“Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?” Matthew 6:27
I wonder what tone Jesus had when he said this. My guess, given the context it was a tone filled with compassion and maybe even sadness. A plea, “don’t you understand I will take care of you?!?” But part of me also wonders if there was perhaps also a hint of sass. The God of the universe, here on earth in flesh, challenging our notions that we have more control in this life than we ever will.
This verse struck me in a deeper way as I heard it once shortly after hearing that a friend’s mother likely had limited time left here on this earth. Her days were numbered. Her hours were few. There were many things she and her family could have worried about in that moment, yet no amount of worry or anxiety could add even an hour to her life. If that wasn’t striking enough, the thought that followed this realization stopped me in my tracks.
Indeed, no amount of worrying can add a single hour to our lives… but it can take them away. Oh how true I’ve seen this be in my life. The anxious wringing of hands. The controlling of other people. The sleepless nights. The mindless hours “researching” things that have no answers just to feel some sense of control.
How many hours of this beautiful life have I lost in anxious toil?
How many times have I forgotten to “consider the flowers” and believe that God cares for me even more than they?
How often have I forgotten my value and tried to earn my worth with a God who provides abundantly for no other reason than He delights in me?
I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know the answer to these questions.
When Jesus uses this question in the middle of encouragement to trust Him for all our needs, I truly can hear the compassion in his voice. This is not a voice of condemnation. No, this is a voice of redemption, of calling back, of longing to let Him restore the hours, the days, the years we’ve lost to worry.
A few weeks ago I was talking with my pastor and his wife, who are also dear friends, about some challenging situations in which my heart and mind were spinning in anxiety. At the end of a message to me he wrote these words:
“Peace arrives.
A gift yet to be opened.
Pull the ribbon.”
Time and time again we hear in Scripture of the gift of peace Jesus has won for us and offers over and over. Sometimes I just refuse to live in that peace he offers. I like to argue that ‘it’s more complicated than that’, that I can’t simply just decide to be at peace. And maybe there is some truth to that when we consider the brokenness of our bodies in this fallen world. Mental illness and trauma are real, and at times is not as simple as choosing peace.
But often we just use that as an excuse. I sometimes like to stay angry at other people. I like to think that if I just spend a few more moments in worry I’ll come up with some solution. I like to harbor envy or fear in my heart for some reason. I like to think of the worst possible outcome or spend my moments complaining.
But there is another choice today.
We can hold onto a peace that is bigger than the horrible situations we face today. We can let God be God and discover joy and delight in doing only what He’s called us to today, nothing more. We can stay in our lane and not “occupy [ourselves] with things too great and marvelous for [us]”. (Psalm 131). We can believe Jesus when he says, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” (John 14:27)
We can stop letting worry steal hours from our day, and instead rest in the peace of God.
Open the gift, friend. Peace is waiting.
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