Taking a N.A.P.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

—Philippians 4:6,7

Reading Transition Apparitions (J. Russell Crabtree, 2015) makes it clear that one thing that plagues us as we go through changes is anxiety. This book is about pastoral transitions in congregational life, but its main point carries over into many areas of life in the contemporary world. 

When change comes, our fear level rises. We can’t see where we’re going, wonder how we’re going to get there, and worry over our ability to even conduct the journey. That fear makes us prickly. In the church, even stable congregations will see a rise in conflict in times of transition. People feel anxious, which reduces patience, which raises irritability—BANG!—there’s a storm brewing. 

That seems to be a fairly default position for human beings. We’ve all experienced getting into arguments when someone in the room is feeling anxious. We may have even started an argument as a release for our anxiety—it feels better to let go of that pent-up energy than to keep letting it build within us. When things get uncertain, we feel worry add to worry. When change alters established patterns and trusted routines, fretting begins to gnaw at us. We find ourselves in conflict even when there is truly nothing over which to fight. 

I wonder if that explains much of the current moment?

Fear certainly seems to be driving the current election cycle. Candidates knowingly play on our fretting, hoping to gain an advantage by assuring us that there is plenty of reason to be afraid, and then promising the only path to calm. The whole Brexit fiasco was fueled by anxiety. Fear over losing national identity and stature, coupled with fear of the strangers among us, led voters to choose to remove an entire country from an international community. When it became apparent that the loudest voices favoring the withdrawal had no clue what to do when it came simply fueled the anxious fires—no one really does know what to do…

We need a real source of stability and peace.

We do not need a sham solution of someone telling us we are correct to be anxious, that we need to fear our neighbor, and that some mysterious someone is out to get us. When we hear such a voice, beware. They are more than likely acting in pure self-interest. They hope to shore up their own power as we sacrifice ours to theirs. A divisive response to a divisive context results only in more division.

Listen instead for a voice of peace.

At a recent workshop, we were discussing the uncertainty of life within our denomination, from the local church right on through the General Assembly. We confessed that it is a scary time. There are less of us. There is a shallower pool of resources, both material and financial, from which to draw. There is a rising tide of the irreligious who find the church irrelevant. As we talked, a pastor spoke up, I need a nap!

Well, there you go! We could all use a nap! What better than to withdraw from the world for a little while, curl up under a blanket, maybe listen to some soothing music, and…

No, not a nap, but a N.A.P.—a Non-Anxious Presence!

As the world runs amok around us, we still have a choice—we can join the chaos, or we can choose not to. 

Jesus was big on the latter option. In the Sermon on the Mount, he counseled those who would follow not to fret over where the next meal would come, how they would clothe themselves, or any other need; but to simply take in the natural world—the trees grow, the flowers bloom, and the birds sing—and they get all they need from the God who made them. So shall we. 

St. Paul picks up on this same theme as he writes to the Philippians. The Philippian epistle is a favorite because it is one the most joyful of Paul’s letters. Reading it, you can tell Paul loved this congregation, and they, him. The tone is so positive you might assume that here was a large, thriving congregation—maybe a multi-staff church with a couple of endowment funds, healthy bank balances, great stewardship, explosive mission, celebratory worship, and a waiting list for a new member class. The truth is, from what we can discern, that none of that described the Philippian church. Instead, it was comprised of the Least of These—poor folks who joined on a promise of hope; underclasses who came because there was a chance for liberation; and a church that was struggling in the face of actual opposition from the neighborhood. So why were they not sinking into a morass of anxious fretting?

They had a N.A.P.

The source was God. Their faith told them that God provides. Their faith told them that not even death could thwart Jesus’ promises of life. Their faith told them that God was with them with power to see them through whatever lay ahead of them. 

In other words, they took what they heard in sermon and scripture, and had the audacity to believe it was actually true.

Confessedly, yes, it is hard to remain positive when so much seems utterly out of control; yes, it is hard to be hopeful when the hard numbers pile up to dash hopes; and, yes, it is hard to hold to promises for which there is little or no hard evidence that such promises can be kept.

But that is the nature of faith. As Hebrews proclaims, Faith is hope in things unseen.

The work of the church is to keep moving. The further work is to remain focused on this moment. It is stopping here and now, taking stock in what is present here and now. It is pausing to consider these questions—

Do I have what I need right now?

Can I do what I am doing right now?

Those two simple questions root us in the present. They slow us down enough to face what is coming by reminding us it isn’t here yet—there is still time. Remember Jesus again from the Sermon on the Mount—

Do not fret about tomorrow…there is enough to fret about today!

He was not telling us to be afraid, but gently laughing us into being right here, right now. 

Sometimes our vision is too far ahead of us—even if we are only worried about tomorrow. Staying here and now, we are able to assess who we are, what we are doing, and why we need to do it.

And those three questions are crucial to being able to take a N.A.P. We can immediately gauge our place, our ability, and our work. As we release the grip of anxiety, clarity follows. We see and hear better. We begin to see and hear who is with us. We begin to see and hear what is actually around us. We begin to see and hear what it is we need to do. 

The Philippians found joy. Jesus embodied redemptive grace. 

Think of what we might do.