The Essential Thing

Luke 10:38-42
As they continued their travel, Jesus entered a village. A woman by the name of Martha welcomed him and made him feel quite at home. She had a sister, Mary, who sat before the Master, hanging on every word he said. But Martha was pulled away by all she had to do in the kitchen. Later, she stepped in, interrupting them. "Master, don't you care that my sister has abandoned the kitchen to me? Tell her to lend me a hand."
The Master said, "Martha, dear Martha, you're fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing. One thing only is essential, and Mary has chosen it—it's the main course, and won't be taken from her."

I can really identify with Martha in this story. I will freely admit that I am no cook, no gracious hostess, and have no real affinity for that other Martha, the design guru Martha Stewart, but once a year, for the most important holiday, I put on my chef’s hat, bring my house up to scratch, and lay out cloth napkins. It’s Christmas, it’s tradition, and it’s important to me.
And it makes me crazy every year. I love gift giving, every piece of it. I heartily dislike preparing the Christmas meal, nearly every piece of it, but I hold on to it because tradition is so important to me. I want my family around a table, and even though it hurts to see who’s missing, I want to have my grandmother’s candy and my mother’s fruit salad. One aunt brings dressing made from her mother’s recipe and the other brings sweet potato casserole. Some important pieces of my family are missing but we remember them at that table.
So I identify with Martha. There’s a lot to do when you’re hosting an important dinner. I’d think anything where Jesus attends would fall into that category. And there is no way for Martha or for me to attempt something like that without a list. We are planners. We are doers. We accomplish things, big things, because we have to. And we stress ourselves out over the details. We have to. Martha went to Jesus and asked for help. I muttered under my breath about people who have to stand around in my tiny kitchen while I’m trying to get the food magically ready at eleven o’clock on the dot.
I always fight the urge to mutter at Christmas. I feel like what I’m doing is important but maybe unappreciated. After all, weeks of work is destroyed in about two hours total. This year, to combat that, I started thinking about all the memories I made in the process: cooking a beautiful turkey all by myself for the first time, watching my nephew exclaim over his gift from me of two two-liter bottles of Coke (and an iTunes card, but apparently teenage boys like a lot of junk food), catching up with an old family friend who dropped in. It would have been easy to miss all this in the detailed demands of hospitality.
I think the world requires Marthas, but I don’t think any Martha can be happy or successful without grasping the important truth Jesus teaches here. There is a time for lists and details, but there is a time to let all that go and grasp what is important, what is fleeting, what is memorable, what really matters.
I think I’ve decided not to make any resolutions this year. It’s difficult because I like a good list. After all, the journey of a thousand miles should begin with a very thorough itinerary in my opinion. What I want to do instead is do my best to remember Mary and Martha. I will always be Martha, but I don’t want to let what is essential slip through my fingers or be pushed out of my cluttered, to-do-list driven mind. I can’t call it a resolution. That almost dooms me to failure, but I like this time of year when everything seems possible and new beginnings are expected. Instead, I’m just going to make a decision to fuss less and keep my mind on what is essential. That could really be the most difficult resolution to keep of them all.
Maybe I’ll just jot down “Remember Mary” at the top of every list I make…