Gratitude
While Jesus and his
followers were traveling, Jesus went into a town. A woman named Martha let
Jesus stay at her house. Martha had a sister named Mary, who was sitting at
Jesus' feet and listening to him teach. But Martha was busy with all the work
to be done. She went in and said, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has
left me alone to do all the work? Tell her to help me." But the Lord
answered her, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many
things. Only one thing is important. Mary has chosen the better thing, and it
will never be taken away from her." (Luke 10:38-42)
I love milk. One of the saddest days
of my life was when I learned that whole milk was actually unhealthy. So, with
great reluctance I have adapted to the watered-down version. However, every
once in a while, I still allow myself the pleasure of a cold glass of whole
milk with a hot, gooey, chocolate-chip cookie.
In my years of milk appreciation I
have also learned that a high price is paid for leaving milk out of the refrigerator.
That happened a while ago when I spit the spoiled stuff all over the kitchen
cabinet. I’ve learned that sweet milk turns sour from being left too warm for too
long. And, it occurred to me, sweet dispositions can turn sour for the same
reason. Let aggravation stew without a period of cooling down, and the result?
A bad, bitter, clabberish attitude. Kind of like buttermilk – I’m not really a
fan of a drink with lumps in it.
The tenth chapter of Luke describes
the step-by-step process of the sweet becoming sour. It's the story of Martha.
A dear soul with a talent for hospitality and organization. More frugal than
frivolous; more practical than pensive, her household is a tight ship and she’s
a stern captain. Ask her to choose between a book and a broom, she'll take the
broom. Mary, on the other hand, will take the book. Mary is Martha's sister.
Same parents, but different priorities. Martha has things to do. Mary has
thoughts to think. The dishes can wait. Let Martha go to the market; Mary will
go to the library.
Two sisters. Two personalities. And
as long as they understand each other, life’s fine. But when the one resents
the other, it's like flint against stone. And the picture I get from Luke is
that Martha’s probably the one standing by the table, wearing the apron and commanding
the kitchen. Stirring with one hand and cracking eggs with the other, she
doesn’t spill a drop. She knows what she's doing, and there must be a big crowd
coming because there’s a whole lot of food. And then she hears them laughing in
the next room, and it sounds like they're having fun. Martha isn't having fun.
One look at her flour-covered scowl will tell you that.
"Stupid sister," you can
almost hear her mumble. "Stupid Mary. Here I am alone in the kitchen while
she's out there. And if I’d known
that Jesus was going to bring his entire posse with him, I probably wouldn’t
have invited him over in the first place. Those guys eat like horses, and Peter
is just plain gross … his breath stinks when he belches. Such a fisherman."
"Yeah, that sweet little darling
sister of mine . . . always ready to
listen and never ready to work. I
wouldn't mind sitting down myself. But all I do is cook and sew, cook and sew.
Well, enough is enough!" And at this point, you get the sense that someone’s
gonna get it. "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me alone to do
all the work? Tell her to help me." (v. 40) Suddenly the room goes deathly
silent, except for the tap-tap-tapping of Martha's foot on the stone floor, and
the slapping of a wooden spoon in her palm. She looms above the others with
flour on her cheeks and fire in her eyes.
At this point, the disciples are
probably staring wide-eyed at this fury that hell hath not known. And poor Mary,
flushed red with embarrassment, sighs and sinks lower to the floor. Only Jesus
speaks. Because only Jesus understands the problem. The problem is not the
large crowd. The problem is not Mary's choice to listen. The problem is not
Martha's choice to host. The problem is Martha's heart – a heart soured with
anxiety. "Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things."
(v. 41)
The truth is that Martha wanted to do
right, but her heart was wrong. Her heart, Jesus said, was worried. As a result,
she turned from a happy servant into a beast of burden. She was worried:
worried about cooking; worried about pleasing; worried about too much. I like
what Erma Bombeck had to say about worrying: “I've always worried a lot and frankly, I'm good at it. I worry about introducing
people and going blank when I get to my mother. I worry about a shortage of
ball bearings; a snake coming up through the kitchen drain. I worry about the
world ending at midnight and getting stuck with three hours on a twenty-four
hour cold capsule. I worry what the dog thinks when he sees me coming out of
the shower; that one of my children will marry an Eskimo who will set me adrift
on an iceberg when I can no longer feed myself. I worry about salesladies
following me into the fitting room, oil slicks, and Carol Channing going bald.
I worry about scientists discovering someday that lettuce has been fattening all
along.”
Apparently, Martha worried too much,
too. So much so that she started bossing God around. A lack of gratitude will
do that to you. It makes you forget who's in charge. What makes this case
interesting though is that Martha’s worried about doing something good: she's
having Jesus over for dinner. She's literally serving God. Her aim was to
please Jesus. But she made a common, but dangerous, mistake. As she began to
work for him, her work became more important than her Lord. What began as a way
to serve Jesus, slowly and subtly became a way to serve herself.
I’m guessing that the process went
something like this. As she began to prepare the meal, she anticipated the
compliments she’d get on the food. And as she set the table, she imagined the
approval of her guests. She could just picture it. Jesus would enter the house
and thank her for all her hard work. He would tell the disciples to give her a
standing ovation. John would cite her as an example of hospitality and dedicate
an entire chapter in the Bible to her. Then women would come from miles around
to ask her how she learned to be such a kind and humble servant. And the rest
of her days would be spent directing a school of servanthood – with Jesus as
the director, and Martha as the professor.
But things didn't turn out quite like
she'd planned. She didn't get the attention she sought. There were no standing
ovations. No compliments. No adulation. No school. No one even noticed. And
that irritated her. But Martha is long on anxiety and short on memory. She’s forgotten
that the invitation was her idea. She’d forgotten that Mary has every right to
be with Jesus. And most of all, she’d forgotten that the meal was to honor
Jesus, not Martha.
It's easy to forget who’s the servant
and who’s to be served. Satan knows that. This tool of distortion is one of
Satan's slyest. You see, he didn't take Martha out of the kitchen; he took away
her purpose in the kitchen. The adversary won't turn you against the church; he
will turn you toward yourself in the church. He won't take you away from your
ministry; he'll disillusion you in your ministry.
And when the focus is on yourself,
you do what Martha did — you worry. You become anxious about many things. You
worry that your co-workers won't appreciate you; your leaders will overwork you;
and your superintendent won't understand you. With time, your agenda becomes
more important than God's because you're more concerned with presenting self
than pleasing him. And then you start doubting God's judgment: "Lord,
don't you care that my sister has left me alone to do all the work? Tell her to
help me." (v. 40) I think Martha probably regretted saying that. I bet
that after she cooled down a bit, she would have loved to have those words
back. She probably wished she'd heeded Solomon's counsel: "A rebel shouts in
anger; a wise man holds his temper in and cools it." (Prov. 29:11)
There’s a principle here. To keep an
attitude from souring, treat it like you would a cup of milk: cool it off. Martha's
life was cluttered. She needed a break. "Martha, Martha, you are worried
and upset about many things," the Master explained to her. "Only one
thing is important. Mary has chosen [it]." (Vv. 41-42) What had Mary
chosen? She’d chosen to sit at the feet of Christ. And it seems to me that God is
probably more pleased with the quiet attention of a sincere servant, than the
noisy service of a sour one.
By the way, this story could easily
have been reversed.
Mary could have been the one to get
angry and upset. The sister on the floor could have resented the sister at the
sink. Mary could have grabbed Jesus by the arm, dragged him into the kitchen
and said, "Jesus. Would you please tell Martha to quit being so productive
and to get a bit more reflective. Why do I have to do all the thinking and
praying around here, anyway?"
What matters more than the type of
service is the heart behind the service – a grateful heart. A bad attitude
spoils the gift we leave on the altar for God. It reminds me of a story about a
guy who prayed with a bad attitude. "Why," he asked God, "has my
brother been blessed with wealth and me with nothing at all? All my life I’ve never
missed a single day without offering morning and evening prayers to You. My
church attendance has been spotless – it’s perfect! I’ve always loved my
neighbor, and given them my money and my help. Yet now, as I have more life
behind than ahead of me, I can hardly afford to pay my rent. My brother, on the
other hand, drinks and gambles and plays all the time. Yet he has more money
than he can count. I’m not asking you to punish him, but tell me, please God, why
has he been given so much and I’ve got squat?" "Because," God
replied, "you're such a self-righteous pain in the neck."
Guard your attitude. God has gifted
you with talents. He has done the same to your neighbor. If you concern
yourself with your neighbor's talents, you will neglect your own. But if you
concern yourself with your own, you could inspire both.
Gratitude – it’s a choice.
Happy Thanksgiving,
Randy
