In most cultures, it is out of the ordinary to address someone by his or her name. Instead of emphasizing the distinct individuality of each person, they emphasize the rich web of relationships that holds people together. In Spanish, we have words for relationships that we don’t even name in English. The wife of your husband’s brother is your cocuña, your co-sister-in-law. The godparents of your child are your compadres (literally, your co-parents), as are the parents of your godchild. Of these you have a lot more than just one pair, since you have godparents for your first Communion, Confirmation, five different sets for your wedding, one from the special blessing you received when you turned three, another for the girls when they turn 15, and the list continues. All of which you would subsequently no longer address by his or her name, or even family title, but rather as “padrino,” “compadre,” etc.

          At the same time, most cultures are uninterested in ranking degrees of separation, emphasizing that they all belong to the same family: there are no second or third cousins; cousins once, twice, or thrice removed; or great-uncles or grand-nieces. They’re all just cousins, aunts, and uncles – usually distinguished more by their proximate age in comparison to yours rather than actual positions on a family tree.

          In Italian, we use the same word for “nephew” and “grandson,” because what’s most important just being “in the family.” You wouldn’t dare call any of these people by their first names, not just out of respect for your elders, but because doing so would cheapen the bonds of family. Living and working with a largely Hispanic community I became convinced that most people didn’t even know each other’s names, and occasionally I was proved right.

          This used to be the case for Anglo-German people as well. When my father’s mother moved in with us, my mother couldn’t bring herself to call her by her first name (she was 20 years older than her own parents – literally of a different generation), so she just called her, “Mom.” Something of all this is operating when Abraham and Sarah do not ask the names of their honored guests.

          Originally from casualness, and now from a fear of gendered titles, we are very comfortable in addressing people by their names – even people we’ve never met. (Specifically, by what we used to call someone’s “Christian name,” her “first” name.) This used to be a privilege. To address someone by his or her Christian name was a sign of equality, closeness, and even of intimacy, a sign of an immense trust and affection.

          Thus, in the Gospels, it is rare that Christ addresses anyone by name. When He does, something very important is happening. It happens most notably to Simon Peter: “Simon, do you love me?” “Simon, Satan demanded to sift you like wheat, but I have prayed for you.” And then, each of these three close friends: “Lazarus, come out!” as he is raised from the tomb. “Mary,” when she mistakes Him for the gardener looking for the missing, but really risen, Lord. And so our Lord’s words to His close friend Martha today are anything but a finger-wagging rebuke: “Martha. Martha you are anxious and worried about many things.”

          It is easy to be in Martha’s shoes. If our Lord were coming to your home, you would want to make Him very comfortable. You would want everything to be perfect. Why? Because He deserves it, of course, but more importantly, because you want Him to come again. You want Him to be comfortable and well fed so that He is excited to come back. Why? Because you want to spend time with Him. But here is the irony: You would spend so much time making sure He would want to come back that you never do what you actually want Him to come back to do: spend time together.

Martha loses sight of why her Lord, master, and friend is there in the first place. He has taken the initiative. This visit was His idea. He wants to spend time with these three closest friends (the ones He visits the most during three years of public ministry, the one in whose home He stayed during the most important week of His life, leading up to His Passion).

Likewise, He takes the initiative to come as the guest of your soul in Holy Communion. Certainly, He wants to be welcomed into a well-prepared home. He wants to come into a soul in a state of grace, free of mortal sin and prepared by a spirit of recollection and devotion. But we ought to do so focusing not primarily on ourselves, but on the One we desire to welcome, the One who is already present. He is the one actually preparing the dwelling place. Our own actions are but a humble (although necessary) cooperation in what He is already doing.

This is why Mary is entirely right to do what we would otherwise just consider rude or inconsiderate. She recognizes why Christ has come in the first place. She recognizes that more importantly than their preparations for their great Guest, He has prepared something for them.

          If your focus is primarily on yourself rather than on Him, you might miss that He is also calling you by name, speaking your own name with the same love and tenderness with which He gently but firmly reoriented Martha’s desire to be a good hostess to the greatest of guests.

The Rev. Royce V. Gregerson

Parish Church of Our Lady of Good Hope, Fort Wayne

XVI Sunday through the Year, A.D. MMXXV