Worried Over Worrying

Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? 

Probably not, but that’s not going to stop any of us from trying! 

The truth is that Jesus’ question is a direct challenge to our life and times, for this is an anxious age. Fretting is a national pastime. There was an article in The New York Times on Google’s tracking of anxiety proving this—we are an anxious people (“Fifty States of Anxiety,” Seth Stephens-Davidowitz, 8/7/16). Jesus challenges us to consider whether or not our worry gets us anywhere. He knows that in utter honesty, we will have to admit that, no, worrying does nothing for us, and in all likelihood shortens our existence and certainly makes it less than pleasant. 

Almost all of our fretting comes because we are afraid that we are threatened. We are afraid we will lose our existence. We are afraid we will lose our jobs. We are afraid we will lose our homes. We are afraid we will lose our stuff. We are afraid in the morning, quickly gaining on how we are afraid at night. Heck, some of us are afraid we will lose our minds! All that fear closes us. It destroys our ability to see one another clearly. It meddles with our priorities—unimportant things become all important; all important things get shoved aside. We lose our way trying to find our way. Insecurity blinds us to the security we have. We lose sleep, sure tomorrow’s going to bring more trouble. We eat too much, or we stop eating, unable to control our appetite because we are too anxious to eat well. 

Jesus offers simple reassurance—the birds eat, the flowers are wrapped in gorgeous raiment; you have nothing to fear; God is good and grace abounds…

His point is to allow our faith to assure us that God is still on the job, and one of God’s main tasks is providence—meeting the basic needs of every living thing. We will be taken care of, tomorrow can come, and all shall be well. 

That means we have to live like we trust it to be so. 

And there comes the struggle for us—trusting God to be God and entrusting our lives to God. 

What can we do?

One of the surest ways to quiet anxiety is to focus on here and now. Most fear is rooted in anticipating what might be coming, or in regretting what we have already done. In other words, anxiety is about past and future with little or nothing to do with right now. That’s important to bear in mind because right now is the only actual moment for us. We can neither go backward or leap forward in life. This moment is it. So assure yourself of your status right now, right here. At this very moment, things are stable, sure, and safe. You’re among friends. You’re in a quiet sanctuary. You have nothing else to do, nowhere else to be, and no one holding anything over you. Stick with that. Breathe easy. You’re OK.

Now we can begin to reassess everything we’re worried about. For Jesus’ congregation, actual food and shelter were real concerns. Their lives were tenuous, hand to mouth, and so there was reason for worry. But Jesus reminds them of God’s presence and how God can provide through all sorts of means. I remain convinced that the Feeding of the 5000 had less to do with a literal multiplication of a few fish and couple loaves than it did with a miraculous softening of hearts, helping folks realize they had enough to share, and that everyone could be part of the picnic. Use that thought right now. This election season is absurd and borders on the truly mad. But so what? We have each other. Seasons come, seasons go, and no one is elected for eternity. We’ll get things sorted one way or the other. This summer has seen terror leap and spring from every corner of the globe and even close to home. But it has also opened eyes to the basic connection between human beings and the refusal to allow some kook to ruin our community. Look at the Muslims attending mass in France—that is the real state of the world. In the churches, we fret over our existence and our relevance. But we are a community of faith. God is in our midst. Therefore, we will be with God just as we with God right now. It may change and shift, but there will still be a communion of saints. 

The more we are able to let the stillness of here and now enter our being, the better able we are to see. Things become less muddled. We are able to keep our eyes on each other as we truly are—the children and community of God, inside the church and also all around us, anywhere in the world. Perceived threats diminish. We grow immune to the voices telling us to be afraid of everything and everyone. We begin to know deeply and resoundingly within us that God is good and that grace can abound. We are living proof! We are here, right now, may God be praised!

Now be aware that this stance is not pollyannish. There is no refutation that life can be hard, that there are challenges to meet, and that our pool of resources may not be as deep as we would like. Rather, what Jesus offers is a means by which to deal with life as it is. As things do fall apart momentarily, as we do get lost from time to time, and as we face the inherent frailty of life as it is, God is present. God is present with all that is God. The faithful response to moments of crisis is not seeking an explanation, but instead becoming redeeming grace for anyone caught in whatever is happening. We bring the promise of resurrection to fruition as we live that promise responding to one another. Luke is the preacher of this good news, for he shows us how the community applied Jesus’ lesson to their existence—as the church forms, one of their hallmarks is right there in Acts 2—

All who believed were together and had all things in common…they would sell their possessions and give the proceeds to anyone in need so that all would have          

                                  enough…

And that is the lasting answer to fear that might actually prolong our lives. May it be so among us.