“Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: But one thing is needful…” — Luke 10:41-42
Over the past few weeks, we’ve reflected on David’s years in the pasture before the palace. We’ve talked about waiting seasons, clearing the rubble, staying on the wall, looking back, the Cabinetmaker reshaping old wood into a new purpose, and Joseph waiting for years, forgotten in a prison cell by those who swore they wouldn’t forget.
At first, they felt like individual reflections. Different passages. Different people. Different circumstances.
But the more I prayed over them, the more I realized they weren’t separate lessons at all.
They were all leading me to the same place.
Then today, Martha entered the conversation.
I’ve read the story of Mary and Martha countless times. Like many people, I always assumed Jesus was simply reminding us to spend time with Him instead of becoming consumed with work.
But this time, I noticed something different.
Jesus never rebuked Martha for serving.
He rebuked her because her service had become anxiety.
“Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things…”
The meal wasn’t the problem.
Serving wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that somewhere along the way, Martha had begun measuring the moment by what she was doing for Jesus instead of simply being with Him.
If I’m honest…
I see a lot of Martha in myself.
There was a season of my life when I was working full-time in a maximum-security penitentiary while serving as a high school Sunday School teacher, youth minister, and outreach director—all while trying to build a marriage and start a family.
Looking back, people probably thought I was completely sold out to God.
Maybe I was.
But I also know there were seasons when I became so busy working for God that I wasn’t walking with Him the way I should have been.
And that’s a difficult sentence to write.
It’s even more difficult because I know I’m not the only one.
Churches often celebrate the busiest people among us.
The ones carrying multiple ministries.
The ones who are always available.
The ones who never seem to stop.
And if we’re not careful, we begin measuring ourselves the same way.
We feel valuable when we’re useful.
We feel needed when we’re busy.
We feel significant when we’re carrying responsibility.
Then God changes the assignment.
A ministry slows.
A door closes.
A title disappears.
The phone stops ringing.
Suddenly we’re forced to wrestle with a question we never expected to ask:
If nobody ever gives me another title, another position, or another ministry responsibility… am I still valuable?
I’d like to tell you that’s an easy question.
It isn’t.
Because for many of us, our identity quietly became intertwined with our assignment.
As I looked back over everything we’ve been writing lately, I realized God has been whispering the same lesson over and over again.
David wasn’t anointed and immediately escorted to the palace.
He went back to the pasture.
Moses spent forty years tending sheep before leading a nation.
Joseph spent years in prison before standing in Pharaoh’s court.
Even Jesus spent thirty years in relative obscurity before three years of public ministry.
The pattern is impossible to ignore.
All roads seem to lead through the pasture before they lead to the palace.
But perhaps the pasture isn’t simply preparation for the palace.
Perhaps the pasture is where we learn that the Shepherd is the prize.
Without the pasture, David never writes, “The Lord is my Shepherd.”
Without the waiting, we never discover that God’s presence is enough.
Maybe that’s what Jesus was inviting Martha into.
Not less service.
Greater intimacy.
Not abandoning responsibility.
Reordering her priorities.
Because before we’re teachers…
Before we’re singers…
Before we’re pastors…
Before we’re leaders…
Before we’re writers…
We’re sons and daughters.
Assignments change.
Titles come and go.
Platforms rise and fall.
But our identity in Christ never changes.
Perhaps the greatest lesson of the waiting season is discovering that our value was never found in our assignment, but in our relationship with the Shepherd.
I’m still learning that.
In fact, I suspect that’s exactly what this waiting season has been teaching me all along.
Maybe the waiting season isn’t an interruption.
Maybe it is the assignment.
Maybe God is gently reminding us that before He asks us to do something for Him, He simply invites us to be with Him.
The palace made David known to Israel.
The pasture made David known to God.
And before God entrusts us with influence, He often invites us into intimacy with Him.
And perhaps that’s the lesson beneath all the lessons I’ve been writing lately… without even realizing it.
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