Over the past four years, my anxiety has gotten the better of me more than I would like to admit. When we left New York close to four years ago, we left with many unknowns before us. We had two clear goals in mind when we came to California: the first was for Becca to give birth to Sadie, and the second was for me to finish up my Ph.D. I would be lying if I said the path was easy and seamless, in fact it was quite the opposite. Certainly, the old adage, “the best laid plans of mice and men” proved true for us. In theory, we knew there would be challenges, but it is far different when the abstract becomes concrete. I have truly found that it is one thing to say that “if it doesn’t work out, we’ll figure it out” and it is another thing to have that happen and learn to have to “figure it out” while taking care of a family. The emotional, mental, and spiritual toll can be wearing, especially when there appears to be no end in sight. One thing I have come to learn about the experiences of the past few years is that because of the various stressors, my amygdala went into overdrive, meaning that I was constantly anxious all of the time. In many ways, it was something I had not previously experienced. Certainly, I had anxious moments and anxious periods in my life, but this seemed not to let up no matter what I tried.
I have since worked with a therapist, improving day-by-day, learning and working on strategies. However, what was most frustrating about that period was the little comfort I could draw from the words of scripture. In particular, the words that I so desperately would remember, read, and say out loud, “Do not worry about your life” felt like a heavy burden rather than the comfort of a light peaceful breeze on a beautiful sunny day. I would see birds flying above me, consider the ravens of Luke 12:24, but unlike in times past comfort did not come. In an effort to rid myself of the anxiety I seemed to only make it worse. The thinking, the planning, the counting, the preparation, the obsessing, the ruminating seemed the obvious solutions to the problem. “Do not worry” had now become an abstract truth rather than a concrete reality for me. I tried not to worry, but the more I tried, the more I worried.
On a recent podcast, the well-known author, life coach, and sociologist Martha Beck explained the dynamics of anxiety in an incredibly helpful way. She shared that focusing on our anxiety only serves to make our anxiety worse. Instead, the way out of anxiety is to not focus on it, as counter-intuitive as that may seem, but to engage with something else, particularly something of the creative variety. She noted that anxiety is a left-brain activity and that in order to get out of the anxiety loop, we need to do a right-brain activity. Hence, why I have been writing more for over the past year, but also why I make it a point to accept the anxious thoughts, and move on to something else. Of course, this is not always easy, but it does work.
Nonetheless, what all this new knowledge and wisdom has got me thinking about are texts like the one I cited above from Luke 12:22-34 concerning not worrying. One reason is that these words are now comforting to me once again, and ironically, it is because I learned to stop worrying. Well, not worrying as much! But interestingly enough it is my contention that Luke 12:22-34 and its surrounding context are filled with deep wisdom for why we need not worry and for why worrying is futile and a waste of time even in this modern age.
Let me begin by noting that often when we read the scriptures slowly or study them thoroughly, we can begin to notice fascinating connections or meanings/messages we would continue to miss otherwise. Jesus’ words about not worrying in Luke 12:22-34 are no different. For us to really understand the depth and the power of the message herein, we must also consider the contrasting backdrop of the text. Therein, we get contrasting clues or signposts with references to work/farming (sowing, reaping), storehouses/barns, Solomon and his wealth, the nations of the world, and their striving for security (eat and drink). Moreover, right before this section, the Lukan Jesus tells the Story of the Rich Fool who had saved so much grain and goods by building bigger barns and storehouses that he decides to retire only to have his life demanded by God that very night. Paying close attention to all these things, we will see that Jesus is signaling something deeply profound.
It was the great empires (or nations) of the world that did all these things, and continue to do these things. In the scriptures, one excellent example of this is Pharaoh (and Solomon) and his Egyptian empire. Despite the enormous wealth he accrued, Pharaoh still used Hebrew slaves to build his storehouses in Pithom and Ramses (Exodus 1:11). Worse still, we witness King Solomon act similarly despite already having accrued great wealth and security. He, too, builds storage cities and uses slave labor to do so (1 Kings 9:15-22). What both Pharaoh and Solomon have in common is that their accumulation was, in part, driven by anxiety. What they had was never enough, so they continued to acquire more and store more. What should not be lost on us is that they used slave labor to do so. They consumed and collected relentlessly to assuage their anxiety. And they did so at the expense of other humans. Yet, the narratives indicate that despite these behaviors, things did not work out well for them. Pharaoh’s kingdom would be torn asunder by the God of Israel until his army was completely destroyed by the Red Sea (Exodus 1-15). King Solomon would be stricken by various adversaries, which would culminate in Jeroboam’s rebellion (1 Kings 11).
Therefore, with Solomon and, by extension, Pharaoh in the contextual background, Jesus teaches us not to go down the anxious path. What he is signaling to us is that our anxiety is a liar, and there is evidence all around us to prove us much. Pharaoh and Solomon had everything, but they could not turn off their anxiety, they could not leave their left brain. Instead, their anxiety consumed and overtook them to such a degree that they enslaved other human beings. In contrast to this, Jesus takes us to the right brain, pointing us to the ravens and the lilies, which neither reap nor sow nor toil nor spin. He points us to the grass of the field, which is here today and gone tomorrow. He draws our attention not to the usefulness of these things but to their beauty. He tells us to strive for the kingdom, which is done, in part, by focusing on the present moment, which is really all we have. Sometimes, we will succeed at this, and sometimes, we won’t. Some days, my anxiety gets the better of me, and other days, it’s barely there.
Sometimes, I can read the gospels or the words of Jesus as if they must be a fait accompli in my life, not as they were intended to be understood – as a “manual for discipleship.” The gospels are, in part, guideposts for the discipleship journey, which involves a continual and often frustrating process of spiritual death and resurrection along the Way. While we may find ourselves in an increasingly anxious age, our anxiety is not anything new to the human experience. The Lukan Jesus’ words prove as much. Why else would he need to tell his audience not to worry using Solomon and the nations as a helpful contrast for making his point? Herein, Jesus is simply demonstrating his theological wisdom and knowledge, the very things that made those teachers in Jerusalem marvel at him as he sat among them as a twelve-year-old boy (Luke 2:46-47). The beauty of Jesus’ words about not worrying is that they are dependent upon the graciousness of God, they are dependent upon the reality of God. Hearing them, reading, re-hearing, and re-reading them enable us to re-anchor ourselves to this reality where God is the source of all life. As I have found, they can enable us to leave behind our left brain and spend time in our right brain.
Until next time…
A Foolish Way 