Don’t Worry?!

Sunday, October 2, 2016
Blessing of the Animals, Commemoration of St. Francis

There are few things more infuriating than being told in a moment of anxiety to just stop worrying. Don’t worry! Be happy! My response to that is to ask what sort of Pollyanna planet people are living on if they aren’t worried.

But Jesus said to his disciples: Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing. Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds! And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? If then you are not able to do so small a thing as that, why do you worry about the rest?

But, well-fed raven aside, even as we bless and celebrate animals in our homes and in our world today, we know that on a daily basis species go extinct from habitat destruction in rainforests and from the effects of climate change. We know that ocean animals are chocking on garbage and at risk from overfishing and oil spills. We know that we are all at risk when plants and animals alike are in danger, when ice caps melt, and deserts expand.

But Jesus said: Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith!

But there are currently around 65 million people forcibly displaced from their homes. There are 3 billion people living in poverty, 1 billion of whom are children, and one billion of whom live in what is considered extreme poverty. Most of the countries of the world are involved in some kind of armed conflict in one way or another within their own borders or in fights far from their shores.

But Jesus said: And do not keep striving for what you are to eat and what you are to drink, and do not keep worrying. For it is the nations of the world that strive after all these things, and your Father knows that you need them. Instead, strive for his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.

But our community and nation are torn apart by divisions. Our loved ones are sick and dying. Our bank accounts might be looking emptier than we’d like. Our own plans don’t always seem to line up with what God has in mind.

How is it that the God who sees the mountain goats give birth and the calving of the deer, who sees the hawk soaring and the eagle making its nest, who causes the grass to grow and waters the trees of the forest, how is it that this God can point to a few beautiful things and suggest we not worry? It’s the age-old question of how we can worship a God who creates the world and who seemingly does not or cannot intervene in situations where evil is present. A God who says don’t worry about this world seems awfully out of touch.

But then for all our worry – about ourselves, our loved ones, the world at large – we fail miserably at fixing it. Sometimes it’s by choice. We choose not to intervene when we ought. We choose certain things over others, certain goods over the good of those who manufactured them, moments of self-satisfaction over the good of our relationships. But so often with the really big things it’s not a matter of choice, but a matter of what we simply cannot do. We can work toward peace and justice and wholeness, but we cannot ever seem to stop wars and pollution and the evils that confound us. And we might delay it but we cannot stop death from happening. The God who sees every last animal and blade of grass also sees us worrying over these things we fail to do and these things we cannot do.

I wonder if our worry comes not because we are deeply engaged in what it broken but because we are wrapped up in our failure to do anything about it. If our view is about what I can do, or my church can do, or my social justice organization can do, or my political party or political candidate can do, then there is every reason to worry. But thankfully it’s not. And maybe it helps to consider the lilies of the field and the well-fed ravens or to pause and play with our beloved furry friends, because it gets us out of our heads for a moment. But I don’t think that’s ultimately Jesus’ point here either.

Because Jesus just doesn’t strike me as the “Don’t worry. Be happy.” type. Because, as Paul reminds us, Jesus doesn’t just consider lovely plants and well-fed ravens and assume everything is fine. And Jesus doesn’t just consider the poor, the sick, the vulnerable, and the oppressed. Jesus becomes the poor, the sick the vulnerable, the oppressed, the crucified. So maybe there is something after all to this directive not to worry. Because it seems rather than worrying, God becomes one with what is broken and hurting.

And what Paul also reminds us is that through baptism, we are also made one with all that is broken. Made one with each other, with plants and animals, with water, soil, and air. Such that through baptism we are joined to all those things we like to worry about. We are made one with them. One with those who are satisfied and one with those who are hungry. One with those who are thriving and one with those who have gone extinct. One with the deep pain of the world and one with the God who redeems the worst we can imagine.

And it’s from that place that we are called to live. From a place of recognition that Christ’s cross has shown us the depth of God’s love and the completeness of God’s commitment to us and to this earth, from that place where we are so loved that God would not simply worry about us, but would come to take on our brokenness, and then call us also not to worry but to trust that all things are held in God’s love and in God’s being, freeing us to be stewards of God’s gifts in such a way that all might be fed, the lonely brought to community, and our enemies transformed to friends. So, do not worry, but do take notice of the waters of baptism and the bread and wine at this table, binding you to the one who takes on our broken world and who sets you free to steward the abundance of this earth, humans, plants, and animals alike.

-Pastor Steven Wilco