Thankfulness: joy in the immediate and invested

Declaration 3:  The new creation that I am delights in her life in the present moment;

counting all of it as joy, whether immediate or invested. 

She is thankful for the totality of her life, and will delight in the treasures hidden therein.

Do not mistake me: there are times when joy is the furthest thing from the place I inhabit.  Or so it seems.   We’ve just concluded a series about elusive joy; the kind of joy that is solely the acknowledgment that God is sovereign.  There are seasons when this type of joy is the only rational response; when the present is so painful, so fraught with uncertainty, that all we want is for this season to end.  For resolution to come; for respite from our suffering.     

How will I feed the kids tomorrow?  Will they foreclose on the house?  What if he always chooses the internet over me?  Will the new cancer treatments work this time?  Will I ever see my son again?  What if tonight the phone rings, telling me that the tracks on my daughter’s arms finally took her life?

Conversely, it is easy to become lost in the day-to-day.  The mundane has such compelling power to pull one deep into mindless habit and joyless existence.  So that we seek to escape; we look for distraction from our lives, diversion from the space between the rising and setting sun.      

Make the bed, feed them breakfast, wash the dishes, rush off to school, do the laundry, buy the groceries, pick them up, make them dinner, get the homework is done, wash the dishes, mandate baths, get them into bed

Put on the tie, drive the same road, sit in the cubicle, listen to the same conversations, look at the same images, submit the same reports, drive home, mow the grass, take out the trash, go to bed

Just to do it over again the next day. 

How does one count it all as joy?  How do I find treasures hidden in my days, particularly when my days are monotonous or painful?

Cultivate a spirit of thankfulness (a la Ann Voskamp*). 

Now, I need you to know that I have spent years dedicated to one task alone: being the consummate perfect-joyful-Christian-woman.  The kind who rejoices over her laundry because it means her house is filled with family; or who prays over her dishes as she’s washing them because it means there was food to eat that day.  But I am not her anymore.  Because she wasn’t real in the first place.  Her thankfulness; this repetitive, resigned varietal formed in obligation and marinated in duty is not the kind of thankfulness of which I speak.**  For me, it was forced.  And fake.  It made me feel all kinds of inadequacy and guilt; because, in all honesty, I hate doing the dishes.  Plunging my hand into a sink full of dirty, food from someone else’s plate makes me gag.  Literally.  Laundry, cooking, cleaning all are activities for which I have no bent or desire.  And that’s okay.

No, the thankfulness to which I refer is one borne from a realization of whom I worship: the Almighty and Everlasting God.  And who I am: a sinner, in desperate need of saving.  Every day.  This truth  allows me to see the mundane as gifts, to find joy in the times of trial; to be genuinely grateful for every breath.  This thankfulness does not require that I enjoy every task before me; but allows me to rest in the knowledge that the God who spoke the universe into existence knows me.  Knows that I love the slivers of aspens with their twirling leaving dancing on autumnal winds and that they make me feel freedom in my chest and that I’d rather be out among them than cooped up inside up to my elbows in dish water.  Knows that words and music and touch are the ways in which my soul is revived from this dark and fallen world.  Knows my propensity for rebelling, for wandering, and loves me anyway. 

This kind of thankfulness allows me to be honest: if today sucks, I can say so.  But I can end like the psalmist, trusting in God’s sovereignty over the crappy times.  I can freely thank God for the mundane days, without treating him as the distant relative who really doesn’t know what I like, thus sends me gifts ill-fitting my person and personality; but for which I must be grateful anyway. It allows me to say, on the days of repetition, that God is enough; and His presence in my life is the greatest gift.  And when the days are good, I can rejoice with a pure heart; praising the God from which they came and for the delight they ignite in me.

 Know that some seasons are investments towards future joy. 

The hard times usually are for strengthening us.  For drawing me nearer to the throne of grace and the foot of the cross than I would have come in times of plenty.  When the tears I spill on brittle ground do not even hint at a coming harvest; and the waiting draws the strength from my veins until I cannot remember what life feels like anymore; so long as I stay mindful of whom I worship, and who I am, I can count every moment as an investment in a greater joy to come.      

And some are for immediate reaping.

When joy is all around you.  When you can feel it in your breath and catch hold of it in your bones.  When the sun delights upon your face; and snow rains love upon your head.  When you want to do nothing but dance and sing and hold perfectly still to keep this moment for as long as you can, all at the same time.  When the light playing off her hair mines tears from my eyes; and his laughter rouses my own.  When the kisses come soft and slow, dizzyingly true with perfect intent.  When laughter is the soundtrack of my days; and their pace marked by the comings and goings of beloved members; then the joy in my heart should overwhelm me, so that thankfulness is instinctual. 

 

I will find joy in every day, by finding God. 

I will be thankful for the moments which comprise my life,

for I have but the one. 

Knowing that if I seek first the Lord,

my life will be filled with the things in which my heart delights.

 

 

 

* Though as I read her blog today, I see she and I do not share the same view on monotony.  But that’s okay.  God made some wild and some meant to be domesticated; some delight in routine and take their rest in familiar practices.  Both are beautiful.

** By all means, if this practice will cultivate a thankful heart in you, do it!  And even if it doesn’t, I don’t think it’s a bad idea to be thankful for these things every once in a while, to attune one’s attention to how good we really do have it.  To find God’s handiwork even in the quiet and predictable moments. 

How a Servant is to Serve, a lesson from Mary and Martha

Martha and Mary by He Qi Chin

I’ve been Martha.  Not in the way you’d expect, the doing-all-the-things-because-I’m-a-beaver manner.  But in that I feel this unexplainable weight to meet the androcentric expectations of my more patristic brethren.  I’ve held my tongue, when I knew it was not what was being required of me at the moment, in settings where more traditional believers facilitated the gathering.  And I’ve relied on men to speak for me in similar settings, when I knew my job was to speak up for myself, or on behalf of sisters who had been belittled into silence.  I’ve hastily back-pedaled when asked if I desire to or was teaching God’s Word; and I’ve looked demurely at the floor, dying a little bit on the inside, instead of challenging the ideals spouted by denominational leaders. 

I’ve been Martha.  Distracted too much with the worry of how other people will react to my intentions or actions, to sit at my Master’s feet and quietly, though publicly, declare that I will be His student, so that I may be a teacher of His way to others.  Worried about the hard work of having to defend why I think what I’m doing is scriptural, why women should be permitted to behave thus.  Worried at the reaction towards my husband, who leans a little more closely to the traditional way of doing things than me.  Worried that my ministry or my voice or even the person for whom I’m advocating might suffer unnecessarily for my brazen speech.  Worried with the details of service, of how things will come off; because these events will reflect on me as a leader and my ability thereto.  Worried.  To the point of distraction, so that I’ve missed my Master’s presence in these beautiful moments. 

And because of this, I find that I might have more in common with Martha than Mary.

The Sisters at Bethany: Luke 10:38-42

As we mentioned on Thursday, By sitting at Jesus’ feet, Mary is signaling her intention to become a teacher herself; and Jesus declares that she is right to do so.[1]   However, if this is the sole intent of this narrative, Mary’s theological education comes at the expense of Martha.[2]  To counter the seeming unfairness towards Martha, Veronica Koperski proffers the theory that it is not Martha’s busyness that is being chastised, but her anxiety.[3]

The weight of this idea falls mostly on the translation of the Greek verb “diakouew” from verse 40.  According to Klaus Hess, in this particular passage, it means “service at a table;” however, this word occurs 34 times in the New Testament and in every use except this one, it implies “service, office, aid, support, distribution (of alms, etc.), office of a deacon.”[4]  In fact, Koperski contends that because of its usage in other New Testament passages, it is “not exclusively associated with table service, and the text gives no indication that a meal is involved.”[5]  In particular, she references a later passage in Luke 22:25-27 were this word expresses “the epitome of Jesus’ mission” and notes that “Jesus does not actually serve a meal, but charges his disciples to adopt the attitude of ‘one who serves.’”[6] Warren Carter asserts this position, noting that

in six of its eight occurrences in Acts diakonia indicates leadership and proclamation on behalf of God or of the church and the gospel.  In two of the six the administration and provision of material relief for those in need are indicated without separation of these tasks from the tasks of leadership and proclamation.  Partnership with others in the acts of ministry pervades all eight texts, as does the sense of ministering as the representative of God or of the church…thus [it] does not designate domestic or culinary activity.[7]

The question then becomes, why in this instance only does this verb refer to waiting tables?  Is it only because its subject is specifically female and could therefore offer no other service?  If this is the case, certainly Jesus’ words that Mary has choose the better portion indicates that becoming his student trumps domestic obligations.  On the other hand, both Carter and Koperski contend that Mary and Martha were involved, at some level, in local church leadership.  Carter posits that Martha’s anxiety stems from the exultant doing of this ministry, while Koperski attributes the worry to her feeling of being pulled away from her service therein, by the disapproval of others.[8]  While both theories certainly place more weight on Martha’s potential ministerial duties and make her seem less like a petulant child, neither can be adequately proven from the text itself. Yet, neither can a simplistic outburst concerning the unfair distribution of domestic duties.  What remains are Jesus’ words that Mary “has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her” (10:42). 

Thus however you read this particular word for service, as domestic in only this one instance or as service for the kingdom, the good portion for which Mary is lauded is: being aware of her Lord’s presence, of abandoning what is culturally expected to spend her time with him, soaking up his presence and his teaching even if it is socially unacceptable.  Because those are the only things that will sustain a servant of any ilk. 

I must encourage you: sit at Jesus’ feet, soak up His presence, and learn from Him through reading God’s Word.  Be prepared to share what you have learned, to freely give what you have freely been given.  And when societal boundaries seem to rise up against what you’re doing, cross them.  Like a rebel who hails from a kingdom where your King delights in eliminating the walls that keep us from Him.    

Enjoying this study?  Here's a link to other articles in this series: The Women Who Knew Jesus

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[1]Wright, N. T., Bishop of Durham.  “Women’s Service in the Church: The Biblical Basis.”  Conference paper for the Symposium “Men, Women and the Church,” St John’s College, Durham, September 4 , 2004.   www.ntwrightpage.com/Wright_Women_Service_Church.htm
[2]Veronica Koperski.  “Women and Discipleship in Luke 10:38-42 and Acts 6:1-7: The Literary Context of Luke-Acts.”  A Feminist Companion to Luke.  ed. Amy-Jill Levine with Marianne Blickenstaff, 161-196.  New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002, page 183.
[3] Ibid, 195.
[4] Colin Brown, ed., New International Dictionary of New Testament Theology, vol 3 (Grand Rapides: Zondervan, 1986), s.v. “Serve, Deacon, Worship,” by K. Hess.   
[5] Koperski, “Women and Discipleship,” 183.
[6] Ibid, 182.
[7] Carter, Warren. “Getting Martha out of the Kitchen: Luke 10.38-24 Again.”  A Feminist Companion to Luke.  ed. Amy-Jill Levine with Marianne Blickenstaff, 215-231.  New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002.  Originally published in CBQ 56 (1996): 264-280, page 222.
[8]Carter, “Getting Martha Out,” 230; Koperski, “Women and Discipleship,” 185.

On the Plains

I’m supposed to be studying for finals; but, my new Bible study came in the mail today.  I had to crack it.  See, I’ve had something that needed a dose of the Word.  While I know that all of scripture is God-breathed and meant for healing, rebuking, and teaching, it’s nice to have all of that distilled and applied specifically to what I’m experiencing.  Which is why I sent off for the book; and then couldn’t wait for Saturday to break into it. 

But…

I am finding that I’m consistently disappointed when I open these easy distillations of the word.  Ugh, the entire first 5 weeks are things I already know.   I’m not seeking new revelation; but I even inhabit these topics.  I live them.  Not perfectly, of course; but I have more than just head knowledge.  It goes straight to the heart, too.  So, I closed the book, feeling very discouraged.  And sat, silently asking God what I’m supposed to do. 

I listened as the birds chirped around the neighborhood.  I watched as a butterfly flit onto a dandelion in my grass.  I let my eyes blur and followed the motion of my roses dancing with the gentle breeze, peeking out from behind lilac bushes.  I tried not to notice the weeds that have sprung up and flourished in the weeks leading up to finals.  I had to stop myself from making lists of things that need to be done in the yard and mapping plans of how I’m going to accomplish them.    

I realize that this study was written for others who need the knowledge I have received through other venues.  They haven’t had their chance to apply God’s Word to these topics.  It is something rarely addressed from the pulpit; hardly even broached in women’s groups.  And likely, many good women don’t even confide these issues to their best friends over coffee.  But, I do.  Lots [you can ask her…she pens her ministry here].  And that makes me one of the blessed few, I know; one who has the deepest confidence in one so grounded in the Truth, and who has been surrounded and uplifted by so many godly women [and men] along the way, the kind that speak truth no matter the consequence.  Ones who believe that God’s Word applies to every.second.of.this.life. 

Thus, I’m not begrudging the author, or the publisher, for producing application-friendly truth in easily digestible portions.  But I will admit that I ache for something a little deeper, a little stronger, a little less surface and more core; something that will penetrate directly through to my heart.

For now, I think I’m supposed to inhabit this place.  The one that isn’t comfortable.  The one that has a twinge of ache [oh how I hate to be even slightly uncomfortable].  The one that has weeds and needs tending.  The one that isn’t a quick, easily distilled fix.  And, I’m supposed to get out of my own head for a bit.  Like getting out of my house after a season cooped up in the study.  Letting the breeze blow through my soul and refresh my life.  There is so much beauty out there.  Not for the purpose of avoiding, but patiently waiting.  Daily tending, daily sounding my spirit.  Daily applying the salve of the Word to the deep wounds; drawing out the poison and replacing it with the tonic of truth.   

I think this might be the road for my feet right now.  Not a fast summiting of mountains, with amazing vistas and so-close-you-can-touch-heaven moments, but a season spent on the plains.  Working brittle soil every day.  Pulling the weeds that keep cropping up, from whence I still can’t tell.  Dead-heading blooms to give way to new beauty.  While still living here.  And waiting on the Lord; knowing and being in His Word, talking to Him about it every day.  And finding that sometimes, as a temporal being, only time can offer the remedy for what ails. 

Beauty is where you find it.  God has planted it all around; we just have to look up from ourselves to see it.  And joy can be found in the calm, quiet rush of days strung together right where you are.  Because even dandelions attract butterflies.

     

         

     

Rejoice

origin

Hope…floats.  It lifts and levitates.  Makes the weighted fetters of this too long and weary world buoyant.  Hope and joy inextricably tangled up in one another.  One cannot be separated, parsed out, and whittled down to the essence of just the one-without-the other. 

Hope is the smile blooming on lips lined from their pursing.

Joy is the expanding dawn over eyes too often searching the floor for answers that won’t come.

Their co-mingling, an arpeggio of voices raised in concordance.  The hymn of a resounding yes, becoming an answer for too much yearning; the opening of gates for what was designed.  Then lost, and then again restored.

A community of people, beautifully bound to hope, and resilient and courageous enough to push through doubts and barriers; a committed people who want to be the change.  To step it out.  Follow a different, new-old trajectory that points only to glory and leads each one home.  A church that isn’t…and at the same time is. 

Home, where hands and time and treasure are spent in pouring out a love so freely given.  Home, where each person is viewed through the lens of Him who made them, and He who saved them.  Home, where love grows and joy lives, and hope sustains.

I am found in this home.  

I delight greatly in the LORD;
my soul rejoices in my God.
For he has clothed me with garments of salvation
and arrayed me in a robe of his righteousness,
as a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest,
and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
For as the soil makes the sprout come up
and a garden causes seeds to grow,
so the Sovereign LORD will make righteousness
and praise spring up before all nations.

~ Isaiah 61:10-11