There were these two sisters.  One was heavy with anxiety.  But the other used wisdom to make her worries bearable.  The afflicted one was named Martha; the more liberated named Mary.  

Poor Martha.  I’ve known her in a thousand parishioners during my ministry.  In the drama of my own life, I’ve played the role of Martha over and over.  The word “Martha” comes from the Aramaic language. It means “master,” the one in charge—or presumably in charge, in control.  No wonder the Martha in our story felt such pressure, such stress.  

“Mary” comes from the Hebrew language, a nickname for Miriam.  The first Miriam was the sister of Moses, a bit of a loose cannon.  She could dance, sing, complain, sin, pray, protect, think quickly on her feet, negotiate….  Even when it looked like she was holding back, she was conniving.  Quite the character, that Miriam.  Scholars can’t agree on whether the name means bitter or beloved.  In other words, even the wisest of men can’t figure her out.

Jesus happened to be a dear friend of the sisters.  He loved them both. There was a brother too, but we won’t bother with him right now.  The sisters and their personalities are more interesting.  

You can read the fuller stories about them for yourself in Luke 10: 38-42 and John 11: 1-44.  Mary makes a solo appearance in John 12: 1-8.  In the Bible stories, we get to see the contrasts in their personalities—first in a dinner party, then in the midst of death.  In the third story, Mary does something everyone thinks is scandalous—everyone except her and Jesus.  

But let’s consider Martha first: the worrier.  She had reason to worry.  Someone had to cook the meals, wash the dishes, do the laundry, and get the kids to school on time.  Someone had to earn the money, mow the grass, pay the bills, and repair the plumbing.  In a world without any anxiety or fear, we would all starve, catch diseases, get pregnant at the wrong time, trust the wrong leaders, and get run over by trucks and trains.  Fear can be good.  Martha knows that.  

I preached several weeks ago at the Farmers Chapel Church in Danville—and had arrived early that day to chat with some of the folks who got there half an hour early each week—half a dozen widows and widowers.  Evelyn and Patti were commiserating over how lonely it is to wake up and face another day in an empty house.  Even though both of them has a strong and irrepressible personality, they still struggled with loss and emptiness.  As the two women shared empathy, Patti suddenly said, “Evelyn, why don’t you and I just move in together.”  The room suddenly went silent.  The birds outside stopped singing.  Kenny—who’d known them both for decades— groaned, “O Lord NO!.”  And the shadow only passed when Evelyn finally declined with a delicate prophecy, “I don’t think that’ll work Patti.”  

In other words, sometimes anxiety is good, necessary, life-preserving.  Evelyn will probably survive to enjoy her 96^thbirthday next year, due to the anxiety she felt over Patti’s offer. 

But poor Martha:  not all anxiety is healthy.  I imagine Martha suffering from panic attacks, clinical depression, exhaustion, psycho-somatic pain, guilt, and shame.  The Marthas I know—including those within myself—also embarrass easily, become obsessed with grievance, feel powerless, tend to play the blame game when things go wrong, slip into destructive defense mechanisms, handle criticism poorly, and have little immunity from being offended.  Their anxiety becomes toxic.  

I’ve preached sermons on Mary and Martha for over half a century now.  My sermons were a mixed bag—some good, some not so good.  But the Bible story is always compelling when I share it.  The character everyone gravitates to, identifies with, understands best—is Martha.  Martha makes us think of ourselves.  In the Martha story, we hear Jesus speaking to each of us, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and distracted by many things.  Only one thing is necessary.”  His words come to us as a gentle encouragement to make wiser choices.

But soon after those gentle words hit our ears, we become anxious again:  How to be less anxious?  It’s easier said than done!  Our toxic anxiety is triggered by our desperation to become less anxious. As a pastor, I’ve watched a myriad of Marthas work themselves into a stew—trying to obey Jesus—trying to become more Mary-like.  Way to go Jesus—look what your advice did.

As a “Martha” myself, I feel a responsibility to help everyone out here.  So…let’s take a moment and ponder the brain science of anxiety.  Stick with me:  I promise I won’t use any big words.  

The human brain is composed of four main parts:  factories, warehouses, observation decks, and bridges.  See—I told you I wasn’t going to use any big words.

There are factories all over the place in our brains.  There’s a factory that produces decisions, some good and some bad.  Another factory produces imagination.  Another factory reasons things out.  Another produces creativity.  There is a row of factories that produce emotions of every kind.  Another factory kicks out wisdom.  One factory does nothing but generate desire.  Another spends all its time producing calculations and estimations.  Other factories produce everything from stubbornness to kindness to humor.  It is a marvelous thing—this human brain—able to produce all it does.

Then there are the warehouses in our brains—where we store things.  We are most familiar with the various memorywarehouses. Sometimes I’m looking for a name, and I have trouble finding it in the warehouse.  There are times I’ve lost the keys to even get into my memory warehouses.  Our warehouses also store our common sense, our faith, our stories, our songs, and our traditions.  One of those warehouses contains the mental maps that keep us oriented and assist us in adventuring out on new pathways.  

Factories.  Warehouses.  And observation decks.  The observation decks in the brain register what the eyes are seeing, the ears are hearing, the skin is feeling, the tongue is tasting, and the nose is smelling.  

And finally, there are the bridges inside they brain.  Without the bridges—the rest of the brain would be useless. For example, there is a bridge that connects the factory producing our anger with the warehouse that stores our common sense.  But if the bridge between them goes out, our anger gets out of control.  Another example:  when the bridges go out that connect the warehouse of common sense, the observation decks taking in network news or social media, the observation decks that are set up to take in the real world, and the factories that produce curiosity and reason—we have toxic politics.  Our whole world can go to hell when the conduits inside our brains don’t bridge everything.  When our array of miraculous factories, warehouses, and observations decks get disconnected—when the bridges go out—the human mind can turn reptilian.  Alzheimer’s Disease is a matter of the bridges (neuropathways) physically deteriorating in the brain.  Toxic anxiety occurs when we get out of the habit of using the bridges that are already there.  We have no cure yet for Alzheimer’s Disease.  On the other hand, we have no excuse for toxic anxiety:  the bridges are still there, we’ve just stop using them.

In the New Testament, written in Greek, the word used to diagnose Martha is mer-im-nas.  It literally means “a split mind.”  Parts of the mind is disconnected and shut off from each other.  The factories that produce fear are no longer partnered with the factories that produce creativity, or the warehouse that stores our faith, or the observation decks that remain curious.  And when the factory of fear is cut off from all the other brilliant parts of the brain—we have toxic anxiety—and nothing to calm ourselves or put matters in perspective.  Merimnas—the divided brain, the brain of unused bridges.  

Another Greek word—the word for devil—gives us further insight.  “Diabolos.”  It literally means “the one who tears all things into pieces.”  “Dia” means scattered.  “Bolos” means throws.  While God mysteriously creates our brains in the image of God’s own mind—the devil is a mysterious power that puts up deceptive signs reading “Bridge Out.”  And so we hunker into those places in our minds that saturate us with worry, grievance, and amnesia—leaving the better parts of our cognitive facilities unused.  Martha—the one who feels called to control and organize everything—can’t even get the components of her own mind to cooperate.    

And so we Marthas all envy Mary.  Sassy.  Disobedient.  Carefree.  Creative.  Joyful.  Loving.  Heedless of outer and inner critics.  Extravagant.  Independent.  We see Mary in the Bible story.  We see Mary in free-spirited folks around us.  We see Mary, hiding out inside our own hearts—yearning to emerge and live free.

And in the Bible story, there is a word from Jesus, addressed not only to Martha, but also to the anxious spirit within us. Jesus is nudging us, calling us forth, just as he had once called Mary and Martha’s brother to come out of his tomb.  

And when we look carefully at the words of Jesus in Mark 10:42, we see that a life free from anxiety is not a fate but a choice. Jesus says that Mary has chosen the better alternative.  And what we know from brain science, which I just summarized so irreverently, shows us how to overcome anxiety.

We cure toxic anxiety by repairing and using the bridges God has already fashioned in our minds. Plenty of maps are lying around to help us find those bridges:  from religion, cognitive science, physiology, psychology, chemistry, spiritual directors, and entertainers.  

From the maps of faith, we discover that we can overcome our toxic anxiety by feeding our minds and souls with images, stories, and adages found in scripture.  We sooth anxiety by getting outside and taking in more of God’s nature and creation. We overcome anxiety through rituals, prayer, and fellowship in the faith community.

From our cognitive skills we learn to do the math—understand the difference between what might possibly go wrong from what will probably go wrong.  We distinguish the difference between what we can control and what is beyond our control—allowing us to choose whether to put our energies into reform or endurance.  We gather the facts in order to lessen our vulnerability to deceptive factoids.  We use our curiosity to understand the context of all things that trouble us.

From psychology and physiology, we learn we can exercise to get residues of anxiety out of our body parts.  We do mental exercises to keep the mind supple.  We attend to diet and hydration and sleep.  We accept the therapeutic value of hugs, conversation, light, and color.  We avoid sedentary dangers, knowing that toxic anxiety festers in our idleness.

We spend more time with our wiser friends and less time with our foolish ones.  We find responsible ways to take advantage of counselors and pharmaceuticals.  We go on social media and network news “fasts.”  We tell stories of past victories, practice mindfulness, and seek out people who stimulate us with humor.  

We can make choices just like Mary did—to repair and travel the bridges of the mind—keeping the factories and warehouses of grace, imagination, wisdom, and faith in the loop.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said, “Do not be anxious.”  (Matthew 6:25)  Easy for him to say—he’s Jesus!  With so many things going wrong these days—personally, environmentally, politically, etc., how can we not succumb to toxic anxiety?  But the secret is in the word itself:  anxiety—“split mind” in Greek—loss of bridges in brain science—making new choices, doable choices in real life—to rediscover and traverse the bridges that make us whole, freeing us for abundant living.  Good news for anxious people.  Thanks be to God.