“Scott Cline, please report to the office.”
As these words sounded over the PA system, my breath stopped short, my stomach turned flips, and the blood drained from my face. Never mind that earlier in the day I had been told to expect this, since I served with my high school’s student government and a leadership meeting was scheduled for that afternoon. I had nothing to fear–I was not guilty of anything which called for disciplinary action, and there was a very good reason that I was being called–nevertheless, authority “just freaked me out.”
Actually, I had developed a pattern of thinking about authority in a certain way.
Whether or not that particular situation would have tempted anybody else to feel anxious is not my concern, at this point. Stepping back and looking at anxiety in general, the question is simply this: how do we account for it?
Answer: the same way we account for any other human reaction–we think.
I shield my face when I think I’m going to get hit. My wife prepares food when she thinks we’re having company. You don a jacket when you think it’s going to be cold.
We do what we do because we think what we do. Worry is no exception.
When Isaac settled in Gerar, “the men of the place asked him about his wife, [and] he said, ‘She is my sister,’ for he feared to say, ‘My wife,’ thinking, ‘lest the men of the place should kill me because of Rebekah,’ because she was attractive in appearance.” (Gen. 26:7)
Or when his son, Jacob, was asked by his father-in-law about the secretive nature of his move, he explained that it was “because I was afraid, for I thought that you would take your daughters from me by force.” (Gen. 31:31)
When we worry, we are thinking; specifically, we are thinking that we might lose something. Isaac thought that he would lose his life. Jacob thought that he would lose his wives.
On the flip side, God’s primary antidote for fear is something which is thought: a truth; often a promise.
“Fear not, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” (Gen. 15:1)
“The angel of God called to Hagar from heaven and said to her, ‘What troubles you, Hagar? Fear not, for God has heard the voice of the boy where he is…I will make him into a great nation.’” (Gen. 21:17-18)
Joseph understood this, when he told his brothers, “‘do not fear; I will provide for you and your little ones.’ Thus he comforted them.”
Whatever the antidote for our anxiety is, then, it must be something which is thought. A truth; maybe a promise.
In many cases, that truth will be situation-specific. For instance, the persecuted missionary may think of Jesus’ promise to him, “Behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (Matt. 28:20)
But, in the absence of a situation-specific promise, is there any overarching truth which I may cling to in any instance, which will serve as anxiety’s antidote? Yes:
What we cannot lose in Jesus is better than what we can lose in _____________.
If I feel anxiety, I am thinking that I might lose something.
Money.
A relationship.
A job.
A semester of school.
My reputation.
The list could go on.
In any of these instances, what I must think and feel and believe with all my heart is that what I cannot lose in Jesus is better than what I can lose in _____________.
The psalmist was not anxious about failing flesh, or a failing heart, precisely because God is better than those things; and, when we prize Jesus as the great treasure of our lives, we can say with that psalmist,
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart (and my money and my relationship and my job) may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. (Ps. 73: 25-26)
