Dethroning God With Good

In the age-old tale of Martha versus Mary, of flavorsome falafel versus a pound of spikenard, we all understand that according to Scripture, Mary is the one who got it right.

And yet somehow, all these thousands of years later, most of us are still Marthas.

To Martha’s credit, there is abundant evidence to suggest she was more than just a busy homemaker, consumed with the burdens of food service. It seems clear from the record that she was a considerate, responsible, intensely practical woman, deeply dedicated to the comfort of her guests. After all, someone needed to tend to the logistics, or the profitable discussions would quickly degenerate into hunger pangs. Martha was more than happy to be that responsible someone, and every guest that ever crossed over her threshold left richer for it.

The first few times I heard this tale of contrasts—of Martha, Mary, and their distinct approaches to Jesus—I remember very clearly fixating on the idea that Martha was “distracted.” (That’s exactly what Luke 10:40 indicates.) But also I recall concluding that the cause of her distraction was a misplaced (and overblown) affection for cooking and baking. Now I’m not so sure.

It Was for Love

Would Martha really have been included with her siblings in the many references implying that the trio from Bethany were Jesus’ dearest friends if what Martha truly cared about most was her secret recipe for spicy falafel? Would we even know Martha’s name if Mary and Lazarus were the ones who loved Jesus with all their hearts, but Martha just loved catering? I think not.

The reason Martha is in the story in the first place (multiple times, mind you) is that she too loved Jesus desperately. Full stop. And because she loved Him, she was propelled by a desire to “have everything just right” for Him.

Luke tells the story this way:

“Now it happened as they went that He entered a certain village; and a certain woman named Martha welcomed Him into her house.And she had a sister called Mary, who also sat at Jesus’ feet and heard His word.But Martha was distracted with much serving, and she approached Him and said, ‘Lord, do You not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Therefore tell her to help me.’

“And Jesus answered and said to her, ‘Martha, Martha, you are worried and troubled about many things.But one thing is needed, and Mary has chosen that good part, which will not be taken away from her’ ” (Luke 10:38-42).

That One Thing

What did Jesus mean by “one thing”?

You are “troubled about many things,” he said, “but one thing is needed.” “One thing” that, incidentally, her sister Mary apparently had in full measure. What was it? What did Mary have that Martha missed, in spite of (or perhaps even because of) her earnest efforts?

I’m reminded of the apostle Paul, who, by his own admission, spent the early years of his career in a misguided flurry of activity on God’s behalf (or so he thought). Nor was this flurry just a vigorous flapping of the wings—there was fruit. Surrounded as he was by the predominantly silver-haired religious and political elite of his nation, he began racking up the awards and accolades while still barely more than a child himself. He was educated, successful, respected, delegated with the highest powers the nation could bestow, and, like Martha, deeply desirous of “getting things right.”

So when he took up his pen a lifetime later to write to the Philippians, his words came with added weight. Not only were the brethren very well aware of his past exploits, trophies, and credentials—they were likewise fully briefed of his miraculous conversion, and intervening years of faithful service and sacrifice: thousands of sermons, and studies. Thousands of baptisms. Thousands of miles traveled. Dozens of brushes with death.

And yet, looking back on that lifetime of achievements, Paul had this unequivocal testimony:

“Yet indeed I also count all things loss for the excellence of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them as rubbish, that I may gain Christ” (Phil. 3:8).

Paul’s message to the church at Philippi is clear: I have pursued many things—accomplished many things, I have had many things in my life. But all that is nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just one thing is needed, and I have traded everything for it—for Him.

Again, Paul is not just talking about trading his past errors, his past mistakes, his past failings and foibles, for something new. He’s trading his best—the best energies, best efforts, and greatest accomplishments of his past, and his brightest hopes and fondest dreams for the future. Everything—every last thing—is counted as having no value at all, when compared with the person of Christ.

Paul understood the same thing that Mary understood. He understood the “one thing . . .”

I return to my opening theme: most of us are not Mary, and not Paul, either. Most of us are still Martha.

Glorious Desire

It is no secret that when God measures a thing, He uses methods different from ours, and depends on capacities that we do not possess of ourselves.

“For the Lord does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart” (1 Sam. 16:7).

Is our pursuit happiness, or is it the person of Christ?

It should be no surprise, then, that when it comes to measuring His children (that would be us), God’s methods and conclusions sometimes differ from ours. When Martha measured Mary against the only standard she knew, she saw a distracted sister, either impractically devoted or perhaps borderline lazy, and in any case definitely insensitive and irresponsible. Scripture doesn’t indicate what Mary might have thought about her sister’s actions or priorities, but it does reveal what Jesus thought.

In this interaction at least, the salient difference between Martha and Mary was not so much one of personality, preference, or responsibility. This is not a tale of activity versus passivity, of action versus devotion (though this is exactly what Martha thought at the time).

When she appeared in the doorway, ruffled and flushed, tucking the stray strand of hair back behind her ear, and asked the now-famous: “Do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone?” Jesus saw something deeper.

And I would like to submit that this “something deeper” was desire.

Martha was propelled by a deep desire to get everything just right for Jesus. Mary desired Jesus Himself.

Let that sink in.

Now, lest I be misunderstood, let me clarify: Martha’s desire was good. In fact, it was arguably better than many of us can claim. But Martha’s story reminds us just how easy it is to substitute the highest aim for a lesser one without even realizing it. Martha’s desire was good. Mary’s desire was God. And Jesus indicated that there was no comparison between the two. It wasn’t even close.

“One thing is needed, and Mary has chosen [it].” Glorious, glorious choice.

What Do You Want?

This leaves me with a burning question: What is my desire? What is it really?

Desire, after all, motivates action. Desire the right thing—the right One—and what follows is life and peace. Desire anything short of this, and my happiness is at risk. (Think: Martha, standing in the doorway.)

Worse yet, if we desire or fixate upon anything less than the person of Christ, even if that fixation be for His sake (read: Martha’s desire to get everything right because she loved Him), then we risk that desire itself becoming an idol that threatens His place.

It would appear that God isn’t concerned primarily with us desiring “the right things.”

He just wants us to desire Him.

And if we do, all those other things will be added . . . in the right order, and in the right way (see Matt. 6:33).

If that statement causes your eyebrows to arch and your pulse to quicken, you’re not alone. My pulse quickens just writing it. God is deeply invested in the transformation of His people—in saving us from sin, not in sin. And surely that must come with a transformation of the things we desire, right?

Yes, without reservation. But remember this one thing: No one will ever get an inch closer to heaven by trying to do things that please God, or by “getting everything right” for God. And the last thing Jesus needs or desires is a people who have made their code of ethics their idol. (The Pharisees already tried this route.) The more we fixate on our own efforts to honor God, the more likely we are to place confidence in those selfsame efforts and miss the real gift in its entirety.

Thus we can say with some confidence that God isn’t desirous of us fixating on ourselves, either on our service, our strengths, our weaknesses, or even on our witness—but rather on Himself, the source of all our strength.

And perhaps that’s Paul’s entire point in Philippians 3. What we desire most strongly, we fixate upon. What we fixate upon, we place confidence in. And what we place confidence in matters.

Mary, by all accounts, did not get everything right, but she stuck the landing on this one thing: She wanted Christ.

So . . . is our goal good? Or is it God?

Is our pursuit happiness, or is it the person of Christ?

If the one glorious goal, the one overwhelming, overpowering desire, is Christ and Him crucified, then the end will be life, and love, and joy, and peace, and indestructible confidence. 

And we (with Martha) can join the ranks of Paul, and Mary, and countless others in saying the words of Psalm 27:4 with the psalmist David: “One thing I have desired of the Lord.”

And that one thing is the Lord Himself.