There is an old joke, so old that I have not seen it in a round of e-mails that I can remember. It goes like this:
There are only two things to worry about. Either you are healthy or you are sick. If you are healthy, there is nothing to worry about. If you are sick, there are only two things to worry about. Either you will get better or you’ll die. If you get better, there is nothing to worry about. If you die, there are only two things to worry about. Either you will go to heaven or go to hell. If you go to heaven, there is nothing to worry about. And if you go to hell, you’ll be having such a good time with all of your friends that there will be nothing to worry about.
The theology is a little questionable, but you get the point. It’s easy to make the joke, I realize, but much harder to really only worry about things that are large. We are good at worrying, and we get a lifetime of practice. You probably wish your children had nothing to worry about, but as they told me from the children’s message, worrying begins young.
Let’s be clear about what I mean when I say “worry.” I’m not talking about those things that motivate us to do better and be better. I’m not talking about how I want my sermons to be an opening to God’s word, and how I am motivated to try to find the right example, the right flower, the right words. I’m not talking about your desire to do well at your jobs, or how you study before a test so that you will do well on it. I’m not talking about how you learn to share things with your friends, even though you may not want to. These things that motivate us are not the same as worry. Worry is what paralyzes us. Worry causes me such concern that I will not reveal God’s word, not even densely, that I am unable to research, unable to pray, unable to open myself to God’s inspiration. Worry causes you to lose sleep at night because you are trying to solve some problem at work. Worry causes you to be so paralyzed at the sight of a test that it is as if you didn’t study at all, and the questions are just gibberish. Worry prevents you from making friends to begin with. That’s what I mean by worry.
But, take a deep breath. Consider your dandelions. Aren’t they pretty? I know that using dandelions may inspire the very worry that I am trying to expel. Don’t think about them in your lawn. Just look at them in your hands. Yellow, bright. Look at their many petals, their hollow stem, their fading beauty once picked.
How do you know if your kids are worried? I bet you know the signs. You find out that your child is suddenly doing less well in school than they had previously. They have nightmares. One of your children is suddenly picking fights at home and school. Your child starts picking at their food or not eating very much. You see the signs, and you immediately try to find out what is wrong and to solve whatever the problem is, or teach your child how to deal with whatever is worrying them.
What makes you think that you grow out of these effects of worrying? As far as I have experienced, worry has the same effect on me now as it did when I was a kid. I don’t sleep well, my stomach hurts, I don’t deal well with work or home, and I don’t get along with people as well as I had. Jesus seems well aware of these effects. And he calls upon us to give them up. Consider your dandelion. Is it wilting? Did the stem get bent? Did the world come to an end? We all know that these dandelions I picked are not the end of these plants. Their roots go deep, and they will put up new stalks with new yellow buds.
What will worrying get you? Can you add a single hour to your span of life by worrying? Jesus makes a good argument against worrying, but fails to give us techniques to banish it. And there is nothing worse than worrying about the fact that we are worrying! Mindful meditation teaches that when distracting thoughts come, and they will, to not get all worked up about how bad we are at meditation, I can’t even clear my mind for a minute, etc. Instead, take the thought, acknowledge it, and put it aside for later. Maybe we could start to do that with worry. I see it, there it is, but I will put it up here, on this shelf, and consider it later. For now, I will look at my dandelion.
The kids told me a number of things they do when they are worried. Maybe if we don’t outgrow worry, these techniques might still work for us. At the very least, consider your dandelion. Or, the lilacs, or the autumn leaves, or the sparrows, or the neighbor’s cat, or the grass, or the way that God cares for you.
Consider the children and the ways in which they play and how Jesus said that they have the kingdom of God. Consider the children and how worry affects them and how it also affects us. And then take your dandelion. For today, may it represent God’s love for you. And everytime you look at it, may you remember that God cares more for you than for that simple dandelion, and that God will care for you. Amen.