What Kind of Follower Am I?
A few Sundays ago, I was sitting in church expecting to hear a word from God. As I sat in my seat, I was expectant but shortly after the Pastor started speaking, my mind drifted off onto other things. The Pastor started preaching from a sermon entitled “Following Jesus”. He started to touch on the point that some people follow Jesus because they really want to follow Him, but many others just do it for clout. Much like our culture today, some people are more about what He can do for them rather than truly understanding or caring about who He is.
To my admittance, hearing him say those two points, forced me to ask myself, “What kind of follower am I?” Am I really about it or am I just in it for the fancy safety jackets? I’ve been in this since I was 11, really since I was 17, and if I’m not careful, it’s easy to get lost in all the motions. It’s easy to become religious while forgetting the love that’s supposed to be behind it all. It’s easy to start living out a holier-than-thou lifestyle and not even realize it. Anyway, while I was supposed to be sitting in my seat reflecting on the words the Pastor was speaking, I found myself thinking about Mary and Martha, instead. I started to compare myself to each one and began to ask myself questions I’ve never asked myself before. In my questioning and self-reflection, I learned that I am very much like Martha.
Mary, Martha and Lazarus were a family that was seemingly very close and dear to Jesus’ heart. We don't know a lot about Jesus’ relationship with the three of them individually other than that He loved them very much and visited them often. We do know that Mary greatly valued her time with Jesus. So much so, she’d drop anything and everything just to sit at His feet. It didn’t matter what she was doing or where she was. The minute she heard Jesus was around, she was right there. Martha, on the other hand, would be far too preoccupied. She would find herself prepping for a perfection that Jesus wasn’t seeking. While Jesus was looking for her, she was looking at the temperature on her oven, making sure that her muffins didn’t burn on top (if you’re a baker, you understand). Martha would be so stressed and worried about creating a “safe” space for Jesus, that she would be mad at Mary for not sharing the same sentiments. All the while, Jesus was trying to create a safe space for Martha.
“...Only one thing is important. Mary has chosen the better thing, and it will never be taken away from her.”
Like Martha, I’ve conditioned myself to think that the greater thing is preparing a perfect space for God to come and dwell. I will sacrifice hours making sure that things are perfect. I will stress over that one piece of paper that’s crooked on a table because anything less than symmetry, is not good enough for Him. Are the napkins in place? Am I using my fancy China or the mediocre tableware? Am I serving Popeyes chicken or Chick-Fil-A (the obvious answer is Chick-Fil-A). Always Chick-Fil-A. He deserves more than I can give and since I don’t have much, the little bit I do have has to be on par.
I’ve come to realize within the last few days, that I’m much more messed up than I let on; even to myself. I spend money that sometimes, I don’t even have, to put on a face that I’m good. I’ve told myself that appearance is everything and if you don’t take care of your appearance people won’t take you seriously. I mean, I have a lot going against me: I’m young, I’m African American and I’m a woman. I think in some way, I behave the same way with God. If I look tattered and worn, God won’t look my way, or hear me, and no one is going to overlook me. I’ve struggled and fought for far too long to come this far only to be shutdown.
I am not okay with just being okay. I have to, in some way, present myself better than anything. That means, from surface level all the way down to the depths of me that only God can see. I have conditioned myself to believe that at least if I look the part, it’ll be enough. That even though I know deep down, I’m not perfect, at least if I can fake it, God won’t see my imperfections. He won’t ask questions that’ll cause me to explain myself.
It’s crazy for me to think that there’s some part of me that God can’t see. The God who can see all, and knows all, can’t see the dirty, the fake, the broken and the scuffed up parts of me. It’s crazy and unimaginable to think that God can love and accept all the four-letter words of my life. I can’t wrap my mind around it, and maybe this is one of those things about God that I never will. So, how do I fix this? How can I make it right? Truth is, I know in my mind that I can’t, but I can’t be okay with that. I have to do something... right?
I wish there was a list of things that I could follow to make myself feel better about giving this up, but there isn’t. There’s only one thing that’s important and I have to choose the greater thing. Right now, from the outside looking in, the greater thing is me. I need to get to that place wherefrom the inside-out, the greater thing is Him. And maybe it won’t change overnight (how easy it would be if it did), but I’ll start by giving up the one thing that’s not that important.