We all have things we worry about. If we don't, we worry about not having things to worry about. Sometimes we worry about things that no one else would understand or believe. It's probably easier though if we actually have universally accepted things about which we can worry. Then we can just pony up and worry about them and no one questions our furrowed brows and raised shoulders.
A lot of times our worry will send us off to the web or even a bookstore to research worry, hoping to find help, self help. We might pick up books on peace and contentment, we might pick up books on worry or we might even pick up both. If we do pick up both, we worry about which one we should read first. At some point in our self-help reading, we're likely to stumble over the pronouncement that worry is bad for us. Then of course, we start worrying about worrying about worry.
The universally recognized worst time (or best if you're a fan of worry) for worry is the middle of the night. Something brings you awake and suddenly, almost reflexively the pressing problem du jour is the only and biggest thing in the world. This might be the result of hormones or dreams or even a spiritual attack. It really doesn't matter because regardless of how big or real or small or irrelevant the issue might actually be, the worry is very real, heart attack real.
Over the years I've tried all manner of responses to this sort of worry. I've had varying degrees of succes, well actually failure I guess, with everything from watching TV, reading, praying and thinking about fun things. What's interesting is that for all that might be wrong with worry it has one huge characteristic that makes it unique in it's strength and purity. Namely, it's as persistent as hell, literally.
Lately I've added a Catholic radio station to my car radio buttons. In the mornings they play a segment in which the Lord's Prayer (the Our Father in Catholic parlance) and the Hail Mary are recited over and over. I've heard this practice demeaned a good bit over the years by well meaning people who imagine that because something is repeated that it's necessarily done mindlessly or even soullessly. That's probably not true. For myself, I've decided that it's probably a bad idea to criticize people for praying scripture, even if they repeat themselves in profound violation of our tastes.
I've spent the last year adding a substantial component of rhytmic practice to my life with Christ. This centers around the church calendar and the Anglican Liturgy. (Liturgy used to be something I'd worry about. To wit: Is it right? Is it boring? Is it hip(ster) enough? When I realized it's about 85% scripture, I stopped worrying. I wouldn't apply those standards to scripture, so why worry about it?)
Some place in all this, I was reminded of something I was taught decades ago but had long forgotten. Namely, the Psalms aren't just another book of the bible. The Psalms are a book of prayers. They were the prayers of an ancient people. A people who loved God. These are prayers born from the total spectrum of human emotion including joy, desperation and even loathing. They were written to be repeated. They are passionate, beautiful, fierce and frightening. I heard Dallas Willard make an off hand statement once to effect that if you want to understand the heart of God, pray and meditate on the Psalms. Yes; I do think so.
These days when I wake up in the middle of the night and the real or imagined crisis of the day threatens to rob me of sleep, one thing comes to mind. "The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want..." It seems that the 23rd Psalm is where worry goes to die. "...He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters..." And many nights I can't even remember the entire Psalm or get the order right. But I don't worry about it. "...He restoreth my soul:..." The night noises both outside and inside my head might seem more real for the deep dark of the late night but so does the peace and completion of salvation. "he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake..." And if you aren't yet asleep, here's the rest of it:
4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:
thou anointest my head with oil;
my cup runneth over.
6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.
Good night. Sleep well.
