Appalachian Disciple

Jesus came to her living room, and she stayed in the kitchen. That’s me. I often do not sit at the Savior’s feet, though the opportunity is right under my nose.

Luke says, “Martha was distracted…” (Luke 10:40)  I am distracted. I am distracted by what everyone needs to eat and when — is it bought? thawed? somewhat healthy? ready on time? I am distracted by the clothes — are they bought? clean? actually on the children? packed in the suitcase? I am distracted by being the master schedule: my head being the coordination point for five lives: who’s been doing what for how long? when will they (or I) eat/sleep/play/learn/go out/stay in, etc.? And in the upcoming week, who will have piano lessons, dental appointments, Wacky Hat day, a grocery run, the team picnic, an out-of-town conference…? Then the house, with all of its needs: things to clean and things to fix, things to shop for and things to clean out, things to redecorate and things to clean again. To leave it alone is to invite deterioration.

But I’m distracted by weightier things: looming financial needs, loneliness, homeschool preparation, theological questions that roll around in my head. And by lesser things: dieting, scrapbooking, internet surfing, going through the mail…

How can Jesus say, “Only one thing is needed”? If sitting at the feet of Christ is ultimately all that matters, why do I have to do all this other stuff, most of which I don’t even like? Shall I never make another trip to the mailbox, never read another email from my employer? My children have to eat, do they not, or I am the most ungodly of mothers.

Martha asked, “Don’t you care?…” and so do I. Don’t you care, Lord, about both the mundane and enormously weighty tasks that fill my day, that have to be given some attention? I want to know that you care.

Jesus hits the nail on the head in saying, “You are worried and upset about many things…”  (Luke 10:41) This is not about the preparation of one meal. It’s about the demands and disappointments, the accumulated expectations and frustrations, the years of serving others while starving your own soul, and the great injustices of life in this fallen, broken world. I am upset about many things, some reaching far back into my childhood, and some frivolous on the surface, like Martha’s “She won’t help me make this dinner!” while underneath are valid questions and honest complaints. “Doesn’t my service matter? Do I matter? Why, if I am worth so much and have been so gifted, do I have to spend my days doing this?”

Then, “Mary has chosen…” (Luke 10:42) There it is. The choice. Always the choice, and the one I’m failing to make. To sit at Jesus’ feet for any time is a choice for all people. You don’t just happen to find yourself sitting at Jesus’ feet. That’s not the reality of life here. Mary would have found herself in the kitchen if she were moving with the flow. To sit at His feet was her choice — she was choosing the high road, the “what is better,” the “one thing needed,” even in the face of distracting demands (this time in the form of a sister who implored God Himself to make her get off her butt and get to work!)

And Jesus wouldn’t do it. Instead He said the most amazing thing. He said what she had chosen “will not be taken away from her.” Everything I’ve listed here will be taken away from me, whether it dies, breaks, decays, is sold, worn out, or grows up and moves away. All of it changes. All of it ends. I will be left with the things that can never be taken away, the things that came from time at Jesus’ feet. But not if that was never my choice.