Today's Sermon - 3rd Week in Lent - Don't Worry

Don’t Worry

(based on Matthew 6:25-34)

In Guatemala and parts of Mexico, they have something called a worry doll.  These very small dolls, usually less than two inches high, are made of wire and cloth and are given to children as ”friends” with whom they can share their worries and fears.  The dolls are said to be rooted in Mayan folklore which tells of the sun god giving a princess a gift to help her face her fears.  Mostly tourists buy the dolls today.  But not to be outdone in the worry trade, other cultures have created similar objects such as; Greek worry beads which are very similar to Rosary beads.  There Native American worry stones passed on from one generation to another creating a sense of connection from previous family members.  Worry stones also have connection to ancient Irish and Tibetan cultures.  Today they are mass produced in the US, sometimes etched with inspirational messages on them to replace the worry.  And I’ve even seen a worry cross – often marketed as a “Caring Cross”, a smooth piece of wood or resin in the shape of a cross, but with a thumb worn indentation to rub your worries onto.

Some child psychologists use the concept created by the Mayans of a worry doll approach to a child’s anxiety, offering a more life-sized doll to a child as an imaginary friend to whom they can tell their deep secrets.  So, this anxiety we have for tomorrow starts early.  Our fear of the future can paralyze us in the present, leaving us burdened or even immobilized.  T.M. Luhrmann, wrote in an article called, “The Anxious Americans”.  It was published in the New York Times in 2015.  Luhrmann wrote that Americans spend over $2 billion a year on anti-anxiety medication.  We are among the most anxious and medicated nations on earth.  We worry about having enough money, our health, our appearance, our relationships, our jobs and just about everything else.  We can even worry about whether we should be worried or not.

Almost 500 years ago, French essayist Michel de Montaigne wrote: “My life has been filled with terrible misfortune, most of which never happened.”  In other words, it was all in his imagination.  His worst fears never materialized.  Anxiety is frightened imagination focused on the worst of what might happen.  A friend and I were talking about this just the other day.  We can worry and prepare for all kinds of things that might happen, but usually none of them ever do; instead, something else comes along to thwart our plans or even change our lives.

This anxiety that we feel is nothing new; people in during Christ’s day got anxious about the future, too.  Their anxieties were more basic than most of ours, however.  Things like: What will they eat?  What will they drink?  What will they wear?  But their worry about tomorrow followed the same pattern that ours do.  Their fears drove them to imagine the worst.

In the teachings of Christ, fear is often the enemy of faith.  You might expect it to be doubt, but no, it is often fear.  So, for instance, when his disciples panic as a storm comes up over Lake Galilee, he asks them, “Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?” (Mt 8:26).  In fact, the phrase, “do not be afraid”, or “do not fear” occurs nearly 365 times in the Bible (interestingly – one, for every day of the year).  And the word “doubt” in relationship to faith only occurs about 20 times.  So, when Jesus addresses our anxieties, it’s not surprising that he makes it an issue of faith.  In order to help us get a handle on our fear and worry, he has us look to God’s creation, how God takes care of the birds of the air and the lilies and grass of the field.

There is a beautiful lesson to an even greater argument here.  It runs as follows: If God the Creator cares for the birds and lilies and grass he has created, how much more will God, our heavenly Father, care for us, his children.  There is also a beautiful irony here, that these lesser creatures of God should teach us nervous human beings, the crown of God’s creation, something about God’s provision.  A little sparrow here, a fragrant lily there, tasseled grasses blowing gently in the wind—they are but a chorus of witnesses to the trustworthy care God gives to every corner of creation, including us.

C.S. Lewis wrote a book called The Problem of Pain, a study of the Scriptures.  In it he identified four great analogies in the Bible for God’s love toward us.  They are in ascending order.  First is the love of an artist toward her creation, the way a potter loves her cup or bowl fresh off the wheel.  This is God’s relationship with the birds and the lilies, His creations.  Second is the love of a master for a beast, the way a shepherd loves his sheep, the way you may love your dog, or your cat.  Third is the love of a parent for a child, the way a waiting dad graciously welcomes home a runaway son.  This is where we fit in here in the Sermon on the Mount.  We are God’s children, not just His creation, and God will love us to the end.  And fourth is the love of one spouse for the other, how they faithfully support, care for, and encourage one another as a single unit.

So, Jesus is telling us that the antidote to worry and anxiety is trust in God’s proven love for us.  He is not saying that bad things won’t happen to us, nor is he saying that we can sit back and wait to be fed like Elijah in the desert who was near death and was fed by the ravens.  Jesus is not giving us permission to give up working for what we eat or to stop praying for what we need.  This is Jesus saying that trust in God’s prevailing, persistent love displaces anxiety.  Which is exactly why Paul wrote in Philippians 4:6, “Don’t be anxious about anything, but by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God”.  Acts of trust like prayer and thanksgiving displace worry.

And there is more.  Jesus says that we are to “seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you” (v 33).  To “seek first the kingdom” is to value our relationship with God over everything else.  It is to love the Lord most deeply.  To seek “his righteousness” is to delight in and follow the Lord’s Will for your life wholeheartedly, with everything you’ve got.  Every day, we shouldn’t be worried about what will happen next, but rather we show pray for enlightenment, courage, and boldness to follow God’s plan for our lives. 

Perhaps in the middle of Lent, it is somehow less overwhelming to hear Christ’s call to trust.  We live closer to the cross these days and find our truth there, sub cruce veritas, which in Latin means “truth under the cross”.  Under the cross, closer to Christ, we can perhaps hear both his whispers and shouts a bit better.  Because at the end of his suffering, we can hear him say, “Father, ...”  And in dying he falls into his Father’s arms, entrusting tomorrow and the next day to God’s providence.  May our own lives be so trustingly given.  It may seem like an ending.  It may seem like tomorrow has arrived and the worst has happened.  But what we find most during Lent during our concentration here at the cross is that God is listening, caring and still providing for his beloved Son and for us, his beloved children.  Oh, yes, this is a Father who can be trusted.  So, we can put down our worry dolls or worry beads or worry stones or worry crosses and rest, simply and most assuredly in God’s great love for each and every one of us.