The baby blue elephant.
You know the one I mean.
When someone tells you, “Don’t worry,” what do you do? You start thinking about worry. You picture that huge, clumsy, impossible-to-ignore blue elephant stomping through your mind, demanding all your attention. Worry works like that—it drags your thoughts away from peace and pulls you into a whirlwind of “what ifs” and “maybes.” The Holy Spirit, she knows this. She gently whispers to us, “Come back. Listen. Trust.” She nudges us to stop chasing shadows and to rest in the solid promise of Christ.
We all know that anxious pull. Waiting by the phone for a call that doesn’t come. Watching bills stack up faster than you expected. Juggling work, family, church, and life—all while the worry whispers, “What if it all falls apart?” These worries aren’t evil in themselves. Worry doesn’t arrive as sin wrapped in a neat package. It shows up as a heavy load, a restless spirit, a desperate cry for help. But worry drags us every which way except toward the path Jesus wants us to walk.
St. Luke sets before us two sisters today: Mary and Martha. Two women, real sisters, sharing a home and life. But they live out two very different responses to the tug of anxiety and distraction inside us all. Mary sits at Jesus’ feet, eyes locked on him, soaking up every word. She’s open, receptive, vulnerable. She’s the disciple who hears. Martha, on the other hand, stands over Jesus. The Greek word used here isn’t just about standing nearby. It means “to stand over” or “to oppose.” Martha expects Mary to join her in the work, the expected “womanly” duties of hospitality. She’s busy, distracted, burdened. She’s fighting to keep everything running—and she’s frustrated that Mary isn’t helping.
This isn’t a story about “good Mary” and “bad Martha.” Both sisters love Jesus and want to honor him. But their focus, their response, differs. Martha’s service is good and necessary, but she’s pulled so many ways that she can’t hear Jesus clearly. Her words reveal a self-focus—she talks about herself three times in her complaint. She calls Jesus “Lord,” yes, but she wants his help to fix her plans, not to change her heart. Mary, meanwhile, trusts enough to sit and listen. She isn’t passive. She’s fully engaged, letting the Holy Spirit move her heart before she acts.
Here, the familial relationship is key—Mary and Martha are sisters, bound by blood and home. That family connection echoes in another important family: Jesus and his brother James. St. James, who writes to early followers urging them to “be doers of the Word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves.” James knows well the balance between hearing and doing. He, like Mary and Martha, understands the push and pull in family relationships—between love, expectation, and faith in action.
James’ words help us see that it’s not the doing that’s the problem. Martha’s frantic activity isn’t wrong. The problem is distraction, anxiety, the failure to root our actions in attentive listening and trust. James calls us to a faith that moves—doing what God’s word calls us to after we’ve truly heard it. It’s a dance: listen, then act. Act out of faith, not fear.
What’s happening here is a picture of two ways we respond to the restlessness inside us. Martha’s pulled by anxiety and distraction, yanked in every direction until she loses sight of the main thing—Jesus and his word. Mary’s posture is one of trust, attentiveness, and faith. She hears Jesus’ message and lets it sink deep before acting. Jesus calls us away from the chaos of distraction, away from being pulled apart by worry. The word “distracted” here in Greek literally means “to be pulled from all around.” Imagine a rope tied to your heart being yanked in every direction until you can barely breathe. That’s what distraction feels like.
The Holy Spirit calls us to resist that yanking. She invites us to keep the main thing the main thing: to hear God’s Word clearly, to let it settle in us. Jesus doesn’t condemn Martha’s work. In fact, he’s celebrated those who serve well elsewhere in Luke’s gospel. But here, he shows us the danger of letting anxiety rule the heart. The Spirit challenges us to listen first—to open ourselves fully to Christ’s teaching—before launching into action.
There’s a beautiful tension here that many miss. Later in Luke, Jesus encourages persistent prayer—knocking repeatedly, begging persistently. That kind of asking, even demanding, before God is good and right. But Martha’s complaint doesn’t come from persistent faith. It comes from frustration and a desire to control the situation, not from trusting God’s timing or way. That distinction is crucial for us.
We do not live in a world where action isn’t needed. Faith without works is dead. But the doing that pleases God flows from the hearing and trusting of his Word. When we jump into doing without listening, our work becomes frantic, anxious, scattered—like Martha’s. When we listen, let the Spirit shape our hearts, and then act, our work becomes faithful, focused, and fruitful.
This lesson applies in every corner of life. Maybe you’re overwhelmed by work, family, church, and community responsibilities. Your to-do list grows longer every day, your mind a jumble of worries. Or maybe you carry burdens no one else sees—the weight of illness, loneliness, or fear. The Spirit meets you there, gently pulling you back to listen, to rest in Jesus. She invites you to stop running in every direction and to sit at Jesus’ feet, even if only for a moment.
In our church, too, this story speaks.
Sometimes we get caught up in the maintenance mindset—worrying about budgets, attendance, programs, the right way to do things. We say, “We need more pledges so we can pay the bills.” But beneath that, there can be a subtle “me” or “us” that looks inward more than outward. The Spirit challenges us to hear Jesus’ word again and again, to refocus our mission beyond numbers and money toward discipleship rooted in trust and thanksgiving.
It’s not easy to quiet the “big blue elephants” in our minds. But the Spirit offers comfort and challenge. She calms the restless heart while nudging it toward faithful response. She gives strength to sit, listen, and then act—not anxious, but steady in faith. So where is your mind pulled today? What distractions, worries, or “baby blue elephants” are stomping through your thoughts? The Spirit calls you back to Jesus. To listen, trust, and then move—not driven by panic but by peace. To be like Mary, who chooses the “better part,” the one thing necessary—the direction of the Word, the Word who became flesh and lived among us for us and for our salvation.
The Rev'd Daniel W. Spigelmyer, Jr. 