Being Martha

"Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her." Luke 10:41-42

Most of us are familiar with the Biblical story of Mary and Martha, told in Luke 10:38-42. Jesus and his disciples were on their way, moving from town to town, village to village. At this particular village, Martha welcomed Jesus into her home. Martha scurried around, making sure there was food, shelter - everything her guests might need. She didn't stop for even a moment, not while there was still work to be done. Mary, meanwhile, sat at Jesus' feet and just listened to what he was saying. Eventually, tired and frustrated, Martha appeals to Jesus to tell Mary to get up and help her. And what does he do? He rebukes her!

At least, that is how I saw it for many years, and I must say, I took it deeply personally. I was as hurt as if Jesus had appeared before me, tutted, and told me off. Because I am, and always have been, very much a Martha. I do. If I'm not doing, I don't feel right. I don't feel that I'm living with purpose unless I'm trying my hardest to take care of everyone and everything. And there has always been a part of me very much in sympathy with my Biblical namesake; I too feel like saying to Jesus that it's all very well to sit and listen, but if that's all everyone ever did nothing would get done! And then where would we be? Jesus hit the nail on the head with me - I am worried and distracted by many things. 

But as with so many things, context is everything. The story of Mary and Martha is immediately preceded by the parable of the Good Samaritan, which suggests that comtemplating without doing is at best a futile exercise; at worst, it can cost a life. Yet Jesus tells Martha "there is need of only one thing" - to listen. So which is it?

Once I stopped being so offended at Jesus for speaking to Martha as he did, I grew puzzled. Because Martha was an important part of Jesus' ministry. Jesus could have provided food, water and shelter for himself and his followers but he didn't, not on this occasion anyway - Martha did. She provided hospitality and in doing so, helped make it possible for Jesus to provide for others, to do what was important for him to do. In her own small way, she helped to enable Jesus' ministry. Taking care of people was her ministry. Martha served. 

And perhaps this is why Jesus tells her to take a time-out. No one can keep going and going and going without burning out, as I have learned the hard way. Martha loves Jesus, so she serves him the best way she knows how. Jesus loves Martha, so he tells her she needs to strike a balance. He is not telling Martha her work is worthless, or to stop completely. He is telling her not to get so caught up in it that it takes over her life, that her purpose is lost in the sheer volume of tasks she takes upon herself. Jesus reminds Martha of the importance of giving him her undivided attention. 

Returning to the idea of context, I also think Jesus is offering Martha a kind of freedom. Jesus was unconventional, he challenged expectations; and I think he is letting Martha know she can do the same. At that time, in that place, a good woman's place was very much in the home, her role largely domestic. Women were not supposed to be scholars, or agents for social or political change. By allowing Mary to sit at his feet, Jesus was going against religious and social custom on at least two fronts. It was not quite the done thing to be in such close physical proximity to a woman one was not related to, nor was it usual for a Rabbi to be imparting his teachings to a woman. Jesus was inviting Martha to draw nearer to Him, and showing her she too could listen and learn. She did not have to be confined to a single role, important as that role was.

There is nothing wrong with Martha, nor is there anything wrong with Mary. But what I need in my life, what so many of us need, is to strike a spiritual balance between these two seemingly conflicting aspects of our personalities. As an inveterate Martha, it is such a gift to me to be reminded just to stop and listen. To be given permission to let go of my concerns, my busyness, the fragmented nature of my life, is a blessing indeed. To be invited to stop for a while, and just be with the God who loves me, is truly wonderful. To be reminded to listen, and be guided in my actions by what God has to say to me, by what he wants for me, is a necessity I have realised I cannot live without. 

I didn't fully appreciate the value of just listening until I drove myself to a breakdown. Even then, I found it almost impossible to stop. Sheer momentum, force of habit, and a distorted sense of self-worth tied to the accomplishment of concrete tasks kept me going. When I couldn't keep going, I became depressed. And then I lost my words. When I can't do, I begin to have trouble speaking, writing, sharing. I withdraw into myself, and I struggle to break free again. The sense of my own failure oppresses me and smothers my voice. I am so thankful to have people in my life who understand this, who point it out to me when it's happening, and who just keep loving me through the hard times. I am so thankful to the people who helped me understand this about myself, and who did (and keep doing) me the service of listening to me.

How ironic, that I have always valued myself by how much I can do for others - and the greatest gift I have been given is to be listened to, to be heard. Thank God for Mary! Thank Christ for the listeners! I have always been happy to be a listener, but I never appreciated this aspect of myself. I thought it was nothing. I thought it was not enough simply to be present - largely because I always thought I was not enough. I have had, for years, a monumental double standard when it comes to valuing service, with myself on one side, always having to do more and try harder, and everyone else on the other side, where it is enough that they just be who they are. 

It is temping to vilify Martha and exemplify Mary. It is tempting to dismiss Martha, as Jesus seemed to be doing. It is tempting to criticise Mary as being selfish, taking the opportunity to learn and letting Martha do all the work without offering to help. But the scripture is more complex than that, as life is more complex than that, as we are more complex than that.

It is not about being one or the other. We are called to be Martha: to provide food and shelter to all God's children, to nurse them when they are ill, to provide for their physical needs, to fill the need that surrounds us. We are also called to be Mary: to sit, to listen, to provide a safe space for people to tell their stories, to let people be heard. We are called to serve, and Jesus through his life has shown us just how many ways there are to do this, all of which mean something, all of which are part of the larger design. 

We are called to be like Jesus: to provide hospitality to everyone, even if - especially if - society considers them "second class" for some reason. We are called to make space at the margins, and to do what we can to free our brothers and sisters from the roles and ties that bind and oppress them. We are called to extend freedom to all God's children so that they can simply be. 

And that has to start with me. With you. We have to give ourselves the freedom to be who we are, and then just to be. 

TFTD - Faith and love; light and warmth

"Faith, like light, should always be simple and unbending; while love, like warmth, should beam forth on every side, and bend to every necessity of our brethren."

                                                                            - Martin Luther -

Turning point

Today is my 30th birthday, generally considered one of life's milestones, and for various reasons I am not in a position to have any kind of celebration to mark it. Over the last few months, I suspected that this would be the case and was pre-emptively disappointed. What did it bode for the year to come if I couldn't have some serious fun even on this special day itself? It didn't look good for the next 365 days...

But why this fixation on turning 30? To be honest, it hasn't been so much about the number itself; it's not like I feel "old". If anything, I often feel more like a child than a grown-up. And that's probably part of what was bothering me. By 30, I was supposed to be a grown-up. I was supposed to be married, and have a child (or at least one on the horizon). I was supposed to be several rungs up the ladder of my chosen career. I was supposed to have a few mortgage payments under my belt. None of these things have happened, and it hasn't helped that it seems as if most of the people I grew up with have managed to achieve what I have failed to do. They have grown up and ticked the boxes we were all supposed to. If they could do it, why haven't I been able to?

I have worried about these things for years. People I love and trust have been telling me for at least the last couple of those years that all this anxiety is misplaced and unnecessary. What is all this "supposed to" talk? Who decided that there is only one way for life to go, and that if you take the scenic route rather than the expressway you might as well be walking around with a big fat red "F" on your chest, like some kind of post-modern scarlet woman? Of course, lots of people tell you, constantly, what is expected of you; and it is almost impossible not to listen and be affected. And a lot of the advice we are given is good - about working hard and being responsible and so on. But to be told that there is only one acceptable way to live?

I don't think anyone has the right to tell me exactly how I should live my life except God. And He has given me free will! What does that say? 

I have had so much time for contemplation this last year, and a lot of it was time I did not want. I wanted to be up and doing, not forced to keep still when I wanted to move forward. I spent so much time fighting the stillness, and the harder I fought, the more gently but firmly I was made to be still, until I resigned myself to it. Even that was not enough. Resignation, in my case at least, contained a strong element of resistance, and so more and more obstacles (for want of a better word) turned up and pushed me beyond what I thought were my boundaries, to a whole new place of stillness, until I began to learn acceptance. 

And now, I am so deeply deeply thankful that I was forced to learn this lesson. It has been a hard, painful few years, and there is still a struggle in front of me. I am pretty sure that I have only just begun to catch a glimpse of what God has been trying to show me, but that glimpse is changing my life. 

Finally, finally, I am letting go of all the "supposed to"s. I am letting go of everything that kept me toiling on the path I was on, banging my head against a brick wall, even though I knew in my heart of hearts it was wrong; even though I knew it was not my purpose. I don't "have" to do anything. But there is a lot that God has planned for me, and it is better than anything I can imagine for myself, even now. 

So, I am not going to rush into anything. I am not going to make any decisions based on what anyone else wants or expects. What happens next is between me and God, and having decided that feels more "right" than anything has in a long time. I think I know what I want to do, for the first time in my life. I've had this idea for some time, but I remained unsure because my vision was clouded by self-doubt and fear. Once I accepted that it was ok to make a mistake, I felt a lot happier about trying these new things.

It took a lot of pain and heartbreak, but I have come a lot closer to trusting unreservedly in the God I love so much. I needed to see that He would not let me go, no matter what. He has stood with me through all the awfulness of the last few years, never leaving me, never giving up on me, giving me what I needed to get through it, and more. He has kept teaching me, though it must have pained Him to watch me struggle as much as it hurt me to go through it. He has suffered with me, for my sake, though I have been able to give so little in return and can never match His love and selflessness. 

So, it is fitting that my 30th birthday will be a day of ordinary things. I will spend it making plans and running errands for a celebration in my late grandfather's honour. The 20th anniversary of his death falls on the 1st of March, and I would rather spend this time remembering him and his life. I am glad that I have been given the opportunity to spend my birthday in the service of another. There could be no better  way to begin the rest of my life. 

The greatest thing you'll ever learn/ Is just to love/And be loved in return

"He will rip through every obstacle in your life if you put a demand on His passion. You have no idea how much He loves you."

                                                                             - Tommy Tenney -

Writing this, it suddenly occurs to me that I really do have trouble comprehending a love so vast. If I fully understood it, I think it would resolve a lot of my doubts, fears and anxieties and I would probably sleep a lot better at night! I ask what feels like a lot of God in my prayers, but to be honest I hold back a lot because a part of me feels like I have no right to ask for more. But why should I feel like that in the presence of a God who loves me so much that He gave His only begotten son for me? Who loves me so much that He forgives me everything, and is endlessly patient in the face of my innumerable mistakes and frailties? Who keeps on speaking to me, trying to get me to hear His words of love and to tell me what He wants for me even when I am so deafened by the voices in my own head that I usually can't get anywhere close to the silence I need to hear His still, small voice?

So why don't I ask for everything? God would give it to me, He really would, if I would only ask and truly trust and believe I would get it. Matthew 7:7-11 says:

"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!"

Now I really don't think that's in the Bible for fun. God's word means something; it means everything. and God tells us, if we ask, we shall receive. But we have to ask with our whole hearts. If I close my heart, or a part of it, to God, then I cut myself off from His blessings. If I won't open the door to God, how can He come in? God doesn't force His way in - He waits to be invited, willingly. If I am resisting God, because I can't fully trust Him, then I am also resisting the good He is trying to work in my life. 

God doesn't guarantee a world or a life free from pain or suffering, or even from pettiness and meanness. All that is part of the fallen world we live in, and the pain we choose to inflict on each other is a casualty of free will - which is not to say that free will is a bad thing. It just means that we have a responsibility, not only to ourselves but to one another. What God does promise is that He will be with us, right beside us, always, no matter what. You might still fall off your bicycle, but your heavenly Father will always be there to help you up, wipe away your tears, and cry with you, because your pain is His pain. 

So, I am trying to learn to call on His passion. Perfect love casts out fear, and His love is perfect. I feel fear because I don't allow myself to feel His love, because I don't truly believe I am worthy of being loved like that, or maybe even at all. But the point of God's love is there is no need to be worthy of it. We don't have to do anything to deserve it. It is not contingent on us. The only reason we are here at all is because God loves, so all we have to do is just be. Just be, and learn to be loved. I might never be able to fully grasp the breadth and depth of God's love, but I can try to learn to trust it, and accept it. Maybe then I'll get a little closer to living the life God wants for me, which must by definition be far more wonderful than anything I could possibly imagine for myself because it has come from a place of pure love. 

All I have to do is just be, and learn to be loved. The peace of the Lord be with you. 

TFTD - Say what?

"If you want to know what God has to say to you, see what Christ was and is."

                                                                          - Charles Spurgeon -

He does know

“Our tendency in the midst of suffering is to turn on God. To get angry and bitter and shake our fist at the sky and say, "God, you don't know what it's like! You don't understand! You have no idea what I'm going through. You don't have a clue how much this hurts." 

The cross is God's way of taking away all of our accusations, excuses, and arguments. The cross is God taking on flesh and blood and saying, "Me too.” 


                                                                                     - Rob Bell -


(I can't say it any better!)

TFTD - How much?

TFTD

"The face of Christ does not indeed show us everything, but it shows us the one thing we need to know - the character of God. God is the God who sent Jesus."

                                                                                         - P Carnegie Simpson -

TFTD - raison d'etre

"The determining factor of my existence is no longer my past. It is Christ's past."
                                                             
                                                                          - Sinclair Ferguson -

Just be

"There is nothing to prove and nothing to protect. I am who I am and it's enough." (Richard Rohr)

I think my quality of life would improve tremendously if I could just internalise that, and live it. Of all the things I struggle with - and believe you me that's some list - this is the one I find myself wrestling the most, and it's probably the root of everything else. Richard Rohr also has this to say on the subject:

"It's a gift to joyfully recognise and accept our own smallness and ordinariness. Then you are free with nothing to live up to, nothing to prove, and nothing to protect. Such freedom is my best description of Christian maturity, because once you know that your "I" is great and one with God, you can ironically be quite content with a small and ordinary "I". No grandstanding is necessary. Any question of your own importance or dignity has already been resolved once and for all and forever."

How amazing is that? Because it's true: your "I" is great and one with God. That's the whole idea. He made you, and it's fine that you're not perfect. If He had wanted to make us perfect, whatever that means, I'm pretty sure God could have done it. But He made me how I am, and you how you are and He gave us free will, which by definition means we are going to mess up. And that's ok. 

As Christians, we are all on our way to a better version of us. Christ is our compass, and he points us towards healing and liberation. But on the way, we remain who we are. We have to make decisions, some of which are going to go against the grain of our inclinations and impulses, and we are going to make mistakes. There is nothing wrong with making mistakes. The important thing is to learn from them, and keep checking the compass. If you choose to head due south, that's something else entirely. But look and Christ and his journey. Think of Christ on the cross, asking that very human question: My God, my God, why have You forsaken me? His words echo the beginning of Psalm 22, and in that context, these are not words of total despair. They are words of submission, but also of trust in the Lord. 

Christ on the cross was crucified as a man, but he never ceased to be God, suffering in our place. In disorder, imperfection and even pain, Jesus found God - and so can we. How can we doubt that we are loved, and that we are meant to be, in the face of an act of such love?

So, I will keep telling myself:  there is nothing to prove and nothing to protect. I am who I am and it's enough.

The warrior's gift

There once was a boy named Kimeli Naiyomah. A member of a Masai tribe, he grew up in a small rural town near the Masai Mara National Reserve in Kenya. The town had no water, roads, phones or electricity.  Kimeli had no father, his grandmother had been murdered, and his mother was battling alcoholism. One day, Kimeli went to the hospital with his ailing mother. He didn't know what the people who helped her were called, but he knew he wanted to be a healer, just like them. 

No one Kimeli knew had ever gone to school, much less to university. There was no such thing in his village. But Kimeli had a dream. He wanted to learn. So he ran away, to another village where he had heard children were being taught under a tree. What was under that tree was a church school, and it became Kimeli's school as well as his home. 

When he outgrew the school under the tree, Kimeli found the nearest secondary school - nine hours away on foot. He walked to the school and told the principal he had no money, no shoes, no books, no uniform and no family, but he wanted to learn. The principal welcomed him with open arms. 

By now, Kimeli knew the name of the person he wanted to become: Doctor. He started applying to universities in America, and the elders of his tribe got together and raised $5,000 to help him achieve his goal. A Washington Post reporter somehow got wind of Kimeli's story, and came to his village to write an article about him. The article inspired an outpouring of support, including a scholarship offer from the University of Orgeon, a plane ticket from a businessman in Florida, and clothes and other essentials paid for by yet another total stranger. 

Kimeli enrolled at the University of Oregon in 1996, and after getting his grades up, was later admitted to Stanford. Kimeli became a celebrity in Kenya. In September 2001 the President of Kenya was scheduled to be in New York and Kimeli was invited to meet him. That is how Kimeli came to be in New York on September 11, 2001. 

As a Masai warrior, Kimeli had been trained to run to the scene of a crisis, not away from it. He knew he could not help at Ground Zero, but he also knew he had to do something for the country that had given him so much. So, on a trip home in May 2002, Kimeli asked to meet the elders of his tribe. He told them all about 9/11, which many of his people hadn't even heard of. They could not imagine buildings so tall and had never seen an aeroplane. 

Kimeli wanted to buy a cow, the most precious property a Masai can own, and give it to the American people. In Kimeli's tradition, a cow is not only tremendously valuable, but is also thought to bring great comfort to its owner. Kimeli just wanted his elders' blessing, but the elders were so inspired by his plan that they wanted to do the same thing. In the end, 14 cows were pledged to America to help bring her peace. 

In June 2002, US charges d'affaires William Brencick travelled to Kimeli's village to formally accept the cows. More than a thousand people were in attendance, bearing messages of support like "We are touched by your loss" and "We give these cows to bring you peace".  But logistical and monetary problems prevented the US from taking possession of the cows. It would cost more than the cows were worth to transport them, and African cattle were not allowed in the US. There was also concern that the cows would not survive the journey. The Masai could not understand why the US accepted the gift but did not take the cows away. Washington Times columnist Tony Blankley wondered how the US could get 80,000 troops into Afghanistan but could not get 14 cattle out of Africa. 

Four years later, all was made right. The then-US Ambassador travelled to Kimeli's village to strike a deal for the tribe to take care of "America's herd" in perpetuity. In return, and in gratitude, the Ambassador announced the establishment of a scholarship for 14 boys and girls in the village to go to local schools. Those scholarships continue to this day, and the herd continues to grow. Since the original herd was blessed, they and their descendants are considered sacred and can never be slaughtered. Kimeli's tribe lovingly tends 35 "American cattle", all of which have special Twin Towers markings on their ears. 

Giving up, and taking on

At the beginning of this Lent, like so many Lents before, I thought long and hard about a) whether I should give something up, and b) if so, what? Now I don't have that conversation with myself because I don't want to give up something I enjoy, but it has always seemed hollow to me to, for example, give up chocolate for the sake of giving something up for Lent. Not that I take any decision involving chocolate lightly! The presence of chocolate in my life has probably been a major contributing factor to my not whacking someone over the head when they enraged me, and chocolate is definitely part of the glue that helps to mend a broken heart. In my world anyway. 

But the point is, if I am giving up anything for Lent, why am I doing it? Like so many Christians around the world, I have done it in the name of fasting - almost without thinking about it. We sacrifice something as part of the process of remembering the sacrifice Christ made for us. But there came a time when that, in and of itself, began not to sit very well with me. It was not going far enough - by which I do not mean that there was not enough "suffering" in the equation; it was simply that I felt there was another step which I needed to take for this to be a meaningful exercise. 

And I think what was making me uncomfortable was this focus on giving something up, as if that was where the buck stopped. I give something up, I've done my bit? No. I give something up to remind me of Christ's sacrifice - yes. But what does His sacrifice mean? Why did He do it? What implications does that have for how I live my life? Now we're on to something. 

So, what is really important, to me, is my relationship with the living God. That sacrifice was made so I could live, which means for me, Lent is about taking a good hard look at what God really wants us to be doing, how He really wants us to be living. 

"Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter - when you see the naked, to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?"

                                                                                     -Isaiah 58:6-7-

So, I am giving things up in order to make room for something else. I am trying to give up the things that are getting in the way of my relationship with God, and to take up things that bring me closer to Him. 

I will give up chocolate that is made on the backs of the working poor, that enslaves children and puts them in dangerous working conditions. And I will take up Fairtrade chocolate. 

I will cut down on Facebook time. And I will take up a pen and a piece of paper, and write a note to someone I love, to an old friend, to someone sick or someone lonely. 

I will cut down on TV or whatever else I use to distract myself. And I will talk to my granny with more attention, take up stronger relationships, give more time to prayer. 

I will try to give up resentment, and I will take up love. 

I will try to give up shame and guilt, and I will take up my inheritance as a child of God. 

6 lbs 9 oz

I was at a friend's birthday party when the call came at 7.30 pm last night. My friend, R, was in labour. It had started around noon and now the contractions were getting closer and stronger. Much stronger. It was time to rally the troops. 

My supremely understanding friend, A, was lovely about me bailing on the rest of the night. Her unselfish response was, "Oh my god, you're friend's in labour, you *have* to go!" followed by advice about the best bus to catch to the hospital. So off I went, honoured to have been asked to hold R's hand at this special, special time. 

Let me tell you a bit about R. She married J when they were 20, and they've been trying for a baby for the last 20 years. They have tried everything, including as many courses of IVF as they could afford. The money ran out, but the hope didn't. J in particular has been a rock, supporting R through every up and down, every twist and turn of the emotional rollercoaster you ride when you're desperate to have a child and it's not happening. These people would have loved any child that came into their lives, biological or not. And over these last 20 years, they have fostered a number of children. They have never adopted because J is a soldier, currently on active duty, and his being away so frequently and unpredictably has made adoption difficult.

R and J have wept over this, and their hearts have been broken, and R, certainly, has seriously questioned her faith. She has found it hard to hold on to a God who has not seemed to hear her plea, who has not seemed to heal her broken heart, who has seemed so far away for such extended periods of time. But she knows that God has been there for her, especially through J, who for so long carried his own sorrow so bravely, making it his priority to be strong for his wife. You only need to be around R and J for five minutes to know that if he could, he would carry all her pain for her. 

Anyway, about 10 months ago, it happened. Just like that. Out of the blue. At the age of 39, R conceived, naturally. She didn't find out until 8 weeks later, when J had left for another tour of duty. And so we come to last night. This long-awaited miracle was taking place, and J was not there to see it. He was not there to rub his wife's back, to pace the hallways, to ask silly questions, to have things thrown at him by a woman who really wants some painkillers NOW. 

At 11.28pm, 6 lbs 9 oz of kicking, screaming life finally arrived. And J wasn't there to welcome his daughter into the world. He should have been the first person to hold her, but instead, he is in a war zone. 

This baby didn't get a name until we could get hold of Daddy on the secure satellite phone, at about 6 am this morning. J said he had the perfect name for her, but he wasn't going to tell anyone until she got here. J has been allowed to get away with this because he generally has good taste, and it was felt he could be trusted not to name her something catastrophically awful, like Fifi. He wept with joy for this child, so longed for, so loved for such a long time, even before she got here. 

She has been named for what she represents, for what sustained her parents while they waited for her, for what they hope will guide her through her own life.  

Her name is Faith.