[Preached at Luther College Chapel - September 8, 2021]
Matthew 6:25-34
25"Therefore I tell you, 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? 26Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? 27And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? 28And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, 29yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. 30But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you — you of little faith? 31Therefore do not worry, saying, 'What will we eat?' or 'What will we drink?' or 'What will we wear?' 32For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. 33But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.
34"So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today's trouble is enough for today.
——
Well, I feel pretty lucky about now. We’ve planned two outdoor chapel services this fall, last week and today, and both of them have been graced with absolutely perfect weather.
Blue sky, nice temperature, not rainy or windy, not oppressively hot.
Our only foes out here might be the bees and the squirrels, but we’ll hope that even they behave this morning.
I really love being in nature. Maybe some of you do, too. And it seems like Jesus did, as well!
The passage that we just heard today comes near the end of the Sermon on the Mount. This is the sermon where Jesus says all the “Blessed are theys” - blessed are they that mourn, blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are the peacemakers, the merciful, the pure in heart.
And then, Jesus continues the sermon by telling them that they are the light of the world, and then...then things get a little challenging. Jesus starts preaching about righteous living, and he tells them that they are supposed to do the full max when it comes to living faithfully, and not the bare minimum, and he tells them to love their enemies, and teaches them how to pray, and tells them that they can’t serve both God and wealth, and does that whole “if your eye causes you to sin, pluck it out”...
And I think, at this point, everybody is staring at Jesus wide-eyed. They are on information overload. And the anxiety about how to “be perfect as your God in heaven is perfect,” as Jesus challenged them, is starting to creep in.
So Jesus takes a breath, and offers them a grace-interlude.
“Look around at nature,” Jesus says, “and see how God takes care of everything that God has created. The birds are well-fed, the flowers of the field bloom in beauty; how much more does God provide you what you need?”
When we are facing down newness in our life - whether the start of a new adventure of our choosing, or a new reality that has been put upon us - our bodies and minds tend to react the same. Newness means change. Change brings uncertainty, it always comes with at least a little bit of loss, and it brings that adrenaline rush of either anticipation or anxiety or both.
In our passage today, Jesus is using nature as one way to help us stay grounded during these seasons of change. Let the days unfold as they come to you, stay present, trust God the way that the birds and the flowers do.
Now, we have to be a little careful here, because anxiety and depression are real, and a walk through the wildflowers probably isn’t going to cure those things. Like, you should still talk to your therapist and take your meds and use all the good resources that are available to you.
But there is something about nature that can help us gain perspective, and help us listen more closely to our heads, our hearts, and the voice of God.
In a recent season of transition, I took a day to hike the entirety of the Trout Run Trail, which is a loop of about 12 miles around the perimeter of Decorah.
I had no major epiphanies. I didn’t solve anything.
But I did stand for a while on a bridge to watch the birds play in the trees.
I ate a picnic lunch and read a chapter of my favorite book.
I found a little side path through a sea of bright yellow flowers.
I chatted with a herd of overly-curious cows.
I listened to the wind whoosh around me at the tops of the hills.
I got some serious blisters.
And somehow, at the end of it, even though nothing had changed, the load felt a little lighter, or maybe I felt a little stronger.
Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your God in heaven feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow withers and fades, will God not much more clothe you — you of little faith? So seek first the kingdom of God, and remember that all of these things will be given to you as well.
For God is your companion and your provider, your constant, and your hope.
Amen.
——
Well, I feel pretty lucky about now. We’ve planned two outdoor chapel services this fall, last week and today, and both of them have been graced with absolutely perfect weather.
Blue sky, nice temperature, not rainy or windy, not oppressively hot.
Our only foes out here might be the bees and the squirrels, but we’ll hope that even they behave this morning.
I really love being in nature. Maybe some of you do, too. And it seems like Jesus did, as well!
The passage that we just heard today comes near the end of the Sermon on the Mount. This is the sermon where Jesus says all the “Blessed are theys” - blessed are they that mourn, blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are the peacemakers, the merciful, the pure in heart.
And then, Jesus continues the sermon by telling them that they are the light of the world, and then...then things get a little challenging. Jesus starts preaching about righteous living, and he tells them that they are supposed to do the full max when it comes to living faithfully, and not the bare minimum, and he tells them to love their enemies, and teaches them how to pray, and tells them that they can’t serve both God and wealth, and does that whole “if your eye causes you to sin, pluck it out”...
And I think, at this point, everybody is staring at Jesus wide-eyed. They are on information overload. And the anxiety about how to “be perfect as your God in heaven is perfect,” as Jesus challenged them, is starting to creep in.
So Jesus takes a breath, and offers them a grace-interlude.
“Look around at nature,” Jesus says, “and see how God takes care of everything that God has created. The birds are well-fed, the flowers of the field bloom in beauty; how much more does God provide you what you need?”
When we are facing down newness in our life - whether the start of a new adventure of our choosing, or a new reality that has been put upon us - our bodies and minds tend to react the same. Newness means change. Change brings uncertainty, it always comes with at least a little bit of loss, and it brings that adrenaline rush of either anticipation or anxiety or both.
In our passage today, Jesus is using nature as one way to help us stay grounded during these seasons of change. Let the days unfold as they come to you, stay present, trust God the way that the birds and the flowers do.
Now, we have to be a little careful here, because anxiety and depression are real, and a walk through the wildflowers probably isn’t going to cure those things. Like, you should still talk to your therapist and take your meds and use all the good resources that are available to you.
But there is something about nature that can help us gain perspective, and help us listen more closely to our heads, our hearts, and the voice of God.
In a recent season of transition, I took a day to hike the entirety of the Trout Run Trail, which is a loop of about 12 miles around the perimeter of Decorah.
I had no major epiphanies. I didn’t solve anything.
But I did stand for a while on a bridge to watch the birds play in the trees.
I ate a picnic lunch and read a chapter of my favorite book.
I found a little side path through a sea of bright yellow flowers.
I chatted with a herd of overly-curious cows.
I listened to the wind whoosh around me at the tops of the hills.
I got some serious blisters.
And somehow, at the end of it, even though nothing had changed, the load felt a little lighter, or maybe I felt a little stronger.
Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your God in heaven feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow withers and fades, will God not much more clothe you — you of little faith? So seek first the kingdom of God, and remember that all of these things will be given to you as well.
For God is your companion and your provider, your constant, and your hope.
Amen.