Performing

"As Jesus and the disciples continued on their way to Jerusalem, they came to a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. Her sister, Mary, sat at the Lord’s feet, listening to what he taught. But Martha was distracted by the big dinner she was preparing. She came to Jesus and said, 'Lord, doesn’t it seem unfair to you that my sister just sits here while I do all the work? Tell her to come and help me.'

But the Lord said to her, 'My dear Martha, you are worried and upset over all these details! There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her.' " Luke 10:38-42

This story has always been hard for me. Sometimes I even roll my eyes when it makes it's way into a sermon or a women's devotional (it often does). To me, it can seem like a judgement on people who focus on logistics and an excuse for type B people like myself to over-look them. I wonder how I would feel if I were Martha. Trying to serve and impress Jesus, like I so often do, only to be unnoticed and reprimanded. Compared. Nothing is worse than a woman being compared to another woman in the room.

But I know, like I always know, that Jesus is right. He's never wrong and I believe that in the deep part of my heart. The part of my heart that while trusting God's word is true, questions and sifts through it. Like sand in my hand, I pour it back and forth, weighing it and examining every part. I've sat in many Bible studies or read blogs about this story in Luke and the lesson is a good one and usually the same one: Jesus doesn't want or need our performance, he wants our hearts and eyes on him. To sit at his feet and hear his words. 

I love the part where Martha asks him if he thinks her circumstances are unfair. Nothing about being with Jesus is fair. Yet I still point my finger at someone else's life and like a child, exclaim that something's not fair. I noticed Jesus doesn't really address her question, he gently shows her that she's missing the point. That she's focusing on the wrong things. 

I get that. I need that. I struggle with that. There have been times when I wonder what everyone thought about the dessert I brought to Bible study instead of listening and participating in the conversation being held. Sometimes I leave a living room full of guests to get a jump start on the dishes. Often, I rehearse my prayer in my head before speaking it out loud in a group, missing three of the prayers before mine. I need a good ol' fashioned lesson on performance once in a while, just like the next person (if not more). 

But this morning I saw more in the story. 

"My dear Martha, you are worried and upset over all these details! There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her." 

When I zoom out and look at this story, I see what I always see: my anxiety. When God isn't ruling my life, fear is. I read what I always read: God telling me not to fear, but to trust his words. 

This quintessential story about sitting quietly at the feet of Jesus flares up my pride like oil on fire. Sometimes I don't want to sit quietly and humbly, in the position of a learner. I want Jesus to be impressed by my hospitality and work ethic, amazed that I'm filling my role in society so obediently. Such performance is rooted in my fear of approval, in my eagerness to please people over God. 

The radical, liberal and rebellious Jesus I know and love so much saw women during a time in history when they were unseen. Jesus calling a woman out of the kitchen to hear his teachings should excite me, shouldn't it? 

I wonder if this Scripture is hard for me because its a reminder of The Great Struggle in my life: to cling to the one reliable thing in this world, God's Word, and let go of everything else. To not rattle off my list of fears to him, but to listen. To "be still and know that he is God" instead of worrying about details. To believe him. 

I write about anxiety and fear a lot because I'm anxious and fearful a lot. I love God and believe the Holy Spirit hosts my soul, but I am often riddled with uncertainty. That's hard to reconcile, as a believer. If you read this blog, you'll see my attempts to poke holes in Scripture so I can make room for my sin. It never works. 

I don't like this story, because I'm Martha. I'm the one that tries to perform. I'm the one comparing myself, I'm the one oppressing myself. Jesus wants me liberated. Wants me free. He invites me into rest, to sit down and hear his sweet words. To leave the dishes for tomorrow. He reminds me that all of this life here, that I worry so much about, will be gone. He reminds me of the gift that lasts forever. His word. 

I hope, over time, I ask God less questions and believe him more. I hope that eventually I read this story and feel a little more like Mary. Maybe even more like Jesus; calling people out of their slavery and inviting them to hear God's words. 

Bragging about borrowed friends:

Marrying Matt after a few short months of long-distance dating was a pretty big (and apparently scandalous) risk among some of my friends and family. It's turned out pretty great and he is still exactly who I thought he was, give or take a few surprises (like Doctor Who figurines). One of the many blessings and surprises that have unfolded as we continue to get to know each other in our marriage is how many incredible friendships he has. I barely knew him when we got engaged, let alone his friends. It has been a supreme honor to inherit and marry into his relationships.

Two of these people are Jacob and Sarah Lewis. The Lewis family in general is pretty important to Matt. He and Jacob's brother, Josh, were living together when I met him and are incredibly close. I didn't actually meet Jacob until the day of my wedding, as he waved to me from behind his camera, but Matt raved about him and his wife, Sarah, whom I met the next day at a blurred post-wedding brunch. Months later, when Jacob gifted us an incredible wedding video, he and Sarah went from "Matt's friends" to "the reason I remember anything at all about our wedding day". But I still didn't know much about them and wondered if them seeing all my extended family and me under the stress of a wedding was going to compromise the chances. Also, they lived across the country.

I finally got the chance to spend some quality time with them earlier this spring when they came over for dinner. It doesn't escape me how hard it is to budget your time well when you're visiting a city you once called home. You have a prioritized list of places you want to revisit and people you want to catch up with. We got lucky and got to see them for a couple hours before they headed to the airport. We all stood around our kitchen as Matt and I fumbled to make a dinner that was a bit behind schedule and serve wine in foggy glasses while simultaneously catch up with them.

When I think back on that night, I can remember most of our conversations, most of their answers to my questions and every bite of the cheese danishes they left behind for us. But overall what sticks out to me is how genuine they are. They are doing more than sitting around a table talking about how the church needs to change or how Christians should really reflect Christ; they are changing their lives and sacrificing comfort to do those things. Matt and I get into these conversations a lot, partly because we're a bit critical and partly because a great desire of our heart is to serve and be the church. But rarely do I get into a conversation with someone who can follow up their "we think      " with a "so we are going to do      ". It's encouraging. It's convicting. It's great.

Much to my delight, Sarah has recently entered into the blogging world and writes here. The morning I read her post about their Fourth of July, I cried. It was empowering and heart-breaking and spilling out Jesus' love all over the page. You should read it. As a person with what some people call "a sense of justice", her story pulled on my heart. At best, this sense of justice fights alongside God for the defenseless. At worst, it results in me confronting someone who cut in line at Starbucks. When I read her post, I thought about how differently that night could have gone if they were feeling a bit more selfish. If they weren't thinking outside themselves. I also thought about how many times I've probably missed an opportunity like that in a moment of entitlement, laziness or distraction (of myself).

I'm so thankful for a woman like Sarah, who not only writes about living like Christ, but is making great efforts to do it.

A Nautical Story

"One day Jesus said to his disciples: 'Let's cross to the other side of the lake.' So they got into a boat and started out. As they sailed across, Jesus settled down for a nap. But soon a fierce storm came down on the lake. The boat was filling with water, and they were in real danger. The disciples went and woke him up, shouting, 'Master, master, we're going to drown!' When Jesus woke up, he rebuked the wind and the raging waves. Suddenly the storm stopped and all was calm. Then he asked them, 'where is your faith?' " Luke 8:22-25a

Usually when I read this story, I think to myself how nice it is that Jesus's very breath controls the storms. After experiencing some truly stormy weather in the south, I appreciate how great and powerful that is even more now. I love that reminder, I love this story and I don't get tired of reading it. But yesterday when I came across those familiar words, I set down my coffee and using both hands, lifted up my Bible close to my face. I read the words out loud, slowly. Questions started filling my mind. What? Why would he respond that way? Is he irritated that they asked for his help? Is he empowering us to stop our own storms? Doesn't he always want us to come to him when we're afraid? When the waters rising and the storm is raging? Do not people drown on boats? What are the disciples doubting, exactly?

It seems so normal, so human, to be afraid when death is approaching. When you're in danger. When the water's pouring in the boat. To cry out to him, "I'm drowning! Help me!" Doesn't David do this all throughout the psalms? Can't I do this too? His reaction to the disciples in this story makes me uncomfortable. It doesn't match up with what I've decided about Jesus. Because all too often, I go running to him in sheer panic, tears streaming down my face as I ask for his help. This story makes me wonder how many times a day, when anxiety overtakes me, he asks me where is your faith? And is, perhaps, disappointed or hurt by my doubt.

I usually feel pretty justified in my anxiety. Why shouldn't I? If it's not one thing around here, it's another. From cancer to terrorism, and everything in between, there's a lot to worry about. But obviously Jesus wasn't telling the disciples they weren't justified in their fears. He doesn't even mention that. And actually, Luke writes that the disciples were in real danger, as the sea filled their boat. 

He doesn't tell us "fear not" 365 times in the Bible because there's a lack of fearful things, he says it because we have an abundance of him. His peace, his plan, his provision. Most importantly, his presence. Anxiety is the ultimate faith-snatcher. It leaves you alone and overwhelmed, shutting out truth. So why then, does he seemingly scold them when they run to him? 

I thought about that story the rest of my day, wondering what he meant. Why he said that, if he was mad or not. I flipped through different versions of the Bible, reading the same verses, thinking maybe I'm just misunderstanding him. I asked Matt about it, trying to pick his Bible-educated brain to find my answer. I was eager to find an explanation for this passage. I didn't want to think that Jesus would be disappointed in me, in my fear, if I called for his help.

I thought about it again this morning as I cleaned up dishes from breakfast. That's my favorite place where we meet, God and me. My mind is cleared from distractions as I monotonously sud up bowls and plates while we talk. I get answers from him over the sink and it helps me not to grow bitter about how often I find myself there, slipping on rubber gloves. Sometimes I (poorly) sing hymns and sometimes I rant and rave to him. Either way, I experience his presence. 

While scrubbing baking pans and batter-covered mixing bowls, I got my answer from him. I repeated the passage to myself again, having it memorized by now. It looks a little different than most of the passages in the Bible about fear and anxiety, but it also looks exactly the same. He's telling us not to fear, but to take his peace and trust. He wants us to believe that he is taking care of us, that he has a plan and he loves us. As I dried the dishes, I thought back on a few times I'd run to him, panicked and afraid. I remembered the several times he's seated me next to fellow believers on flights while traveling alone, easing my anxiety about flying. I thought about how he seamlessly handled every detail as we packed up in a frantic attempt to be with family during a crisis. I remembered his physical presence the night my friend's lifeless body was found. Countless situations crossed my mind where I was overwhelmed with anxiety and God protected me. And comforted me. It occurred to me that although he pointed out the disciples doubt, he stopped the storm first. Of course I can come to him when I'm afraid, when has he ever abandoned me in my troubles? 

It's not okay to be afraid or to give myself over to anxiety so quickly in a moment of doubt. Yet not running to him with my anxieties is also a moment of doubt. But I have to expect that when I do, he'll hold my hand, look into my fear-stricken eyes and ask me why I'm not trusting him. Perhaps his question to the disciples wasn't an accusation, but a reminder. 

Not understanding exactly what's going on in this story doesn't change what is true about Jesus. I know his character and I know it never changes. He loves us, he's with us during the terrifying times and he wants us to have faith in him. Not faith that it will always turn out right or that we will always be perfectly safe, but faith that he is who he says he is and will do what he says he'll do. Faith to read Scripture that confuses me and still close my Bible and believe in him.

I might always struggle with anxiety. With idiolizing my safety. But in an attempt to be freed from it, I need to remind myself, as it creeps in, where is my faith? It's in him. Him. Whose voice commands the storms. Who's on the boat with us. Who brought us on the boat in the first place. Who conquered pain, suffering and death, the things we fear the very most.