Considerations

Sermon

Someone once observed that “[worry] is like a toddler. It never stops talking, tells you you’re wrong about everything, and wakes you up at 3 a.m.”

This morning we’re going to look at some treasured words from scripture, the invitation to consider the ravens and the lilies. Beneath those gentle words is a rather strong admonition for those who wish to practice their faith and rely on God: stop your worrying, because it’s not doing you (or anybody else) any good.

As we might remember from the past few readings in Luke’s gospel, people were worried about their stuff, about how much they had, about if they had enough, and in today’s lesson, if they would have enough in the future.

I was curious about this word we translate as “worry” and discovered that the Greek word, merimnao, can mean to worry, to be anxious, or it can have a more positive twist, as in to care, to be concerned. It’s clear, though, that in today’s context, Jesus means the harder translation, worry or anxiety.

People are anxious about their stuff, food and clothing and the like, but as one commentator wrote, Jesus is not addressing the poor who really do face food insecurity. Jesus is addressing a crowd that may be a bit like you or me. Most of us know where our next meal is coming from. Most of us have friends who would help us out if our pantry were bare. If supply chain issues interfered with our meal plan for the week, we could easily make adjustments to what we’d be having.

The crowd that Jesus is talking to did not worry about their daily bread. Maybe they had barns bursting at the seams; maybe they had an abundance of pottery or camels. I don’t really know what stuff they had or even if people collected stuff. But merely wanting to have stuff and worrying that you don’t—even the basics like food and clothing—can be a hindrance to your relationship with God.

To worry is to be rooted in the future; it is to imagine what could go wrong. It is to have a divided mind—you’re breathing in the right-here, right-now, but you’re thinking about this afternoon, tomorrow, or next year. Worrying makes us lose perspective on things.

As much as I appreciate the invitation to consider the ravens and lilies, I’ve struggled with this text for a few different reasons. When Luke wrote his gospel, a few decades after Jesus died and rose, he wrote in a time when the followers of Jesus were pretty sure that Jesus would be coming back soon, maybe even in their lifetime. So with the hope that Jesus would be back any minute, it was easy not to worry too much about the future, because the future was one in which Jesus was back and making all things new.

But here we are, two thousand years later, and we’re still worrying. There is a lot to be concerned about—climate change is a big deal, and something that is affecting us right now, with heat waves

and floods and the extinction of some species, and something that will undoubtedly affect the future that is left to Generation Y and Generation Z and the generations after that.

Those generations, still in their childhood and adolescence, are anxious generations. Recent studies have shown that depression and anxiety in adolescents has risen 25% in the past two years especially among older adolescent girls. Researchers attribute that increase to a number of factors including the effects of social isolation because of the pandemic, the number of school shootings, worry that parents will get sick or die, social media, and other factors.

There’s a part of me that thinks if you’re not worried, if you’re not anxious, then you’re not paying attention. With inflation happening and a recession looming, Gregg and I worry about the church budget—what will people be able to give? Will the staff receive raises just to keep up with the cost of living? How much more will the church’s insurance bills and utility bills be?

Monkeypox is gaining ground on COVID-19, and Russia’s war on Ukraine is nowhere near ending. Are you worried yet? Are you anxious? Forget about having food to eat or clothes to wear—will the earth sustain life a hundred years from now?

The late biologist Lewis Thomas once observed that, “[The human being] has always been a specifically anxious creature with an almost untapped capacity for worry. It is a gift that distinguishes [us] from other forms of life.”

Perhaps we cannot help but worry, be anxious. But still. Acknowledging our anxiety does not necessarily help anything. As author Jodi Picoult observed, “Anxiety is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but it doesn’t get you very far.”

There are a lot of preachers out there—and I skimmed their sermons and books this week—who will tell you that anxiety and its lesser cousin, worry, are simply signs of a lack of faith. If you really believed that God will provide, then you wouldn’t have a care in the world.

Well, if any of you, like me, have ever suffered an anxiety attack or a panic attack, or if anxiety is your constant companion, you know that being told you don’t have enough faith just adds to the pain. Honest to Pete, what is it about our human tendency to add misery to suffering? Do I need to add guilt to my anxiety?

There’s another side to our worry, one that often comes with love. I spoke to my mom the other day. She and my sister are up at the family cabin, and my sister, as is her wont, went for a hike by herself. Mom was telling me this, and said that she had asked my sister, “When will you be back? What time should I start worrying?”

Which is to say that maybe we also worry about the things that we treasure. At the end of today’s lesson, Jesus says, “where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” I might spin that a little and say that where our treasure is, there our worry will be also.

What then are we to do?

Jesus tells us to remember that God provides for us. God provides us with beauty that soothes the soul—just look at the lilies, the wildflowers blooming on the side of the road. What great pleasure they provide to any who pass by them. Look at the ravens—if God provides food for the lowly raven, how much more will God provide for us, we who were made in the divine image, we who rank little lower than the angels?

But I want to tread lightly here. Yes, I believe that God provides. But sometimes we pray and pray and pray for something, and God does not give us what we want. Should we feel guilty that we still want that thing? Should we feel guilty that our prayer was wrong, or that we didn’t pray the right way, or that our faith was not strong enough to compel God to answer our prayer the way we wanted?

I don’t know. Jesus said to the crowd, “Do not worry about your life. Do not keep striving for what you are to eat and what you are to drink and do not keep worrying. Instead strive for God’s kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.” I don’t think he said that to make the crowd feel guilty about their worries. I think he said that to help them get perspective on the whole of their lives and their faith. He was working to unite their minds that had been divided by their worry.

Think about people who live in high-stress situations; how do they manage not to let their worry or anxiety, or just plain fear, get the better of them? Consider Navy SEALs. How do they keep things in perspective, how do they live with all that stress?

According to the internet, they visualize the outcome they want. They plan to the best of their ability. They use positive self-talk. They work in teams. They stay present in the moment. They learn from their failures. And they practice focused breathing.

They breathe. They focus on their breath. Breathe in to the count of four. Hold for four. Breathe out for four. Hold for four.

I can do that. You can do that. Maybe the next time our worry or anxiety gets the better of us, we might try breathing. It could help.

And maybe it won’t help, and that’s okay. Maybe our worry won’t go away, as much as we wish it would. But maybe by taking a few seconds or a minute to focus our breath we will put our worry in perspective.

Because there really is a lot to be concerned about. What can the church do? We church people can practice unconditional love, that love we experience from God. We can accept each other, the old and the young and everyone in between, accept and not judge them. We the church can offer our version of lilies and ravens, beauty and comfort, and tea and cookies. We can remind each other to breathe.

This morning I awoke not to the sound of ravens but to the squawking of the crows that often meet in the oak trees just outside our bedroom window. I love crows, and I’m always a bit tickled when their morning coffee klatch wakes me up. So I listened to them for a bit, thinking about Jesus’

invitation to consider these birds… and then I started to worry. Will the tech work this morning? Do I know my sermon well enough? Will people show up on this hot day? What might go wrong? Not untypical for a preacher on Sunday morning.

And then I decided to breathe. In for four, hold for four, out for four, wait for four. Then I prayed. I prayed for you, that worship would be like the lilies for you. I prayed for me and for Gregg and Sarah. I prayed for the people who might come to us for the first time this morning. I prayed for those who slept in the church doorways last night. I prayed for those who have nowhere to cool down. And I thanked God for my life, for this congregation, and for love.

And then—I did not worry.

To the glory of God.