1st Reading – Genesis 18:1-10a

The LORD appeared to Abraham by the terebinth of Mamre,
as he sat in the entrance of his tent,
while the day was growing hot. 
Looking up, Abraham saw three men standing nearby. 
When he saw them, he ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them;
and bowing to the ground, he said:
“Sir, if I may ask you this favor,
please do not go on past your servant. 
Let some water be brought, that you may bathe your feet,
and then rest yourselves under the tree. 
Now that you have come this close to your servant,
let me bring you a little food, that you may refresh yourselves;
and afterward you may go on your way.” 
The men replied, “Very well, do as you have said.”

Abraham hastened into the tent and told Sarah,
“Quick, three measures of fine flour! Knead it and make rolls.” 
He ran to the herd, picked out a tender, choice steer,
and gave it to a servant, who quickly prepared it. 
Then Abraham got some curds and milk,
as well as the steer that had been prepared,
and set these before the three men;
and he waited on them under the tree while they ate.

They asked Abraham, “Where is your wife Sarah?”
He replied, “There in the tent.” 
One of them said, “I will surely return to you about this time next year,
and Sarah will then have a son.”

In today’s first reading from the Book of Genesis, Abraham welcomes three mysterious visitors, mirroring the theme of hospitality in our gospel reading.

This story reflects a familiar ancient Near Eastern motif: divine guests arrive in disguise, receive hospitality, and bestow a blessing — often the promise of a child. While this story form appears in Mesopotamian and Ugaritic traditions, Israel reinterprets it through its covenant theology.

In Genesis, the visitors are manifestations of the LORD, and their promise — the birth of Isaac — is not just good fortune but a fulfillment of God’s covenant with Abraham, whose generous welcome becomes a turning point in salvation history that culminates in Christ.

The LORD appeared to Abraham by the terebinth of Mamre,

A terebinth is a small resin-producing tree native to the Mediterranean region. It is sometimes called a turpentine tree.

Mamre is thought to be a place near Hebron.

as he sat in the entrance of his tent, while the day was growing hot. Looking up, he saw three men standing nearby.

The narrative unfolds within the framework of ancient Near Eastern hospitality, where welcoming strangers was both a social obligation and a protective strategy.

When he saw them, he ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them; and bowing to the ground,

Since all strangers who emerged from the desert were potential enemies, it was important to treat them as honored guests. In this way, a relationship of cordiality would be established at the outset, and the host would have the upper hand.

Bowing was part of the ritualized hospitality protocol, signaling that the host came in peace and offered protection.

he said: “Sir, if I may ask you this favor, please do not go on past your servant. Let some water be brought, that you may bathe your feet, and then rest yourselves under the tree. Now that you have come this close to your servant, let me bring you a little food, that you may refresh yourselves; and afterward you may go on your way.”

Abraham compels them to accept his hospitality with a speech that shifts between singular and plural, suggesting both the unity and multiplicity of his guests. Some Church Fathers interpreted this as a veiled revelation of the Holy Trinity — three persons, one divine presence. Others see the visitors as angels, with one representing the LORD (cf. Genesis 18:22), consistent with Hebrews 13:2.

Regardless of the specifics, this presentation demonstrates the mysterious nature of God’s presence. The God of Abraham is a transcendent God, but at the same time a God who dwells among the people.

“Very well,” they replied, “do as you have said.”

The guests’ acceptance maintains the mutual etiquette of hospitality. In this culture, refusal could imply hostility or mistrust.

Abraham hastened into the tent and told Sarah, “Quick, three measures of fine flour! Knead it and make rolls.” He ran to the herd, picked out a tender, choice steer, and gave it to a servant, who quickly prepared it. Then he got some curds and milk, as well as the steer that had been prepared, and set these before them; and he waited on them under the tree while they ate.

Sarah’s role, though behind the scenes, is central. The quantity of flour (three measures) and the quality of the meal (fine flour, choice steer) underscore the honor Abraham bestows on his guests. His personal service under the tree further elevates his humility.

Abraham is being portrayed as the perfect host.

“Where is your wife Sarah?” they asked him.

This moment is a striking shift in the narrative. In the customs of the ancient Near East, it was the male head of the household who managed interactions with guests, while women and servants remained unseen. It would have been highly unconventional — if not improper — for visitors to inquire about the host’s wife.

Yet these mysterious guests not only ask about Sarah but somehow know her name. This intimate knowledge suggests a divine awareness and prepares the reader for a moment of revelation.

That Sarah is named, rather than simply called “your wife,” is significant. In the narrative tradition of Genesis, naming signals value, identity, and agency, highlighting Sarah’s essential role in the unfolding covenant.

“There in the tent,” he replied.

Abraham’s unhesitating answer suggests he senses the sacred nature of the encounter. The narrative tension builds.

One of them said, “I will surely return to you about this time next year, and Sarah will then have a son.”

One of the visitors, a perfect stranger, foretells the birth of their son. The fact that the child is identified as Sarah’s son (rather than Abraham’s) affirms her indispensable role and the miraculous nature of the birth.

Earlier in Genesis, Abraham said to God in a vision that his steward would be his heir because he had no children. God replied: “No, that one shall not be your heir; your own issue shall be your heir” (Genesis 15:4b). Here, God announces the fulfillment of that promise — a promise that would change the world.

2nd Reading – Colossians 1:24-28

Brothers and sisters:
Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake,
and in my flesh I am filling up
what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ
on behalf of his body, which is the church,
of which I am a minister
in accordance with God’s stewardship given to me
to bring to completion for you the word of God,
the mystery hidden from ages and from generations past.
But now it has been manifested to his holy ones,
to whom God chose to make known the riches of the glory
of this mystery among the Gentiles;
it is Christ in you, the hope for glory. 
It is he whom we proclaim,
admonishing everyone and teaching everyone with all wisdom,
that we may present everyone perfect in Christ.

For our second week in a four-part journey through the Letter to the Colossians, Saint Paul personally reflects on his own ministry.

Brothers and sisters: Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake,

Paul’s joy in suffering stems from his conviction that his trials benefit the Church, particularly the Colossians, whom he serves with love and devotion.

and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ on behalf of his body, which is the church,

This statement has sparked considerable discussion across generations.

Remember, last week Paul taught that Christ has already reconciled the whole world to God: “For in him all the fullness was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile all things for him…” (Colossians 1:19-20a). Therefore, Paul is not suggesting that Jesus’ redemptive acts were somehow incomplete, unfinished, or ineffective. Rather, he is teaching that ministers of Christ, who carry on Jesus’ ministry, also participate in his suffering.

For a deeper understanding, we can examine the Greek terminology of Paul’s text. Paul claims that the sufferings (páthēma) of his own flesh (sárx) fill up what is lacking in the afflictions (thlípsis) of Christ’s body (sōma). The vocabulary itself indicates that the body of Christ is clearly something other than his physical being. As Paul goes on to clarify, it is the Church.

The Greek title used here, “the Christ,” includes a definite article (ho Christos), suggesting that this is not an alternate name for Jesus the Lord but a reference to the long-awaited Messiah. Furthermore, thlípsis is never used in scripture as a reference to the sufferings of the historical Jesus. It refers to the tribulations that, according to Jewish eschatological thinking, will precede the coming of the Messiah.

Therefore, Paul is saying that his own physical sufferings have merit and contribute to the eschatological “birth pangs of the Messiah,” a concept rooted in Jewish tradition. By joining his suffering to Christ, he contributes to the unfolding and acceleration of God’s salvific plan.

of which I am a minister in accordance with God’s stewardship given to me

Paul sees himself as a minister, a servant (diákonos) with the responsibility of stewardship (oikonomía) — the management of God’s household. The Greek term oikonomía combines oíkos (household) and némo (to manage or distribute), conveying the idea of responsible administration.

Paul’s mission, rooted in this sacred trust, is to faithfully dispense the mysteries of salvation to the Church.

to bring to completion for you the word of God, the mystery hidden from ages and from generations past. 

The mystery Paul refers to is God’s eternal plan to give salvation to all humankind, both Jews and Gentiles, forming them into members of a single body which is the Church (Ephesians 3:6), through faith in Jesus Christ (Romans 16:25-26).

In Christ, this mystery is fully revealed.

But now it has been manifested to his holy ones, to whom God chose to make known the riches of the glory of this mystery among the Gentiles; it is Christ in you, the hope for glory.

The mystery is not merely doctrinal, it is personal and transformative: Christ in you.

This indwelling presence of Christ is the pledge of future glory. Paul includes Gentiles fully in this promise, affirming their baptismal dignity without requiring adherence to Jewish law.

It is he whom we proclaim, admonishing everyone and teaching everyone with all wisdom, that we may present everyone perfect in Christ.

Christ is the heart of Paul’s proclamation.

Teaching and admonition are not optional; they are essential to forming mature disciples. Paul’s goal is not just instruction but transformation: that all may be made perfect in Christ.

As steward of the household, it is Paul’s responsibility to make sure that in the domain of his ministry, everyone has been perfected in Christ.

Gospel – Luke 10:38-42

Jesus entered a village 
where a woman whose name was Martha welcomed him.
She had a sister named Mary
who sat beside the Lord at his feet listening to him speak. 
Martha, burdened with much serving, came to him and said,
“Lord, do you not care
that my sister has left me by myself to do the serving? 
Tell her to help me.” 
The Lord said to her in reply,
“Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things. 
There is need of only one thing. 
Mary has chosen the better part
and it will not be taken from her.”

Today’s gospel reading is the Story of Martha and Mary. In it, Jesus invites us to reflect on the balance between service and spiritual attentiveness.

Jesus entered a village where a woman whose name was Martha welcomed him.

The story is surprising from its outset: Martha, a woman, welcomes Jesus, indicating that she is likely the homeowner. That a woman could be mistress of a house and invite a man into her home would be a level of autonomy almost inconceivable in the patriarchal society of first-century Palestine.

Yet Jesus accepts her welcome without hesitation, affirming her dignity and agency.

Side note: Luke’s gospel makes a point of picturing Jesus in people’s homes and accepting their hospitality, just as he instructed his disciples to do (Luke 9:4). By the time Luke wrote his Gospel, around 85 AD, Christian churches were meeting in homes, and many women were offering them hospitality — perhaps echoing Martha’s role.

She had a sister named Mary who sat beside the Lord at his feet 

Mary’s posture “at his feet” is the classic posture of a disciple (cf. Acts 22:3). That Jesus permits and affirms this is radical: women were typically excluded from formal religious instruction. She would be generally expected to busy herself with serving.

Mary’s choice defies cultural expectations and affirms the inclusive nature of discipleship in Christ.

listening to him speak.

The Greek word used here (logon) suggests more than casual conversation — it connotes divine teaching, the proclamation of the Word.

Mary is not passively present; she is actively engaged in receiving the Word, a demanding and intentional act.

This was strikingly countercultural. Rabbinic tradition, particularly in the Jerusalem Talmud, includes views like Rabbi Eliezer’s, who said, “Let the words of the Torah be burned rather than be handed over to women.” While not universally held, such views underscore the radical nature of Jesus’ openness to female discipleship.

Martha, burdened with much serving, came to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me by myself to do the serving? Tell her to help me.”

Martha’s frustration is understandable. She is not only managing the traditional domestic duties expected of women but also assuming the broader responsibilities of hospitality that typically fell to men (as described in our first reading).

This is an honorable and expected role. Yet her concern shifts from service to resentment. Rather than seeking empathy, she asks Jesus to intervene, implicitly criticizing both Mary and Jesus.

Her directness reveals a level of familiarity that suggests a longstanding relationship with Jesus. Her words carry the weight of frustration and intimacy, bordering on rebuke. Notice that she not only voices her grievance but presumes to instruct Jesus on how to resolve it.

The Lord said to her in reply, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things. There is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part and it will not be taken from her.”

Jesus’ response redirects Martha’s gaze inward, inviting self-reflection rather than judgment. His repetition of her name is tender, not corrective, signaling affection and concern. He does not criticize her service, but identifies her anxiety as the deeper issue.

Martha has voiced frustration with her sister, yet has failed to examine her own posture. Her fault is not in serving, but in allowing service to eclipse presence. Mary’s attentiveness to the Word is “the better part” — not because hospitality lacks value, but because communion with Christ is foundational.

This passage complements the Parable of the Good Samaritan, which we heard last week. The story of the Samaritan opens with the words “a certain man”; today’s reading immediately follows and opens with the words “a certain woman.” Both stories are unique to Luke and feature unexpected protagonists (a Samaritan, a woman) choosing between two important priorities. In each, love of neighbor and love of God converge in concrete, relational acts.

Connections and Themes

Hospitality as a sacred encounter.  The readings portray hospitality not simply as a social virtue, but as a spiritual act that opens space for divine revelation. Abraham’s welcome of three mysterious visitors leads to the announcement of Isaac’s birth — an event with covenantal and salvific consequences. In the Gospel, Mary’s receptivity to Jesus’ presence—her willingness to sit and listen—reveals a posture of interior hospitality that prioritizes relationship over task. Together, these texts suggest that true hospitality is not about perfection or productivity, but about attentiveness to the divine in our midst.

For us, the divine may manifest in the person on the street who asks for directions, a client who seems vulnerable, a friend at our table whose words linger longer than the meal, or a co-worker displaying behavior that seems strange to us. God comes into our lives in unexpected ways, and we must have an open attitude of hospitality if we are to receive the blessings that might come with such visits.

Christ dwelling within. Paul’s declaration in the second reading that “Christ in you [is] the hope for glory” reframes discipleship as a transformative, indwelling reality. We see this inward mystery in Mary’s contemplative stillness before Jesus and in Abraham’s faithful welcome: both represent an openness to the presence and initiative of God. Rather than separate from the practical demands of service, this theme invites us to consider how interior spiritual awareness informs and anchors outward action. When Christ dwells within, both listening and serving take on sacred depth.

The struggle to serve well.  One of the greatest challenges disciples face today is finding the right balance between the tasks we have to accomplish and the needs of the people we serve. Like Martha, many of us are consumed by necessary tasks done in service of others, yet often at a cost to personal connection. Parents can be so overwhelmed with the demands of making a living that they have little time for the very ones they are providing for. Doctors can be so intent on curing the illness that they are insensitive to the fears of the patient. Pastors can be so overworked with administrative duties that they have little time for pastoring. All these duties are important, but not as important as the people for whom we do them.

Scripture doesn’t ask us to abandon our duties, but to remain spiritually anchored amid them. Mary’s quiet posture at Jesus’ feet becomes a symbol not of avoidance but of attentiveness — a reminder that we are called not only to do for others, but to be with them. Discipleship means learning to serve others with depth, grace, and awareness, even when perfection is beyond reach.