Anxious Thoughts

There are disquieting, if not downright dangerous, prayers that spiritual giants have prayed. 

Jacob prayed, “Please tell me Your name” (Genesis 32:29).  The answer shook his identity.

Moses prayed, “I pray, show me Your glory” (Exodus 33:18).  The answer shook the mountains.

Hannah prayed, “Give Your maidservant a son, then I will give him to the LORD all the days of his life” (1 Samuel 1:11).  The answer shook up the entire ministry.

Elisha prayed, “O Lord, I pray, open his eyes that he may see” (2 Kings 6:17).  The answer shook loose the division between the spiritual and visible realms.

Hezekiah prayed, “Now, O LORD our God, I pray, deliver us from his hand that all the kingdoms of the earth may know that You alone, O LORD, are God” (2 Kings 19:19).  The answer shook to oblivion the day’s world power preparing to besiege Jerusalem.

Paul prayed, “Who are You, Lord? …. What shall I do, Lord?” (Acts 22:8,10).  The answers shook open the Roman Empire to the gospel of the grace.

Jesus prayed, “Your kingdom come. Your will be done; on earth as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:10) ... “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from Me; yet not as I will, but as You will” (Matthew 26:39) … “Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34).  The answers shook apart and mended together again heaven and earth, time and space, life and death.

Recently, I was prompted to pray a disquieting / dangerous prayer originally prayed by David—“Search me, O God, and know my heart.  Try me and know my anxious thoughts and see if there be any hurtful way in me, and lead me in the everlasting way” (Psalm 139:23-24).  The answer has mercifully shaken me. 

I have already known that I have “anxious thoughts.”  Before even I knew the gospel, I knew this.  But since praying this prayer my anxieties have been exposed; pulled into the light … yet not without a fight.  My anxiety is as natural to me as breathing and so my flesh wants to protect it, justify it, and feed it.  So much so that it seems somehow “off” not to have something weighing on my mind.  What shook me, though, is why I return back to anxiety instead of run to the cross; for with every idol there is some kickback … some counterfeit promise … some reason we keep going back. 

Anxiety, it occurred to me as I prayed, has surprisingly two “draws” upon my flesh: my attempt to lessen my guilt and my attempt to gain some credit.  Some people’s flesh pattern (a biblical term for our way of living, coping, surviving that is yet quite apart from Christ) is to blame others and assume no or little responsibility for sin while others’ pattern is to blame self and assume a lot or all responsibility for sin.  I blame myself more times than not.  Since I blame myself, I am nearly always carrying a weight of guilt—real or imagined.  “It is my fault.  Even if it is not my fault; it might be my fault from some angle I hadn’t even considered … and I am, therefore, answerable to God.” 

So along with guilt, there is fear; fear that I am displeasing to God.  Enter anxiety!  Without even realizing it, and sometimes even proudly, I run to anxiety to deal with my fear and guilt in an attempt to minimize my guilt before God.  If I can just stay a few steps ahead of the game, a few strides ahead of the curve, a few moves ahead of the opponent, then I can minimize guilt.  What’s more is that I find myself rationalizing this pattern—“Well, at least I care … No one else in the universe cares about this particular issue except me … If I am not on my “game” then something seriously wrong might happen—something for which I might be responsible and answerable to God.”  Anxiety, then, is part of the strategy.  I can appeal to my attempts to be well prepared.  I can appeal to my solitary crusade to care about something important.  I can say, “Well, at least I tried” and hopefully get some of the credit for being a responsible, moral person.  Yuck!  Twisted!  Evil!  Anti-christian!  Shaken!

The Savior forgives sin and satisfies guilt—not my staying a few steps ahead of the game.  The Savior swallows up sin, even the sins about which I am not aware—not my over-zealous sense of responsibility.  The Savior loves and His loves casts out fear—not my anxiety.  The Savior did the work of salvation and sanctification—not His work plus my self-righteous “help.”  The Savior answers to God on my behalf since I have deferred my destiny into His capable advocacy—not my clever appeals that attempt to make me look better than I really am and make God’s holy demands less than they really are.

Anxiety is a control technique that I revert to when I disbelieve the gospel is sufficient, when I disbelieve the Savior is good, when I disbelieve that God is all-powerful.  I seek my own "Plan B" to minimize guilt and to lay some claim on the credit for navigating life just a little bit better than others.

Wow.  I wasn’t planning on any of that.  I was just praying, “Search me, O God, and know my heart.  Try me and know my anxious thoughts and see if there be any hurtful way in me, and lead me in the everlasting way” (Psalm 139:23-24).  It turned out to be a downright dangerous prayer to pray.  “God, be merciful to me, the sinner” (Luke 18:13).