Choosing the better thing

So lately, I've found myself in a strange transitional space spiritually, one where my love for Jesus feels like it's becoming deeper, quieter and more real, while at the same time my discomfort with religion, or at least the version of it that I've been exposed to, has been growing too. I don't mean that I've fallen out of love with the Church, or that I no longer see the beauty in serving alongside other believers, because I do. I believe in the Body of Christ, I believe in gathering, I believe in using what God has placed inside of us, and I believe that there is something powerful about people coming together to build what belongs to God. But over the last year especially, I've begun to see how easy it is to do Christianity without Christ being at the centre of it all. It's possible to know the language, know the scriptures, know the worship songs, know how to pray, know how to serve, know how to be present and committed, and still slowly lose sight of the One we're supposedly doing all of it for.

I think that's what has been really bothering me lately: how easily the things of God can become more important to us than God Himself. Somewhere along the way, the Christian walk has become centred around being used, being anointed, being called, being recognised as faithful, being seen as committed, being the person who's always available, always serving, always carrying something and always saying yes. Praying prayers like, “Lord, use me for Your glory,” and “Lord, anoint me,” and I don't believe those prayers are wrong at all… I've prayed them many times myself. But I've really had to check the motive behind those prayers, because sometimes it can be difficult to tell the difference between a genuine desire to be used by God and a desire to feel significant through being used by God. Sometimes we say we want His glory, but if we're honest, there can be parts of us that still want to be seen, needed, affirmed or admired in the process.

The more I've thought about that, the more I've realised how much our church culture has unintentionally made busyness look like spiritual maturity. The people who are most involved are often assumed to be the most committed. The people who are always on a rota, always giving up their time, always present at every service, rehearsal, meeting and event are often treated as examples of what it means to be “serious” about God. We tend to admire the people who seem to have no limits or healthy boundaries, who are always sacrificing, always labouring, and always willing to carry more. Again, I don't say that to dismiss service, because serving is beautiful and necessary, and the Church does need people who are willing to contribute rather than only consume. But I do think we have to be careful that we don't make serving the highest expression of faithfulness, especially when Jesus Himself made it clear that being with Him was never meant to come second to working for Him.

That's why the story of Mary and Martha in Luke 10 has been living rent free in my mind lately. Jesus came into their home, and Martha was busy serving while Mary sat at His feet, listening to Him. Scripture says Martha was ‘distracted with much serving’, and I think that word distracted is so important, because Jesus didn’t rebuking her for serving Him. There was nothing wrong with wanting to prepare a meal, be a great host, or make sure things were in order. The problem was that her service had become mixed with anxiety, comparison and frustration, to the point where she could no longer recognise that the greatest thing available to her in that moment wasn't the work around Jesus, but Jesus Himself. When Martha told Jesus to make Mary help her, Jesus responded by saying, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; but few things are needed, or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.” I've read that passage so many times before, but lately it has felt less like a story and more like a mirror.

A month or so ago, I made the decision to step away from the worship team and from the other ministries I had been serving in, and I haven't regretted that decision once. It wasn't because I suddenly stopped loving worship, because worship is still one of the most precious things to me. It wasn't because I believe serving is wrong, or because I think I'm above being part of a team, carrying responsibility or contributing to the life of a church. It was simply because I could feel that something in me needed to come back into order. I could feel that there was a danger in allowing service to take up so much space that intimacy became something I squeezed in around it, rather than the place everything else flowed from. I didn't want to become someone who was busy doing things for God while slowly losing the time, capacity and tenderness required to actually sit with God. I didn't want to be known for being useful in ministry if my private life with Him was becoming shallow, rushed or inconsistent.

One thing I've learnt in this season is how much of an anchor intimacy really is. It's not just part of the routine of christian life, something we do when we have a quiet morning or when life isn't too busy. Intimacy with God is the thing that keeps you steadfast when life starts shaking around you. It's the thing that keeps your heart soft in the middle of disappointment, grief, pressure, uncertainty and offence. It's the thing that keeps you from burning out when you're carrying too much, because it reminds you that you were never meant to survive on your own strength in the first place. There are certain trials that can't be carried by good advice, productivity, routine or even church activity; there are things that can only be endured because you've developed a secret life with God where you've learned how to be held by Him. At the beginning of this year, I heard the Holy Spirit say to me, “Do all you can to safeguard your intimacy, because that is what life is after.” and I haven't been able to forget it.

I'm sure most of us have heard the saying, “Who Satan can’t destroy, he distracts,” and although that isn't scripture, I do believe there is truth in the warning behind it. When you pay attention to what the enemy is often trying to distract us from, it's rarely just about money, career progression, gym consistency or the practical things that fill our everyday lives. Of course, those things can become distractions too, but I think the deeper strategy is always to pull us away from the secret place. To keep us too busy to pray properly, too overstimulated to be still, too tired to read the Word with attention, too consumed by noise to hear the voice of God clearly, and too occupied with maintaining a version of ourselves for other people to be honest before Him. I’m learning that distraction doesn't always look sinful or obviously destructive. Sometimes it looks like a full calendar, constant serving, endless responsibility, poor boundaries, and a life that appears productive and spiritually impressive from the outside, but leaves very little room for us to actually sit at the feet of Jesus.

That's why Matthew 7:22–23 has been convicting me in a different way lately. Jesus spoke about people who will stand before Him and say, “Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in Your name, cast out demons in Your name and do many mighty works in Your name?” These weren't people who had done nothing. They had works, they had stories, they had evidence, they had ministry, and they had things that looked powerful and spiritually significant. and still Jesus says, “I never knew you.” The thought alone is scary because it reminds me that works aren't the same thing as relationship, and being around spiritual things isn't the same thing as being close to God. It's possible to spend years serving in church, singing about Him, talking about Him, doing things in His name and even being celebrated by people, while never allowing yourself to be truly known by Him in the place where no one else is watching. I don't want that for my life. I don't want to spend my years building something that looks Christian from the outside while my relationship with Jesus is weak behind closed doors. I don't want to be busy in His house but unfamiliar with His heart. I don't want to confuse being seen by people with being known by God, and I don't want to mistake usefulness for intimacy. More than being used, more than being anointed, more than being involved, more than being recognised as faithful or committed, I just want to know Him and love Him deeply and so my prayer lately has been, “Lord, if I must be known for anything, let me be known for how much I love You,” because truly, that's all I care about.

I’m sure there’ll be seasons where God calls me to serve again, and I don't want to run away from that (or maybe I do) . But I want whatever I do for Him to always come from a place of having first been with Him. I want service to be the overflow of intimacy, not the replacement for it and I want worship to come from a heart that has spent time in His presence, not from performance or obligation. I’m going to keep choosing the better thing, not because I think I've arrived or figured this all out, but because I'm learning that nothing is worth gaining if it costs me the quiet, hidden relationship with Jesus that my soul actually needs.

Grace & Peace,

P xo