Good Worry?

I heard a preacher once talk about how easy reading and interpreting the Bible is. “The words are already there, all I have to do is say them!” I certainly wish that was true, but having children will put that theory to the test immediately. About 6 months ago, our family was reading 1 John 2 and came across verse 15:

Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him.

This caused a crisis of faith for my 9-year old who asked, “Does that mean we can’t love trees? Because I LOVE trees.” What a great question! That deserves an intellectually honest response, one that “all-I-have-to-do-is-say-the-words” is not prepared to address. What do you say if you are a dad who takes both the Bible and your kid seriously? Particularly, how do you read and interpret 1 John 2:15 in light of something like, say, John 3:16?

For God so loved the world he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.

Which is it? Should we love the world or no? Is 1 John 2:15 an absolute command forbidding love for the world for all eternity? If so, doesn’t that make God wrong for loving the world? But if God loves the world—an attitude we should embrace—does that mean 1 John 2:15 is wrong? And if we can’t trust 1 John 2:15, can we trust anything in the Bible? All of the sudden, Christendom collapses under the weight of a 9 year old’s question!

Love-for-the-world seems like an easy task to undertake, but a few probing question exposes the challenge of studying the Bible. Reconciling these two apparently conflicting ideas is possible, but not without a little work. 

I would submit that the concept of worry requires the same thoughtful wrestling. Typically, a passage like Matthew 6:25-34 or Luke 12:22-34 is read and preached in church, and the application sounds like:

• Worry is bad.
• Worry reveals that you don’t adequately trust God.
• So don’t worry.

Some preachers and teachers even go so far as to suggest that worry in all its forms is sin. It’s the ultimate slap in God’s face. I mean, if he takes care of birds but you worry, what does that say about your faith? Don’t you trust him? Pagans worry—are you a pagan?

See? It’s simple! The words are already written for us and all we have to do is read them, then say them. Easy peasy!

Until you start asking questions. Like, what about the couple who sent their college-age son to study abroad in Tel Aviv, but in October he attended a music festival that was attacked by terrorists, and they haven’t heard from their son since? Should we lecture them about the evils of worry and condemn them along with the pagans?

What about the young mom with four children all under the age of 5 whose husband was just given a terminal cancer diagnosis and now has 6 months to live? Should she not worry? Would we rebuke her if she did? Gently correct her for apparently abandoning faith? Wouldn’t it be more telling if she didn’t worry?

I admit I am driven to worry about our second child weekly. Some of his autistic behaviors were cute when he was 7 and will be a felony when he’s 18. I worry that he might have a hard time holding down a job because of his lack of impulse control; or worse, he might do some jail time for the same. No matter how hard we try to correct some of the things he does, he simply doesn’t get it. Should I feel the weight of conviction from Matthew 6 and Luke 12 if, from time to time, I genuinely worry about what his long-term fate might look like? 

I could go on. There is likely a scenario you are familiar with that drives any responsible human to some level of worry only to be met with simplistic answers from well-intended preachers declaring: 

• Worry is bad.
• Worry reveals that you don’t adequately trust God.
• So don’t worry.

Easy peasy! Until you are faced with a laundry list of different circumstances that all keep you awake at night. Don’t worry? How can I not?

In an effort to sanitize our worry, some hide behind the notion of a meaningful difference between “worry” and “genuine concern.” That is the card we like to play, but it amounts to nothing more than linguistic gymnastics. The New Testament does not make a distinction between the two. For instance, in 1 Corinthians 7:32-34, Paul compares married people with single people. Single people, he says, worry about the affairs of the Lord while married people worry about the affairs of their spouse. Saying something like, “Well, that is more along the lines of genuine concern,” simply won't do. The words are identical to what is found in Matthew 6 and Luke 12. Paul uses the same word Jesus uses—worry!—and he does so without condemning one and celebrating the other. “Worry” is the right word in 1 Corinthians 7, and both worries are valid worries. 

In 2 Corinthians 11, Paul lists all the things he has endured for the sake of the gospel. He concludes that list in verse 28 saying, “Besides everything else, I face daily the pressure of my concern for all the churches.” That word for “concern” is the noun form of worry. He worries about his churches. He insists that he should. (Shouldn’t we also worry about the state of our own churches? Our own hearts?).

(What is James 3:1 if not a warning that people like me had better worry that we are handling scripture with accuracy, knowing that we will be judged with greater strictness?)

When my son worries that he might not be allowed to love trees because 1 John forbids loving “the world or the things in the world,” biblical integrity demands a little more work than we might like to do. Coming to the right conclusion is many things, but it is not “easy.” The command prohibiting love for the world in 1 John 2:15 is not an absolute, universal precept meant for all time without exception. The rest of 1 John 2 qualifies the “world” in a way synonymous with values and character traits that deliberately stand opposed to God. In this way, no, we should absolutely not love the world, meaning we should not adopt values and a way of life that directly opposes God. 

On the other hand, we should love the world and everything in it, meaning that we display a certain affection for and responsible stewardship of the created order, fulfilling God’s call to treat the world right and show love for our neighbor as ourselves. We should love the world—the people in it, and the material order that God spoke into existence. It should never leave our conscious mind that at the end of each creation day in Genesis 1, God declared “It is good,” at the end of the creation week He declared “It is very good,” and God has never revoked that declaration. The physical world and the people who inhabit it are worthy objects of our love.

My son is absolutely right to love trees. At the same time, John is absolutely right to forbid aligning ourselves with values that stand opposed to God. Proper biblical study and application demands we know and appreciate the difference, even if it takes a little work to get there.

Perhaps the same could be said of worry. “Do not worry about your life,” in Luke 12 does not come to us as a formal lecture by Jesus on a random topic. Instead, it comes on the heels of a man who asks Jesus to settle a land dispute with his brother. Jesus does not condemn “worry” in all its forms, but rather a kind of worry that looks eerily like coveting. The man would rather have a small tract of than maintain a healthy relationship with a family member, and that is wrong. In light of that, Jesus seems to be saying, “If you are going to worry about something, worry about keeping your relationships healthy and strong.” The problem is not that the man worries and worry is inherently bad. The problem is the man’s worry is misplaced—he is far more concerned about things, even if it means destroying a valuable relationship in order to get it. 

Sacrifice food, drink, reputation, financial security, insurance policy, even your very own life, but don't be willing to sacrifice that unique familial bond. Worry about getting that straightened out, even if it means losing all the rest. 

In Matthew 6, Jesus’ teaching about worry is found in the Sermon on the Mount. This, too, finds its place in a certain context. Jesus warns his listeners about prioritizing personal ambition above matters of the Kingdom of God. The kind of worry rejected here is one that borders on idolatry. The statement that leads to the teaching declares, “You cannot serve God and money.” If you are going to worry about something, worry about how you might build for the Kingdom of God and not how you might build for your own self-sustaining “kingdom.” If you spend your time worrying about material possessions, it will do you no good—when you are dead, your kids are probably going to sell them all for a nickel at a garage sale, and what will they matter to you then? Instead, wouldn’t you rather worry about building for something that will outlive you? For things that will have some sort of eternal significance?

“Love the world, but do not love the world”—it takes some work to get there, but when seen in a fresh light, these two instructions are not contradictory. Instead, they are both true at the same time. So too with worry. It takes some work to get there, but there is such a thing as “Good Worry.”  

I said “worry,” not “despair.” A couple who fears for the life and safety of their son whom they have not heard from in months has a right to worry. Ironically, we might worry that they were cold and apathetic if they didn’t worry. But let that worry drive them to appeal to the mercy of God and not to depart from the faith. Let their worry drive them to a deeper knowledge of the love of God, not drive a wedge between them.

The young mother whose husband was given a terminal diagnosis has a right to worry. Ironically, we might worry that she were insensitive and irresponsible if she didn’t. What she doesn’t need is a lecture on why her worry is bad, sinful, or reveals that she doesn’t adequately trust God. What she needs is help from the church to cast her worries upon the Lord who cares for her. And while she worries about her family, it ought to be the church that worries about her. What she needs is a shoulder to cry on and maybe a few frozen casseroles she can stock away in the freezer so on top of everything else she’s dealing with, she doesn’t have to worry about dinner.

As for me, how can I not worry about the future of our special-needs son? But that worry is not the same as surrendering hope. Instead, my worry for my son drives me to anticipate some of the struggles he may face in adulthood, begin the work now to correct those in advance, and to lean more heavily upon God to lead and guide the path forward. 

So it isn’t that our worry is necessarily bad—even less, inherently evil. Instead, all too often our worry is misplaced. If we are too heavily focused on temporal and fleeting things—even important ones!—perhaps it’s time to repent. If our worry and anxiety drives us to faithless desperation whereby we take matters into our own hands, sidestepping the wisdom and guidance of God, maybe we need some fresh reminders of God’s faithfulness, his gracious timing, and his wonderful ability to play the long game. 

Let us not worry about our own lives, but about how we might use our lives to build for the Kingdom of God. Let’s worry about fractured relationships and how we might go about fixing them. Let’s worry about correcting injustice. Let’s worry about the world, the environment, and how we can work to be good stewards of the good creation God gave us. Let’s worry about the mother who just got that bad news and consider taking the family a casserole. Let’s worry about the state of our own hearts and the hearts of our friends and neighbors. 

There is such a thing as “good worry.”