CT079 - Look at the Birds

Having told us we cannot serve both God and money, Jesus says "therefore" — and turns straight to the worry that money was supposed to fix. Three times he says don't worry, and instead of scolding us, he takes us outside and lets the world preach. The word he uses isn't about planning ahead or working hard; it's the inner churn, the low hum of dread that lies awake doing math on a future that hasn't come.

Then come the two sermons from creation. Look at the birds: they don't sow or reap or store anything in barns, yet the heavenly Father feeds them — and you are worth more than they are. Can worrying add a single hour to your life? Consider the wildflowers: they don't labor or spin a thread, yet not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these, and that grass is here today and thrown into the furnace tomorrow. The logic runs from lesser to greater. If God feeds the birds he never called his children and lavishes beauty on grass that won't last the week, how much more will he care for his own? The diagnosis is gentle: "you of little faith." Anxiety, Jesus is telling us, is not mainly a planning problem or a willpower problem. It's a trust problem.

The cure for worry isn't trying harder to relax; it's a Father whose care was already proven at the cross. The God who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all, is not going to turn stingy over breakfast and a coat. So the next time the churning starts, don't just fight it — look up. Look at the birds. Consider the lilies. And remember the cross, where your Father settled forever the question of whether he'll take care of you. You can trust the hand that has the nail-print in it.