Mary’s way,
Her listening heart, her faith, her silent art.
No words for Martha, no warm glance to stay
The ache that rose and pressed against her heart.
She left the room, weighed down by love unmet,
And sought the quiet, far from candle’s glow.
The roses bowed with dew as if in debt—
Their scent as soft as words she could not show.
She breathed them in, and still He seemed so near,
As though His voice was folded in the air.
And breathing out, she let go of her fear,
And with her breath, she said a silent prayer.
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Scharlie Meeuws, a poet born in Germany, began writing at a young age. She studied in Spain and France, writing poems in Spanish and French before settling in England, where she co-owns Thorntons Bookshop, the oldest in Oxford. Scharlie’s poetry has been featured in magazines and anthologies, including the Guardian. Her work was recognized by Nobel Prize winner Vicente Aleixandre. A member of internet writing sites, her poems have garnered awards and a large following, with over 165,000 readers. Her most recent book is The Emotional Robot and Other Poems.
Sharlie, how preciously you amplified this Bible story almost as though you felt the disappointment and then maintained faith in spite of it all. We need such lessons of patience and faith in these trying times. Instead of crying or throwing a fit at the lack of attention, a prayer can calm the inner spirit. Beautifully and breathtakingly done.
Your exquisite, heartfelt poem reminds me of my favorite painting in the Scottish National Gallery, an oil by Andrew Geddes, simply titled, “Hagar;”
A sympathetic portrait of Abraham’s discarded servant woman (and mother to his son, Ishmael), depicting a strong, sad-looking young woman with her head leaning slightly to the side against her upraised hand with a single tear forever frozen beneath her right eye.
As regards the New Testament sisters in Bethany, we might also imagine an eisegetical scenario where Mary quietly defends her sister to Jesus, and where Jesus then adds supportive and appreciative words for Martha. Perhaps.
You rightly point out that Mary and Martha lived in Bethany, essentially a suburb of Jerusalem, along with their brother Lazarus. Jericho is about 15 miles further east neat the Jordan river. Beautiful poem and an easy fix, unless I am missing something.
Yes, you are right, Martha and Maria lived in Bethany. However, I took poetic liberty placing this story in Jericho, as many years ago, during my Hebrew studies in Jerusalem, I lived in Jericho und stayed, unforgettably, in the villa of friends, covered with white roses and filled with an unbelievable lovely scent…I thought to myself, here were Mary and Martha, perhaps be with friends, here I saw the story unfolding….
As a Martha type, I have always sympathized with her! Your wonderful poem is reverent in regards to the situation, kind and insightful toward Martha. Excellent piece!
I felt an extraordinary sense of calm when reading this. Thank you Scharlie.
Thank you Martin. When I wrote this poem down, all at once, I had the feeling someone dictated it to me. And it also made me feel calm.
Beautifully imagined, Scharlie, with Martha finding her consolation and the Lord’s voice in the fragrance of the white roses He created, surely thinking of her, his friend far in the future.
And a happy Saint Martha’s day to you, Scharlie.