Luke 10:38-42

Like disciples in a storm-tossed boat, we question God’s care when things are physically difficult and threatening (see previous blog post), but, perhaps even more regularly, we find ourselves asking that question in everyday circumstances not directly connected to danger.  Thankfully, we’re given another story that hits home. 

This time, when a follower of Jesus asks him, don’t you care?, it isn’t because they’re about to drown in the sea.  On the contrary, it’s a domestic setting in a woman’s home, likely rich with the aroma of freshly-baked bread and expertly-pressed wine. It’s a gathering of friends, robust with conversation, centered around Jesus’ teaching. 

It’s not difficult to imagine the scene if you’ve ever hosted a group of people, and it’s not hard to put yourself in Martha’s sandals if you had siblings growing up, if you’re raising kids, or if your workload has ever seemed unfair. Additionally, in a place where gender roles in society strictly defined social norms, Martha could be justifiably critical of Mary’s actions.

Luke clearly contrasts the two sisters: Mary sat at Jesus’ feet to listen to His teaching; Martha was distracted with much serving. Vine's Expository Dictionary explains that the word distracted means “to be driven about mentally”.  Her preparations, planning, inviting, serving, hosting - on top of whatever normal routines she had - created a mental storm that contrasted with Mary’s sitting at Jesus’ feet. Martha’s “much serving” took priority over much sitting in His presence. 

Jesus described Martha with two words when she asked if He cared. The NIV translates them as worried and upset; the ESV uses anxious and troubled. The first descriptor is common among Jesus’ teachings, but the second word is used only here in the New Testament. Thayer’s Greek Lexicon describes it as “troubled in mind, disturbed, disquieted.” More mental storm.

Martha was engulfed in the wave of what she thought was necessary to have Jesus in her presence. But Jesus wanted her to sit in His presence. He wasn’t looking for a gourmet meal or a white-gloved house; in fact, He commended Mary for choosing for herself the biggest slice of the pie, the best part of the meal - His presence - which He would not take from her by sending her to the kitchen.

He cares more that you’re sitting in His presence than if you’re serving up your house specialty on a silver platter. What part of your serving is a self-inflicted mental storm, as if that’s what it takes to be with Jesus?

Trials & Testing

Throughout life, it seems that the trials of my faith prove just how little of it I have. I could assume the nickname for myself that Jesus compassionately created for His disciples, “Little-faith ones”. The trying circumstances in which Jesus used this unique term are recorded in Matthew’s Gospel, and they highlight reactions to life that come much more naturally - at least to me - than faith does.

Anxiety: “Will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious…” Matthew 6:30-31. 

Draw me into dependence on You as my Father. You’re enough for today.

Fear: “Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?” Matthew 8:26.  

Calm me as my Creator, present with me in the rocking boat.

Doubt: “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” Matthew 14:31. 

Reassure me as my Rescuer with your reliable Word and steady hand.

Inattention: “O you of little faith, why are you discussing among yourselves the fact that you have no bread?...Do you not perceive? Don’t you remember the five loaves…or the seven loaves?” Matthew 16:5-12.  

Show me all your past evidence as Provider, so that I trust you right now. 

May we respond to this nickname like the apostles did in humble desperation before the Lord, “Increase our faith!” Luke 17:5.

“If you have faith like a grain of mustard seed…nothing will be impossible for you.” Matthew 17:20. 

Matthew 6:19-34

I remember looking out my window during the early days of Covid, watching the birds pecking at the ground in tireless expectation and noticing the flowers blooming once again, just as they always did every spring. How normal our backyard seemed for them. The worries of the world hadn’t changed their routines, and I found myself longing with King David in his fifty-fifth Psalm, “Oh that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest.”

But I don’t have wings, so there is no escaping anxiety by fleeing to a fantasy world. The real world threatens, so I busy my hands resolving worries with work: investing, gathering, saving, making, learning, planning, earning, spending, fixing, beautifying, perfecting... and all this effort brings me face to face with my limitations.  

Whether it’s abilities, gifting, or season of life, there’s a limit to my activity, and limits often seem disadvantageous to existence in the world. Beyond that, living for kingdom priorities of heavenly treasure instead of earthly possessions, and of generosity instead of self-absorption, intensifies the question of how will I survive? Do I even dare ask, is there a chance I can thrive?

Jesus answers the first anxious question by pointing to the birds. These tiny creatures are limited to life without hands to plant, harvest, or store away, but their Creator, whose design for them was intentional, feeds them their daily portion. Every worm plucked from the ground is an act of God’s provision. He doesn’t father the birds, yet he feeds them.

But is mere survival all we can expect in kingdom living? Interestingly, Jesus does not continue to use utilitarian design in order to illustrate the Father’s concern for us.  If the basics of food, water, and shelter were His strict parameters for care, Jesus could have continued His speech with, “And don’t you see how fluffy the birds become in winter? They have all the protection they need to survive, so don’t worry about clothes.”

Instead, He asks us to consider wild lilies whose lifespan and contribution is limited, but whose adornment is unrivaled by royalty. Their flourishing indicates something more than brand names and gold rings can indicate in our human world: it indicates thriving from the inside out. Jesus refers to these wildflowers as evidence that the body is more to Him than just the fabric we layer on top of it, and our obsession with externals is backwards. God doesn’t father the flowers, yet he provides for and delights in their brief and genuine flourishing. Imagine his delight in ours. 

God is not just Creator, but Father to His children, those of us with a little faith and countless limitations. He is fully aware of what hinders us and of the limitations we wish were not ours, but it’s often those that point to His care.  When we are as diligent as the birds in our daily pursuit of His kingdom and as dependent as the wildflowers to flourish with His character, we operate within the kingdom ecosystem. Our surviving and thriving, as a result, will be to our Father’s credit and delight.

Do some bird watching with Him, and notice the wildflowers.