As they went on their way, he entered a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at Jesus’ feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks, so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her, then, to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things, but few things are needed—indeed only one. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her” (Luke 10:38-42).
Some time ago, I had lunch with a new churchgoer who was curious about how clergy spend their days. I rattled off my morning to-do list: worship planning, staff meeting, budget analysis, sermon prep, seasonal brainstorming, teaching, preschool check-in, food pantry support, newsletter writing, emailing visitors, the building committee …. I went on for a bit before she interrupted, genuinely surprised: “I thought you just wrote your sermon all week. I didn’t know you had so much to do.”
Clergy are indeed busy—often caught in a whirlwind of seemingly disconnected tasks. A 2010 Methodist study identified 65 areas in which clergy are expected to have competence—everything from preaching to project management, strategic planning to pastoral care—often against the backdrop of declining church interest. We move through long to-do lists, bounce between meetings and roll with constant interruptions. The work is never truly done.
Many of us take Martha as our model of faith. Not consciously because we know Mary “chose the better part,” but task-driven leadership is often viewed as more faithful and productive. Busyness has its own reward system: a finished task feels like a tangible success in a vocation where results are often slow to materialize. In a profession where outcomes can be subtle and critique is common, checking something off a list can feel like solid ground.
There’s nothing wrong with these tasks. They are the very work of ministry, and many of them are deeply meaningful. Preaching, teaching, pastoral visits, funerals, small groups—these are why I entered ministry, why I love it and why I stay.
But even as boxes are checked and tasks are crossed off, I wonder: Is there another way?
When we begin as Marys—downshifting into peace, joy and compassion—we can move into our Martha work with greater clarity and grace.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu and the Dalai Lama once playfully debated who meditated more. One rose at 4 a.m. to pray; the other at 3. They spent hours in prayer each morning, anchoring their day. Their joy and sense of purpose flowed from this sacred time.
This isn’t unfamiliar to Lutherans, at least in theory. Martin Luther famously said, “I have so much to do that I must spend the first three hours in prayer.”
Recent neuroscience supports what mystics and saints have long known: prayer changes the brain. Extended prayer and meditation calm the stress centers and activate networks tied to compassion, resilience and joy. Brain scans of monks and nuns show that daily prayer reshapes neural pathways, strengthening regions linked to attention and peace while quieting those connected to fear and reactivity. In short, prayer rewires us.
Maybe Mary instinctively knew this—that sitting at the feet of Jesus was good for her. She felt more centered, focused and peaceful in his presence. Ready for the day. Less distracted and anxious. While Martha hurried around her, Mary couldn’t take her eyes off the Prince of Peace.
Isn’t this prayer?
What if we understood the core work of pastoral ministry as prayer?
Over the past year, I’ve participated in the Center for Clergy Renewal’s Contemplative Renewal Immersions at Holy Wisdom Monastery in Madison, Wis. These weeklong retreats help mid-career clergy—competent at their work but increasingly at risk for burnout—re-center through contemplative prayer. We pray with the Ecumenical Benedictine sisters, walk the prairie, wait in silence and listen to each other’s souls.
It feels like sitting at the feet of Jesus.
When I return from these retreats, I pastor differently. More slowly. I’m less concerned with tasks and more focused on people. I sit longer, listen better, preach and teach with more intention. The work becomes clearer. I am a better pastor for having prayed.
The tasks don’t change, but I approach them differently.
We often treat Mary and Martha as an either-or: we are one or the other. What if we saw them as a model for how to order our days—and even as a reflection of how our brains work? When we begin as Marys—downshifting into peace, joy and compassion—we can move into our Martha work with greater clarity and grace.
What if we began in a prayerful Mary space, which opens us to creativity? Our Martha tasks, reordered, could flow from prayer and creativity.
Still, the story isn’t just about Mary and Martha. It’s really about Jesus—the source of creativity for both sisters. We often think of Jesus as part of the ongoing creation of the world through the Trinity, but he was also a model of profound creativity—seeing possibilities where none existed, answering questions outside of expectations, reimagining systems for thriving. His creative reordering of the world—from the Beatitudes to the feeding of the 5,000 to the wedding at Cana—would have been harder to accomplish had his days been ruled by a to-do list.
Creativity is often seen as reserved for artists, musicians and dreamers. But creativity flows from the soul, a gift of God alive in us. Prayer and meditation open us to innovation. And in these challenging times, innovation and creativity are exactly what the church needs, not just from clergy but from communities.
What if we—clergy and congregants alike—ordered our days differently? What if we began in a prayerful Mary space, which opens us to creativity? Our Martha tasks, reordered, could flow from prayer and creativity.
This is a vision of pastoral identity worth reclaiming. Ministry isn’t about choosing between Mary or Martha; it’s about the rhythm of both, grounded in Jesus, who holds them together. The tasks of ministry have their place, but they can only be rightly ordered when presence and creativity come first.
This is where congregations can play a crucial role. Congregants can support their pastors by encouraging rhythms of prayer. Not long ago, I guiltily told our administrator that I’d be away for a day on retreat, knowing it would increase her workload. Beaming she said, “Yes! Good for you, Pastor.” That blessing stayed with me.
Imagine if more pastors heard that kind of encouragement—and were held accountable to it. Imagine if time for prayer wasn’t seen as a retreat from ministry but as its very heart.
And the gift isn’t just for clergy. Imagine whole congregations known for their joy, patience, resilience and creativity because their communal life prioritized the teaching and practice of prayer.
The tasks are many. But perhaps what we need most isn’t better time management, more efficiency or more hours in the day. Perhaps what we need is permission to sit, to pray, to imagine. To start our days as Marys and trust that Jesus meets us there, ready to renew us for whatever comes next.
