More Worry the Better

I got an automatic reply to an email a few years ago. It looked like an away message. But it wasn't. The automatic reply was from a young, denominational leader who was working with a lot of people, a lot of churches. Reading it though I realized it wasn't an away message it was more of a "take a number and get in line" message. The automatic reply said, "I only read emails at the end of the day, from four to five o'clock."  The message went on to give fair warning: you will most likely not hear back from me today. There was a way to reach them if this was an emergency or something time sensitive. But the basic message was "take a seat."

              My first thought was positive.  Good for her.  In a day I might get a hundred emails.  My phone pings, my watch flashes, my computer alerts me all day long.  Always something.  Good for her that she is not checking her phone all day, losing focus constantly to ads for shoe companies or notifications that some politicians said something ridiculous.  Focus on people, focus on what deserves your attention.

              My second thought was negative.  You're gonna get fired.  This away message will be read as "you're not what is important to me.  At the end of the day, and only for an hour of my day, will I check to see who has contacted me."  How many times during a day do we start an email with "sorry so slow to respond," by which we mean, "I am sorry I didn't respond immediately."  And true enough her contract was not renewed.

              Three years ago I had coffee with a journalist whose most recent piece was in the Washington Post.  It was an opinion piece about how she and other journalists don't want to read the paper anymore, don't want to watch the news, feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information and events and outrages.  Her desire to turn away from the news cycle was significant because most journalists never disconnect.  They fear missing out, missing the scoop, being left behind.  Here was someone who lives and breathes what is happening now, saying, I don't want to know, I don't want to read it, hear it.

              As I listened to her lament, my first thought was burnout.  Everyone can reach a breaking point, even the most accomplished and successful can reach a point where what brought you joy, and purpose now drains you of life and joy.  Passion can consume you.

              The other thought I had was false dichotomy.  A false dichotomy is when two things are juxtaposed, seen as opposites, as a kind of either this-or-that choice, when in fact, they are not opposites and do not necessarily demand a choice.  The juxtaposition is false.  I got a sense that the choice was between constant awareness, hyper-focus, always paying attention or ignoring, looking away, being cut off. Either one or the other. It's a false choice, either one or the other.

              I would not be surprised if many people feel like the journalist.  There is so much happening all the time, so much information, so much news that is breaking, so many demands of our time and attention, there is a high likelihood of feeling burnt out, a need to step away from it all. And just as likely that you may feel worried that if you do not pay attention, if you do look away, then really bad things are going to happen. 

              Do you remember the pictures of missing kids on milk cartons?  Remember that?  On the back of the half-gallon cardboard milk container there would be a black and white photo of a child that was missing.  There would be a name and a location and a date. 

              This memory came to mind as a recognition that the speed and constancy of information today is not all bad.  Forty years ago if someone was missing, we would take a photo to the cardboard factory; cartons would be made with the missing child's photo; said cartons would be shipped to a dairy; the dairy would fill the cartons with milk; the filled milk cartons would be shipped to a warehouse and then shipped to stores.  Ultimately these cartons would be put on a shelf for a week or so until they were purchased. 

              Now we have Amber alerts that sends this same type of information instantly.  Milk cartons probably had a turnaround time of at least a few weeks.  Now we are working with a few hours.  A few hours are better.  Telling a distraught parent that we can alert the region in a matter of moments is better than saying, we will notify all people who drink milk in half-gallon containers in a few weeks.

              The automatic reply, the burn out, and the alert are all connected by worry, fear, anxiety.  Telling a person who is anxious for you to respond that you will get to them a few days will not inspire confidence, it will likely lead to more anxiety; the false dichotomy of being immersed in information or disconnected will not bring calm or assurance by choosing one or the other—more worry will come from the false choices; the need to act, respond to danger, an emergency is not a moment to relax, to wait. You must act on your fear now.  

              Our lesson today from Luke seems to dismiss fear, worry, anxiety.  "Don't worry," Jesus says.  You can almost hear Bobbie McPheron, "Don't worry be happy." When Jesus says, "Why do you worry," I hear Bob Marley singing "let's get together and feel alright." There is an assurance in the song One Love, we need to take a deep breath, be calm, there is one love, one life, we can feel alright. We just need to get together.  Why worry about food, and drink, and clothes, imagine you are on a beach in Jamaica, let that ease your worries.  And it can.  Finding places of calm in us can ease anxiety.

              Our lesson today can be read as a centering breath.  A yoga moment of mindfulness.  Consider the lilies, consider the ravens. Breathe in, breathe out. Learning to breathe and being mindful are great tools for managing stress, coping with anxiety. It is wonderful that we are exploring Buddhist practices of meditation even though we might not know that is what we are doing.  Learning to eat, to sit, to walk, to breathe in artful ways are great tools for deflecting needless worry, the weight of anxiety.  They are also very Buddhist.

              We could read this teaching of Jesus simply as a way of coping, managing with worry and fear and anxiety.  And sometimes that is all we need.  Don't sweat small stuff is good advice.  Realizing most of what we worry about is not worth worrying about is helpful.  A better way of living.  Yet, our reading has a curious component, something different than stress management.  What Jesus offers here is not a better way to cope, but a path to freedom.  A way beyond fear.  The kingdom of God is beyond fear, beyond worry if we learn what it means to seek it first.

              The best way to see this freedom, this way beyond fear and worry is to find the true opposite of fear and worry.  The opposite of worry is not found in not worrying.  This is what my journalist friend was struggling with.  The false dichotomy of being immersed or disconnected.  The opposite of worry and fear and anxiety is something that might surprise you.  The opposite of worry and fear and anxiety is curiosity.  Curiosity takes delight in the unknown, in the not yet clear, the muddy water; curiosity is not quick to judge, the kind of judgment we make fearing the lack of decision.  Mostly, though, curiosity is an impulse, a first response where we seek the truth, the good, the beautiful as if it can be found. 

              There is a quote often attributed to Walt Whitman, be curious more than you are judgmental.  Whitman may have said it.  There is no verbatim example in his poetry and essays.  It sounds like him though.  The Song of Myself is a long poetic journey of delight and curiosity, as if the world were a place to explore, your neighborhood was a wonderful and beautiful opportunity to find what is good in life.  If you are curios.

              And the heart, the soul, in you and in those around you, what if you were to perceive them as an opportunity and not a threat?  John Steinbeck wrote a novella about this, Cannery Row.  The story begins with a knot hole in a fence.  The author bids you to look through the knot hole in the fence and see the people around you, the liars and drunkards and thieves and ne’er-do-wells.  And then, says the author, look again.  Now you see good men and good women, people of mercy and kindness, who love and care and hope.  You are then prompted to read the rest of the story with the claim, same people.  Steinbeck is saying, let's be more curious, you and I, more curious than judgmental.

              There are times, terrible times, where we must worry, we cannot help it.  The missing child, the car accident, the bad diagnosis. You can't be an honest person and dismiss those as something not to fear.  There are things to fear, to dread.  Suppressing our fears, especially in these moments, is very unhealthy.  The body and mind can suppress terrible things for a time, but only for so long.  And in the other times, the not so terrible times, most of life, it is good to learn how to walk and to eat and to breathe so the persistent weight of the swirling chaos our life can become is managed; it is good to learn how to manage that weight.  I like yoga; I like Buddha.

              What Jesus is offering us though is not stress management or better ways to cope with anxiety and worry.  Jesus is offering freedom, power, the kingdom of God. The kingdom of God is living in what is true and good and beautiful, living these without fear, without trying to possess or control; the kingdom of God is the humility and courage of those who are curious, not judgmental.

              When Jesus said don't worry, the teaching is half done.  The other half, seek first the kingdom, is the completion.  The opposite of worry is curiosity. 

              In the narthex of the sanctuary, on a tall banner, you will find the mission statement of First Presbyterian Church of Metuchen.  Embedded in the mission statement is what some might call a charge for diversity, equity, and inclusion.  It says we seek to embrace all and then there is a list of those who have often felt shunned, not embraced.  You read this mission statement as a progressive or liberal view or part of a political agenda.  You can read it that way.

              I like to read it this way.  We are curious about life and who we are together.  We want to be a place made wonderful because our first impulse is curiosity not judgment, delight not derision.  I am curious about what life and love and hope and joy means to people who are not me.  This may sound strange, but I take great delight in people who categorically disagree with me.  I do because it is always possible, I am wrong.  How terribly boring life becomes with certainty, the weight of never being wrong.

              You can't worry yourself to freedom.  It doesn't work that way.  Wonder.  Wonder can lead to freedom but worry never can.  Try to imagine a day, a future when we define what it means to be a church, when the words people attribute to a congregation are wonder, awe, delight, possibility, curiosity, adventure.  Sounds like freedom.  Amen.