Harvest - Year B

Joel 2.21-27; Psalm 126; 1Timothy 6.6-10; Matthew 6.25-33

When I was younger, and a properly annoying teenager I have no doubt, I used to tell my mother endlessly, in response to what I took to be her fussing and over-anxious planning, ‘Mum, don’t worry.’ I still remember her exasperated retort, ‘but I do worry.’

That simple exchange, revealing both the naivety and privilege of my somewhat sheltered existence, and something of what my mum was juggling with, has always stayed with me. Particularly when we hear Jesus, as in this morning’s gospel, blithely telling his disciples not to worry. Is this a version of that annoying teenage self, without a care in the world telling those who have every reason to worry, whose worrying helps keep things on track, that their worrying is unnecessary. Because I know that the effect of such advice can be to make us feel more inadequate, unhelpfully guilty, as we fail to measure up to this gold-standard of a carefree existence. The effect of all that is generally the opposite of what is intended, and is to make the recipient of the advice more anxious – ‘but, I do worry’, as my mum snapped back.

And in the bigger picture, we don’t have to look far for the sources of anxiety, about the future in the face of climate change, about our neighbourhoods and the possibility and fragility of community. We live in anxious times, not least because we feel that anxiety is being exploited by unscrupulous politicians and a rampant social media. Anxiety is the context for fears being whipped up, anxiety fed and watered, so that we struggle to know what is true.

And perhaps anxiety is simply part of the human condition. Anxiety about our mortality, about death, about the fact that one day we won’t be here – what is life for? Anxiety about meaning; and arising out of that, about our status – how we look in the eyes of others. Is that is all there is – the pleasure of looking good in the eyes of others? And we are anxious, if that is indeed the case, how we compare to others.

So Jesus’ words address something very fundamental. Some have taken Jesus’ words literally and found liberation in that. Francis, of whom we helpfully heard much a fortnight ago, famously took that injunction not to worry about what he was to eat tomorrow, or wear tomorrow, seriously, alongside Jesus’ instruction to his disciples to leave everything and follow him. Francis took up the life of an itinerant beggar, living day to day on the generosity of others, a living witness to faith in a God who provides. That example maybe inspiring, but like any ideal it can also be oppressive to those of us who necessarily live a more compromised existence, for whom leaving everything and taking up a life of utter reliance on others is not only impossible, but would feel highly irresponsible. So what are we to make of this advice to trust, be less anxious, so that it is not just a recipe for making us feel less adequate, as if we are not yet proper disciples.

Today is our Harvest Festival, a time to offer back to God the fruits of God’s gift of creation. That reading from Matthew Gospel follows immediately after Jesus telling his disciples that they cannot serve two masters; they cannot serve God and money. Harvest, our offering to God of the fruits of creation, is about choosing God. And from that flows a trust that puts ours anxieties in context, begins to work on them.

One modern translation of this passage, the Message translation, renders Jesus words towards the end of this passage as, ‘What I’m trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God’s giving.’ It is not indifference to clothes and food that Jesus is advocating, but a redirecting of our gaze away from ourselves – am I good enough, do I look alright? – and away from others – oh, they look good, what must they think of me? – away from these anxious making sources of self-worth, and instead, first direct our gaze on God – a God who provides a good earth to sustain all human life, and whose gaze on us is one of love. We often skip over Jesus’ phrase: ‘Look at the birds of the air … Consider the lilies of the field.’ Jesus is inviting us to gaze on creation, and so experience that loving gaze of God which is the source of a self-worth, a wellbeing which sustains and nourishes all creation. That gaze – our gazing on creation, and experiencing God’s loving gaze on us, is one of the things that prayer is for. Getting faith to work on our anxieties. Where we seek affirmation and wellbeing elsewhere, then we cannot avoid becoming anxious – comparing ourselves constantly with others. As 1 Timothy puts it starkly: those who want to be rich fall into temptation and are trapped by many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. Our need to live out of a faithful relationship with God, that roots our humanity, and the humanity and dignity of every person, whatever their status, in the loving gaze and creative power of God, that need has never been greater. Indeed the sustainability of life on the good earth itself is dependent on that locating of our wellbeing in God, rather than on a competitive race with our neighbours – for life on earth is unsustainable on that basis.

And so that is where the connection to Harvest lies – for in our thanksgiving, our gaze is re-directed back to the source of all things, the giver of all things. Away from our preoccupation with self, our anxiety that we’re ok in the eyes of others. Our gaze is redirected to God, to discover there a loving gaze on each one of us, each and every human made in the image and purpose of God – and to find there our ultimate sense of wellbeing and worth and value. God is good. Thanks be to God. Amen.