Hold Fast: Changes, Chances, & Anxiety

Sermon for The Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 20

Saint Peter's | Arlington, VA

Psalm 1; James 3:13-4:3, 7-8a; Mark 9:30-37

“Grant us, Lord, not to be anxious about earthly things...”

These are the words that convene us together this morning. Each week, our appointed

prayer collects our hearts and minds into a common focus, and it leads us toward shared

reflection.

The Collect of the Day also gives something of a clue to how we might engage the lessons—it’s an interpretive lens, if you will. From it’s surface, today’s collect might not seem all that applicable. But sprinkled throughout much of our readings, we can find much of the essential ingredients under the surface of anxiety: Bitter envy and selfish ambition; coveting that which is unattainable; cravings that war within us; preoccupation with being the greatest. It’s like a perfect recipe.

All of these shortsighted aims—our collect suggests—are a mere fixation on “things that

will surely pass away.” So, as an antidote, we pray that we might “hold fast”—to just think, in

the midst of the churning chaos of anxiety, about “heavenly things.” Easier said than done.

There’s more to this than just misdirected egos, though. At times it would feel our world is

only spinning faster and faster and faster—and just keeping up is about all we can do. And if the day-to-day reality of life doesn’t unsettle us something within us, just pick any

news headline you like—perhaps whichever comes most immediately to mind for you...

We live in a time of anxiety. It is all around us. And it is far from unique to this nation—

but, even still, we face many unique challenges. These are difficult days. And the weeks

and months to come will surely test our resolve even more.

James’ letter addresses a situation we surely know a thing or two about. It doesn’t take

much imagination to consider our own particular “conflicts and disputes” that conjure up

anxiety and make for much disorder. The reason we return to these ancient words in

scripture is because they remain ever relevant to the human condition—including ours.

I think we find in today’s lessons two helpful postures (or practices) for navigating the

complexity of these modern times...

First, be like a tree.

Be like, in the words of the psalmist, “trees planted by streams of water, bearing fruit in due season, with leaves that do not wither.”

Psalm 1 begins with the simple declaration, “happy are they”—which may have a familiar

ring to it. It is not too dissimilar from the refrain Jesus repeats in the sermon on the

mount, “blessed are they.” Like a collect, these words set the tone for the Book of Psalms as a series of beatitudes—words of wisdom which lead to the flourishing life we desire.

I’m reminded of a West African proverb that says, “When the roots are deep, there is no need to fear the wind.” Because to be a tree I think is first and foremost to be grounded. It is to be rooted deep enough to weather any storm, no matter when it may come or what it brings.

Being rooted like this though doesn’t happen by accident, though. Whether we harvest

peace or destruction depends on what our roots draw from. So, we might pause to ask

ourselves what is it that we delight in? What do we love? Because what we love is revealed in the things we give our time and attention to... Is it the wisdom God gives—or do we instead choose to “meditate day and night” on all of those fleeting and empty ego pursuits?

Who knew being like a tree would be so difficult?

For as symbolic as this image is: it is also quite practical. Whenever I feel myself off-

balance or unsettled in my spirit, I try to consciously plant my feet flat on the ground.

Then, for just a brief moment, to imagine roots extending from my feet through the floor

and deep into the ground, where they draw up life-giving nutrients. And then the very

real nourishment that is returned to me may come in the form of remembering words

from a prayer or hymn, or perhaps in simply being still long enough to recall the faith

convictions I hold but truthfully can so easily forget.

Now, to be a tree is also...to be a tree. Which is to say, it is not to be a rose bush or a grassy meadow, a lily of the valley or a bird of the air. It is to know the freedom of being the thing it was created to be: nothing more, nothing less. To exist as one was created.

Which brings us to the second posture we might take away from this morning’s lessons...

Be like a child.

In Mark’s gospel, the disciples are caught up in the same old, same old. It’s predictable.

Pandering for stature is just part of this human life. None of us are immune.

Jesus is compassionate in his response but would seem to be disinterested in the argument altogether. To borrow the words of James, the kind of “gentleness born of wisdom” he is after doesn’t come from securing fame, fortune, or power—those things he is tempted by in the desert. Rather, is comes in relinquishing all of the false things we grasp after to convince ourselves we are worthy of being loved—which cannot ever satisfy the need that rumbles within all of us.

Praying to “hold fast” amid the many changes and chances of this life isn’t about

effectively managing anxiety so that we can achieve more. Moving a few more rungs up

the ladder misses the point. We pray instead that we might let go of anything that gets in

tech way of the embrace of a God who calls us beloved.

Jesus knows this is the thing the disciples are really after and it is what he desires for them.

So, he redirects them to the source of Love itself. And this is just the place where

accepting Jesus’ call in our lives begins—for the disciples, and for ourselves.

What might happen if, like Jesus, we willingly gave up the never-ending pursuit or power

and position? In letting go of the hustle and surrendering instead to a path of service, what might then ripple throughout our world?

Become like a child.

Dare to believe that your belovedness is in fact true.

Risk letting down defenses—and surrender to what you are.

And as a beloved child of God, know that Love’s embrace waits to wrap you up in arms of

welcome—and hold fast.

Amen