Conventional wisdom holds that sins are things we try to hide. We feel shame about our sinfulness, so we try to conceal it from the prying eyes of other people and, if we could manage it, from God. But there is one sin that pervades the church—it runs rampant among the most devout and the least—and not only do we not try to hide it, but we even wear it as a badge of honor. The sin I’m talking about is worry.
Listen to the way we talk about worry. “I’m worried about the effects of climate change.” “I worry when my kids are out on the road—from the time they leave until I hear them pull into the driveway, I can’t stop worrying.” “We bought this $20,000 security system because we’re worried about crime in the neighborhood.” “I’m worried about the results of my husband’s biopsy.”
We have equated worry with concern and even love; when you worry, it means you care. That’s why we take such pride in our worries, and it’s why we look askance at anyone who claims not to worry about their loved ones or the state of the world or any other matter of importance. “You’re not worried about your children’s welfare?” we ask incredulously. “Don’t you love them?”
We even use the language of “oughtness” when it comes to worry. Newscasters and advertisers are experts at this. “Should you be worried about lead in your drinking water? Stay tuned for our special report.” “We know you worry about being able to provide for your family’s future. That’s why we created Mammon Investment Strategies LLC.” The message comes across that if you are not worried, you haven’t been paying attention. You should be worried, so we can fix it with our product (“Our newest model administers an electric shock the moment you drift out of your lane on the highway”) or our investigative team (“Keeping you safe—Channel 9 is on your side!”).
Now listen to the way Jesus talks about worry, and see if you can discern a difference: “Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?” (Matt 6:25). “Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?” (Matt 6:27). “If God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will [God] not much more clothe you—you of little faith?” (Matt 6:30).
When it comes to worry, you would almost get the impression that Jesus was against it. You might even think he considers worry the antithesis of faith. Chew on that for a minute.
It’s no accident that the Revised Common Lectionary assigns this passage from the Sermon on the Mount as the daily reading for Thanksgiving Day. Because the best way to defeat worry is to practice gratitude. When we turn our eyes and hearts toward the good things we have received from the Divine, we are less likely to dwell on the things we don’t have, or the things that may come about in the future. When we cultivate a spirit of gratitude, we can begin to recognize the abundance God has lavished on us. When we are grateful for life, we need not fear death. When we are grateful for the earth, we are more likely to act to protect the environment. Worry discourages meaningful action; gratitude sparks it. When we are grateful for our loved ones and recognize that their Creator loves them even more profoundly than we do, we can release them into God’s providential care. Worry, it turns out, is the opposite of care.
This Thanksgiving, may we all work at cultivating that spirit of gratitude that bears the fruit of generosity, freedom, and trust. As we put our trust in God, we will be empowered to become God’s partners in realizing the commonwealth of God. We will have the bone-deep conviction that we are held in the loving hand of our Creator, and we will be able to “strive first for the kingdom of God and [God’s] righteousness,” trusting that “all these things will be given to [us] as well” (Matt 6:33).