Gratitude

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