From Worry to Righteousness

In the 6th chapter of Matthew’s Gospel (6:25-34) and the 12th of Luke's (12:22-34), Jesus speaks a monologue that, if taken seriously, can fundamentally change the nature and feel of our experience. It is in these passages that we can truly see that Christ calls his followers to more than mere belief and practice—he requires single-minded devotion that, if adopted, leads down only one road: the path of an exceptional life. This word “exceptional” is not to be taken lightly, because within it lies the paradox and the point of Christian life in this world.

Christ calls us to live exceptional lives. We should not take “exceptional” merely to mean “exceedingly good;” on the contrary, we must understand “exceptional” to mean, as the Doubleday Dictionary will testify: “unusual or uncommon, esp. in a superior way.” An exceptional life is more than an atypical life—it is a life which generally ignores conventions and precedents, breaking some and following others, merely because it is not guided by such petty things. It is a life that is wondered at by most, frowned upon by many, applauded by few, and truly understood by even fewer. It is an enigmatic existence. For some, it is too revolutionary; for others, not revolutionary enough. But revolution in this sense is not its end, nor its means, nor its concern. Some might admire such dismissal of societal norms for the sheer audacity of it all, but those who truly understand exceptionalism see that outside reactions are totally irrelevant to the follower of Christ. The exceptional human being is more like Henry David Thoreau, in happy solitude at Walden Pond, than like the flashy Vietnam protester yelling in the streets. “It was never between you and them, anyway—it was between you and God.” (Mother Teresa)

Christian exceptionalism is not childish rebellion or self-righteous protest; on the contrary, it is a quiet and peaceful resolution to follow the precepts of a higher reality, a Truth that has been revealed, and that makes every other affair in this world seem charmingly unimportant by comparison. So what does this sort of person look like? One might play upon the outskirts of truth by recalling what Tony Bennett once said in an interview: that he had always tried to make his voice sound unique. He knew that if he tried to sing like everyone else, he would end up just another nameless member of a chorus somewhere. But by cultivating a unique and personal sound, he has become one of the most popular and long-lived entertainers of the 20th century—his music spanning decades and eras, and continuing to this day.

Now this example is not meant to idealize the goal of worldly success or glory, but of maximizing one’s potential effectiveness in a given area. As Bennett did with singing, the Christian must do with life. And a key part of an effective life is obeying a higher order of reality than that of this world, and that necessarily makes our lives exceptional. The time comes for everyone to step out of the chorus and sing solo.

Society tells us to seek money and worldly success; Scripture tells us to despise it (Mt. 6:24). Society has “liberated” us to follow our passions; Scripture tells us to crucify these passions (Gal. 5:24). Society tells us that what we see is all there is to believe; Scripture tells us that what we don’t see is all that is worth believing in (2 Cor. 4:18).

If we hear the Truth and honestly accept it, we must base our lives upon it. And that may put us in situations that are uncomfortable—but if we remember that it is the eternal which we desire, not the temporal, then any momentary discomfort will seem far less dire (2 Cor. 4:17).

This brings us back to that 1st passage mentioned at the beginning, in which Jesus tells us not to worry about tomorrow, about our worldly concerns and temporal endeavors. Stop and think about how often you actually live like that. The 10 Commandments we can mostly handle; the Beatitudes are tough, but doable in theory; but this—this is something entirely different. Jesus is not just calling us to reform our behavior toward higher ideals, he is now directing us to change our basic attitudes. Jesus is calling for a fundamental conversion of our philosophy of life: a turning from tension to ease, from anxiety to gratitude, from worry to righteousness. What could be more counter-cultural than that, and what could be more difficult?

Everyone worries about something, it seems. But Christ’s admonishment on the Mount blows our worry out of the water of consciousness by showing us that incessant worry is a form of idolatry; if something other than God and His righteousness dominates our thoughts on a given day, we are placing an idol on a pedestal above the cross. That is why Jesus refers to the worrywarts as “you of little faith.” Not only do they lack the faith that God will deliver them from their troubles, but they also lack the devotion to think of God (and, thus, His compassion and power) on a regular basis. Such moment-to-moment consideration of God would be enough to obliterate any worry.

Perhaps the most appealing part of this monologue, though, it its practical sense. As humans, we have struggled, probably since our caveman days, with worry. We have strained against the door of uncertainty, trying with every ounce of our being to get through it and discover how our problems turn out. Jesus is essentially telling us that this door is opened and closed by only One, Who alone knows what is best, and actually wants this for each one of us. So there’s no need to strain. We can stand calmly and enjoy our surroundings, catch our breath, patiently waiting for the door to be opened. Then we can step inside and enjoy the present moment, the quiet joy of watching the will of God unfold.