Lutheran/ Episcopal Lenten Series

February 13, 2008

Matthew 6: 25-34

The Rev. Thomas William Blake

Last week at Grace Church there was a lot for a Rector to worry about. With a Mardi Gras celebration, two Ash Wednesday services, two funerals, receptions, planning for Sunday services, making pastoral calls, writing sermons and leading a diocesan meeting in Carmel, there was hardly a moment to spare. A few times I worried if it was even possible to get all these things done, but on the other hand I know that God always seems to lead me through them.

While reflecting on the week with some of my friends, they humorously tried to get under my skin: “What are you worried about,” they said, “after all you clergy only work one day a week?”

Maybe the comment lightened the moment and helped put things into perspective.

All of us, I would suspect, experience our share of worrying. I anticipate all sorts of possibilities in my mind for the next day or the next week or the next year; and I worry about things before they even happen. And usually I end up reflecting back on those things and realizing there was far less to worry about than what I had created in my mind. But even so, the pattern seems to continue; I simply move on to the next item on my list of worries.

One of the comforting things about our scriptures is that they so often describe people like you and me, people for whom life isn’t always easy, people who worry. The people wandering in the desert ceaselessly wonder what they’re going to eat or where they’ll find water to drink; they anticipate their demise and wonder why they ever followed Moses there in the first place. And they start to point fingers and blame Moses. And they blame God.

Or I think as well of the time the disciples were in the boat with Jesus and a terrifying storm came up and they were terrified. Jesus was the only one in the boat who didn’t seem to panic, who didn’t seem to worry about the possibility of capsizing or drowning. And they all thought he was out of touch with reality; his not worrying made them even more anxious, at least at first. I know the feeling. There are times when our religious assuredness seems so naïve.

Some would place Jesus’ advice heard in tonight’s gospel reading into that category. “Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them….Consider the lilies of the field, 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… Therefore do not worry…” Jesus’ advice seems perhaps too simple in a complicated world.

The problems in our lives, after all, the things for us to worry about don’t just go away. There are bills to be paid, there are schedules to keep, places to be, people to see, tasks to accomplish. Or we wonder how we’re going to take care of ourselves if we get sick, or whether there will be a nest egg for retirement, or how is the church going to balance its budget, or how are we going to attract new people, or what will happen if we don’t. We all have our own lists of worries.

If anyone ever had a reason to worry, though, perhaps it was the great German theologian Dietrich Bonheoffer whose experiences and scholarship will inform our journey together this Lent. Bonheoffer was politically active against Adolf Hitler. There were other German citizens who supported Hitler not necessarily because they agreed with him but because they were worried about being put to death by him. Not Bonheoffer, though. Bonheoffer stood his ground, amazingly confident in his faith.

When the war broke out, Bonheoffer who was safe and secure in the United States teaching theology, felt it his duty to return to his homeland: Germany. We know that he was well aware that the decision could cost him his life, and it eventually did. But he proceeded anyway. If I had been in his shoes, honestly I probably would have chosen the safer alternative. Bonheoffer chose to put God and the well being of others before himself.

To do so, even and maybe especially for people of faith, requires clarity of vision and purpose: the ability to see and embrace a greater end such as, for example, the promised-land or the kingdom of God. Moses didn’t invite the people into the desert with wishy-washy language like “Let’s try this out, see where it takes us, and if we don’t like it we’ll go back and cut our losses.” No, Moses said “Let’s follow the call of God, the path to the promised-land. Period.”

It is the very same language used by Martin Luther King in Memphis before being shot: “Like anybody,” he said, “I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people will get to the promised land.”

Jesus said, “Strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” Jesus is not saying it will be easy; nor is he saying we’re somehow supposed to be detached from this world or in denial of its problems. The visioning of the kingdom is what enables us to confront those problems without their conquering our hope. And the kingdom language refers not just to the future, but to what God is doing right now among us.

For Bonheoffer and King, the vision of God’s kingdom among us is clear; the confidence in a God actively transforming creation in the here and now is solid. But God’s kingdom is not just reigning in for famous people and big-time political and social movements. Maybe more importantly, we are privileged to see it in our own, perhaps more ordinary, lives as well.

I have worked some with people coming through the ordination process and from time to time I listen to their frustrations and know that they are real; I have stood in their shoes myself. Several decades ago, we—at least in the Episcopal Church-- corrected a very problematic approach to ordaining people: making decisions behind closed doors, probably in smoke-filled rooms, where knowing the right people counted more than anything else.

Like most everything, though, and particularly in the church, the pendulum has over time swung from one extreme to the other. What started out as reasonable measures and helpful committees at some point became nagging, frustrating, and sometimes harsh hoops to jump through. Just out of college I remember looking at the ordination requirements, and my first instinct was to run the other way. Obviously I didn’t, but I remember the anxieties and frustration I felt.

An endless stream of questions went through my mind. What if I make it up to the eleventh hour in the process and then am turned down? Will all my work have been for naught? Or what if some deadline slips by me and I have to wait another year? What will I do in the meantime? Or what if I don’t get a recommendation I need? What if I get ordained and then can’t find a place to serve? I hear the very same sort of questions in my encounters with seminarians today.

At some point, though, I remember looking back and realizing that God led me every step along the way in that journey. The worst times turned out to be my own resistance to walking God’s path. I’d run the other way, but then would experience internal restlessness and conflict. Only when I walked the path God set for me did I find peace. And God’s grace enabled me to endure all that I had to endure.

What I have just described was not a one-time event. It is a pattern that happens over and over in all of our lives—even those of us most confident in our faith—probably even in the lives of Dietrich Bonheoffer and Martin Luther King if we are to be totally honest. We worry, and sometimes only later do we see how it all makes sense, how God was present all along, how our local journeys really do fit into God’s plan of salvation.

Such realizations are moments of divine revelation. They open our eyes to believe anew. I really believe that God called me to the priesthood and led me through the challenges of the ordination process. I really believe that God empowered me to accomplish the flood of tasks that came my way last week. I really believe that God leads each one of us through similar experiences every day. Our lives’ experiences, even those with which we worry, are for a larger purpose: God’s purpose.

“Therefore do not worry, saying ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”

Amen.