A FATHER once shared a story with me just a few days after burying his 20-year-old son. One day, while scrolling through social media, he came across a video of a young boy asking his father how much he earned in a day. After hearing the amount, the boy opened his piggy bank and said:
“Dad, I want to give you everything I’ve saved up—just so you don’t have to go to work for a day, so we can play basketball like we used to.”
The father said he broke into tears after watching that video—because it brought back a memory. One night, his own son had knocked on his door:
“Dad, can I talk to you for a while?”
But because he was swamped with work, he had replied:
“I’m busy, son. I have to finish this.”
He had no idea that it was actually a silent cry for help. A breath of despair from a child who was carrying something heavy. It was a final plea for companionship—one he had missed. He would later learn that his son had been suffering from depression, which eventually led to suicide.
In today’s Gospel, we hear Jesus say something very similar to Martha:
“Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things. But only one thing is necessary…”
And what was her sister Mary doing? She sat down. She listened. She offered her presence.
The story of Martha balances out the earlier parable of the Good Samaritan. There, compassion was expressed through action: cleaning wounds, lifting the injured man, paying for his shelter. But in Mary’s case, welcome was not shown by cooking or preparing food, but by stopping, listening, and being fully present.
We see the same kind of welcome in today’s first reading. Abraham, in the heat of the day, stopped what he was doing. He noticed three visitors approaching—and without hesitation, he and Sarah offered them their time, their food, and their presence. They had no idea that they were entertaining messengers of God.
And in welcoming them, grace arrived—the promise of a son, Isaac.
That is the mystery of presence and listening. In a world driven by busyness and distraction, giving someone your time can become a wellspring of life and grace. Sitting down with another person becomes a way for God to visit us. And sometimes, the person you welcome becomes the very channel of greater blessing in your life.
Dear friends, not all compassion has to be active.
Sometimes, the heaviest burdens are lifted by someone who simply knows how to listen—not with many words, but with quiet presence.
This is the invitation of God’s Word today:
Stop. Listen. Accompany. Be there.
Not necessarily to solve someone’s problems, but to let them know:
“I’m here. You’re not alone.”
As the song goes:
“I’ll be with you in sorrow and in joy,
And you will never be alone in your suffering…”
Many people around us are knocking at our attention—children, spouses, friends, parishioners—not to ask for answers or money, but just to feel that they are not alone.
Never underestimate the power of listening.
Never underestimate the gift of presence, even for a moment.
In a world full of Marthas, we are also being called to be like Mary—
to pause, to listen, and to be a companion.
Amen.
(Homily for the 16th Sunday in Ordinary Time July 20, 2025, Genesis 18:1–10 | Luke 10:38–42)
