4
Kingdom Perspectives
(6:19–34)
THE FIRST PART of Matthew 6, as we saw in the last chapter, confounds hypocrisy. As such, it is largely negative in tone; yet by that negative tone the positive lesson is driven home. In the pursuit of the righteousness of the kingdom, a man must make sure that his specifically religious “acts of righteousness” are preserved from hypocrisy. He can best avoid hypocrisy by guaranteeing that his ultimate objective is to please God and be rewarded by him. In practical terms, he must eschew all showiness in acts of piety.
At stake are the perspectives of the kingdom. Life in the kingdom is not simply a question of crossing one hurdle or passing one test, followed by relative indifference to kingdom norms. Involved, rather, is that deep repentance which willingly orients all of life around these norms. The second half of Matthew 6, therefore, builds on what has come before. Followers of Jesus not only shun hypocrisy in religious duty, but, more positively, they comprehend that all of life is to be lived and all its attitudes are to be formed according to the perspectives of the kingdom.
Jesus enunciates two general but all-embracing kingdom perspectives. The first is unswerving loyalty to kingdom values, and the second is uncompromised trust in God.
Unswerving Loyalty to Kingdom Values
Three Metaphors (6:19–24)
Treasure, 6:19–21
“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” The treasures on earth here envisaged clearly include rich oriental garments, the sort of clothing any self-respecting moth would dearly love to find. The word translated “rust” may mean just that, and therefore be connected with the corrosion of metals; but it can refer to other kinds of decay and destruction as well. For example, it can refer to something which eats away at a supply of grain. Older commentators, rightly I think, picture a farm along with its products and supplies being eroded, corroded, fouled, destroyed.
Even valuables which cannot be corroded or eaten can be stolen. Many “treasures of earth” are the delight of thieves, who break in and steal. Actually, they “dig through” and steal; for most homes in ancient Palestine were made of mud brick which easily succumbed to any thief with a sharp tool.
In principle, by “treasures of earth” Jesus refers to any valuable which is perishable or which can be lost in one way or another. The means by which the treasure is lost is unimportant (but in our day certainly includes galloping inflation).
By contrast, followers of Jesus must store up for themselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, where thieves do not break in and steal—and where inflation cannot possibly operate. The treasures in question are things which are the result of the divine approval and which will be lavished upon the disciples in the consummated kingdom. The treasures of the new heaven and the new earth are wonderful beyond our wildest expectation. Sometimes the pages of Scripture give us glimpses couched in glittering metaphor as the resources of language are called up to tell us of things still barely conceivable. At other times Scripture extrapolates the advance tastes we enjoy here, and pictures love undiluted, a way of life utterly sinless, integrity untarnished, work and responsibility without fatigue, deep emotions without tears, worship without restraint or disharmony or sham, and best of all the presence of God in an unqualified and unrestricted and personal way. Such treasures cannot be assailed by corrosion or theft.
I do not think that Jesus is condemning all wealth, any more than he is condemning all clothes. He is not prohibiting things, but the love of things. Not money, but the love of money, is a root of all kinds of evil (1 Tim. 6:10). Jesus forbids us from making mere things our treasure, storing things up as if they had ultimate importance.
The preacher, Ecclesiastes, can help us here. Ecclesiastes pictures the construction of buildings, the work ethic, sex, reputation, power, various philosophies, and then dismisses each of them as vanity and a striving after wind. My friend and colleague Dr. Harold Dressler has convinced me that the word translated “vanity” is not to be taken to mean that all these things are equally useless, stupid, “vain,” but that all these things are transient. They are “vanity” in the sense that they are nonenduring. Such things, if you will, are cursed with temporality, with transience. When I die, I will take out with me exactly what I brought in—nothing. Therefore even if thieves and rust spare my goods for the span of my life, it is vain to store up treasures which have such time-limited value.
Of course, to argue as Jesus here argues presupposes belief in rewards and punishments from heaven. Therefore only the man of faith will acknowledge that the argument is valid; for as the writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews puts it, “Without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him” (Heb. 11:6). But if I am genuinely committed to the kingdom of God, my most cherished values will be established by God.
Just as the kingdom is already present, at least incipiently, so even now the disciple of Jesus is accumulating, and enjoying, treasure in heaven. And just as the kingdom is still to come in the fullness of its splendor, so also the disciple of Jesus awaits that consummation in order to enter the fullness of the blessings the Father has prepared for him. He lives by faith; but granted the reality of the objects of that faith, the restraints here expounded are reasonable. We must ask ourselves (if once again I may refer to eternity in the categories of time) how important contemporary transient values will appear to us in fifty billion trillion millennia. It is a poor bargain which exchanges the eternal for the temporal, regardless of how much tinsel is used to make the temporal more attractive. And it is tragic if we have to follow the examples of Achan, Solomon, the rich young ruler, and Demas, in order to discover this basic truth for ourselves.
It is not merely a question of ultimate rewards. It is much more than that, for the things we treasure actually govern our lives. What we value tugs at our minds and emotions; it consumes our time with planning, day-dreaming, and effort to achieve. As Jesus puts it, “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” If a man wants above all else to make a lot of money, buy an extravagant house, ski in the Alps or sail in the Mediterranean, head up his company or buy out his competitor, build his reputation or achieve that next promotion, advance a political opinion or seek public office, he will be devoured by these goals, and the values of the kingdom will get squeezed out. Notice that none of the goals I mentioned is intrinsically bad; but none is of ultimate value, either. Therefore any of them can become evil if it is valued as ultimate treasure and thereby usurps the place of the kingdom. And how much uglier is the situation when the goals are positively evil! But the principle remains the same: We think about our treasures, we are drawn toward our treasures, we fret about our treasures, we measure other things (and other people) by our treasures. This is so painfully true that a person who honestly examines himself can pretty well discover what his real treasures are, simply by studying his deepest desires.
In Canada, freshly fallen snow is usually dry and powdery, not wet and sticky. A large field of new snow is so inviting as it glistens in the winter sun. No mark is on it, no footprint; yours is the privilege of tramping across it and establishing any pattern you like. If you look fixedly at your feet and try to cross the field in a straight line, you will make a most erratic pattern. If instead, you fix your eye on a tree or boulder on the other side and walk straight toward it, the path you leave will be quite remarkably straight.
While we were engaged to be married, Joy and I lived in Cambridge, England. Sometimes we enjoyed long bicycle rides together along the tow path beside the river Cam. Pedaling along, I was never more than two or three feet from the sharp bank: an accidental swerve would mean a tumble into the river. Where the path is wide enough to ride two abreast, Joy would be on the inside. If in conversing back and forth she then started to look at me, I would have to slam on my brakes to avoid either tangling with her bicycle or being forced into the river.
Such illustrations teach us that we tend to move toward the object on which we fix our gaze. In the same way, our whole lives drift relentlessly toward the spot where our treasures are stored, because our hearts will take us there. To follow Jesus faithfully entails therefore a consistent development of our deepest loves, to train ourselves to adopt an unswerving loyalty to kingdom values and to delight in all that God approves. Small wonder that Paul writes in these terms: “Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things” (Col. 3:1f.). Or again: “Command those who are rich in this present world not to be arrogant nor to put their hope in wealth, which is so uncertain, but to put their hope in God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment. Command them to do good, to be rich in good deeds, and to be generous and willing to share. In this way they will lay up treasure for themselves as a firm foundation for the coming age, so that they may take hold of the life that is truly life.” (1 Tim. 6:17–19)
Light, 6:22f.
The next metaphor is a little more difficult to understand. Jesus says, “The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are good, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eyes are bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness!”
It is possible that this thought has its roots in the preceding paragraph. If so, the eye is the lamp of the body in the sense that it enables the body to find its way. Your eye must be “good,” in order for it to direct “your whole body” (a semitic expression meaning “you yourself”) toward what is good.
Alternatively, it is possible (and in my judgment, preferable) to interpret verses 22f. in a somewhat simpler fashion. The whole body—that is, the whole person—is pictured as a room or a house. The purpose of the eye is to illuminate this room, to ensure that it is “full of light.” The eye thus serves as the source of light; we might think of a window in an otherwise windowless room, although in fact Jesus uses the figure of a lamp, not a window.
For the individual to be full of light, then, the eyes must be “good.” If they are bad, if their flame is smoky or their glass caked with soot, if their wick is untrimmed or their fuel depleted, the person remains in utter darkness. Clearly, it is important to discover just what Jesus means, in nonmetaphorical terms, by demanding that the eye be “good.”
But this adjective “good” is a little perplexing. The word in the original was used in the Septuagint to mean “singleness of purpose, undivided loyalty”: hence “single” in the King James Version. However, among the rabbis, the “evil eye” indicated selfishness; and in that case the good eye might well indicate committed generosity. Being full of light is equivalent to being generous; and that seems to fit in well enough as an elaboration of the preceding paragraph’s warnings about foolishly selected treasure.
I suggest that the Septuagint meaning of the word is best, if we may judge by the context. Although at first glance the alternative idea concerning generosity seems to mesh well with the preceding paragraph’s interest in treasure and the next paragraph’s warning against money, closer inspection reveals that the fit is not so good. Verses 19–20 are less concerned with financial wealth and giving it away than with a man’s scale of values whereby he establishes what is his ultimate treasure. Similarly, verse 24 is not so much focused on money as it is on servitude and commitment.
In other words, verses 19–21 and verse 24 all demand unswerving loyalty to kingdom values; the particulars used are treasure and money. The accent remains on singleness of purpose—heart fidelity—toward God. Therefore the word translated “good” by the NIV most probably means “singleness of purpose, undivided loyalty”—which, context apart, is the most natural interpretation. The good eye is the one fixed on God, unwavering in its gaze, constant in its fixation.
The result is that the entire person is “full of light.” I think this expression is lovely. If light is taken in its usual connotations of revelation and purity, then the individual with a single eye toward kingdom values is the person characterized by maximum understanding of divinely revealed truth and by unabashedly pure behavior. Moreover, the expression “full of light” is probably not limited to what the person is in himself, isolated; but that person will also be so full of light that he will give off light. It is by this unreserved commitment to kingdom values that Christians become “the light of the world” (Matt. 5:14).
The alternative is to be “full of darkness,” devoid of revelation and purity. That darkness is especially appalling if the person deceives himself. If he thinks his eye is good when it is bad, he talks himself into believing that his nominal loyalty to kingdom values is deep and genuine, when in fact it is shallow and contrived. That person’s darkness is greatest who thinks his darkness is light: “If then the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness!”
Slavery, 6:24
“No one can serve two masters. Either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and Money” (6:24).
Superficially, the text appears somewhat extreme in its polarization. But two things must be kept in mind if we are to understand it correctly. First, by “masters” Jesus does not have twentieth-century employers in mind (most of whom are limited in authority by trade unions), but something closer to slave owners (although perhaps not quite that stereotyped). It is possible to work for two employers; it is not so easy to serve two masters.
Second, the contrast between love and hate is a common semitic idiom, neither part of which may legitimately be taken absolutely. To hate one of two alternatives and to love the other simply means the latter is strongly preferred, especially if there is any contest between the two. This idiom sheds light on other words of Jesus: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:26). This same Jesus elsewhere insists that people should honor their parents with integrity (Mark 7:9–13); so clearly, he is not advocating hatred. He means that any man’s best love and first allegiance must be directed toward the Father and toward the Son whom he sent, and that even family ties must be considered secondary.
In the same way, Matthew 6:24 warns us that during crises our allegiances get sorted out, and only one can come out on top. One “master” will be preferred: what or whom we want to serve most will be revealed. And then Jesus gives us one pithy example: “You cannot serve both God and Money.”
The word translated “Money” in the NIV is transliterated in most other versions as “Mammon.” Originally the word meant “something in which one puts confidence,” or the like. Eventually, no doubt because man’s confidence is so often deposited in riches, the word came to refer to all material possessions: profit, wealth, money. No one can be simultaneously devoted to both God and money.
Let us admit it. Many, many of us try very hard to compromise in this area. Two jobs become available, and for most of us the weightiest factor prompting us to select the one or the other will be the salary, not the opportunity presented by each option to serve the Lord. Or we make a needless move to a bigger and better car or a bigger and better home, for no other reason than to keep up with (or surpass) peers.
Contrast the attitude of the commentator Matthew Henry (1662–1714) who, when he was robbed, returned home and wrote in his diary words to this effect:
Lord, I thank you
that I have never been robbed before;
that although they took my money, they spared my life;
that although they took everything, it wasn’t very much;
that it was I who was robbed, not I who robbed.
Matthew Henry was a man who served God.
These three metaphors—treasure, light, and slavery—join forces to demand unswerving loyalty to kingdom values.
Uncompromised Trust (6:25–34)
“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes?” What is the “Therefore” there for? It is a logical connective directing attention to what has preceded: Because transient earthly treasures do not satisfy and do not last (6:19–21), because moral and spiritual vision is easily distorted and darkened (6:22f.), because a choice must be made between God and Money (6:24), because the kingdom of God demands unswerving allegiance to its values (6:19–24), therefore do not worry, and in particular do not worry about mere things.
But let us consider a more subtle connection. Jesus has been minimizing the ultimate significance of material possessions; and no doubt not a few among his hearers find themselves wondering, “But what about necessities? It’s all very well to turn your back on wealth when you’re rich; but I’ve got a wife and children, and I can barely provide them with food, clothing, and shelter. What are you saying to me?” In effect, Jesus answers that just as earthly possessions can become an idol which deposes God by becoming disproportionately important, so also can earthly needs become a source of worry which deposes God by fostering distrust. Loyalty to kingdom values rejects all subservience to temporal things, whether that subservience be the type which accumulates endlessly, or the type stamped by a frenetic, faithless, and worried scurry for essentials.
Before examining what Matthew 6:25–34 says about worry, I think it wise to make some general observations about worry and the response of the New Testament to it. This is because anxiety and tension have become a major point of discussion in our society, and attitudes toward it have degenerated into several polarized positions. It is necessary to make an appeal for balance and caution.
Picture three people. The first is a happy-go-lucky, cheerful, almost irresponsible person. He rarely gets anything done, and never gets anything done on time. He doesn’t worry about the next five minutes, let alone tomorrow. Responsibility he wears too lightly; life is a lark. If he is a Christian, it is very difficult to get him to work faithfully at any task. He probably won’t cause any tension by stooping to bitterness or vindictiveness: everyone knows him as a “nice guy.” On the other hand, he remains insensitive to the needs and feelings of others, and is consistently carefree about the spiritual lostness of millions of men.
The second person is almost hyper-responsible. He takes every grief and burden seriously. If there is any trouble, he frets so much over it that he produces outsize ulcers. The state of the economy is a constant weight on his mind: not only does he worry about tomorrow, he wonders how he’ll make out when he retires in forty-two years. He may spread the objects of his worry around, so that every bit of bad news, or even a whiff of potentially bad news, prompts a new outbreak of anxiety; or he may focus his worry and inflated sense of responsibility on a few restricted areas, with the result that he utterly excludes other people and topics.
The third person is a balanced and sane young Christian, noteworthy for his integrity and disciplined hard work. Married with two children, he is supporting them faithfully while he tries to finish his doctorate. With about one year to go, he wakes one night to discover that his wife can’t speak and can’t move her right side. A brain tumor is discovered; but major surgery proves useless. The doctor tells the young man that the recovery period will be lengthy, and will not return his wife to normal strength and mental clarity in any case. In fact, the prognosis is three years, during which time she will become more and more like a vegetable; and then she will die.
These three people hear some preacher use Matthew 6:25–34 as the basis for a long sermon on the wickedness of worry. The preacher says that worry involves distrust in God, and this is shameful.
How will each react?
The first will be quite happy. He always knew that other people were too uptight all the time. Why bother studying so hard for an “A”? Just passing the course is good enough. Why get so hung up with binding commitments? He’s happy and free, and cheerfully obeying the Lord’s injunction not to worry.
The second may feel quite rebuked by the sermon. He knows it is for him. He worries that he has been denying the Lord, and despairs of himself and his sins. Quite without any sense of irony, he begins to worry about worry.
The third person listens to the sermon, and, unless he is remarkably mature and full of grace, bitterly sneers under his breath something to the effect that the preacher should watch his own wife die before venturing on so difficult a subject. And if this third man is tired and feeling a trifle vindictive, he may start to tick off on his mental fingers a few of the things that somebody jolly well ought to start worrying about: ecological problems, threat of nuclear holocaust, runaway inflation, widely scattered wars, racial prejudice, totalitarian cruelty, economic oppression, rampaging alcoholism in France, and rampaging venereal disease in America. He may also list other more personal problems: divorce, competition for promotion at work, deadlines, family feuding, rebellious teenagers, and so on. These personal frustrations and enmities somehow coalesce with national and international concerns because they are all deposited in our minds by newspapers, radio, and television. Not worry? Man number three hears such an injunction and weighs it against the gnawing anxieties which plague the spirit and endanger health, and he mutters, “You don’t understand. It can’t be done.”
These three represent only a small number of possible reactions, but they illustrate the kind of problem this exposition of the text has confronted again and again. Interpreting the Scriptures demands both balance and precision: balance to weld together diverse teachings, and precision so that no one teaching is thoughtlessly extrapolated out of proportion.
Moreover, the application of these diverse emphases requires a certain pastoral awareness of the needs of each individual. The first man needs to hear something about discipline, self-sacrifice, and hard work, and he needs to have illegitimate worry differentiated from these. The second man ought to hear of God’s providence, of the means and results of prayer, and of the self-centeredness which is frequently a large constituent of nagging worry. The third man needs to have a close and loving brother weep with him, pledge support, and perhaps point afresh to the final proof of divine benevolence, the cross of Christ.
I shall offer two propositions:
(1) There is a sense in which worry is not only good, but its absence is, biblically speaking, irresponsible.
(2) There is a sense in which worry is not only evil, but its presence signifies unbelief and disobedience.
The first sort of “worry” is simply the concern of the follower of Jesus to be faithful and useful in his master’s service. Even a casual reading of the Pauline corpus makes it clear that Paul lived and ministered with a certain intensity, a throbbing commitment not only to become more Christ-like himself, but also to fight spiritual battles on behalf of an exponentially increasing number of other believers. His commitment cost him the hardship and sufferings detailed in 2 Corinthians 11:23ff. “Besides everything else,” Paul adds, “I face the daily pressure of my concern for all the churches. Who is weak, and I do not feel weak? Who is led into sin, and I do not inwardly burn?” (2 Cor. 11:28f.).
In addition to these concerns the Christian can be greatly exercised concerning sin, as the beatitudes themselves testify (cf. also Pss. 38 and 51). Small wonder the Christian way can be described in terms of wrestling, boxing; or as a fight, a struggle, a race that demands every effort if the goal is to be reached and the prize won. There is little justification in Scripture for picturing the Christian life in terms of constantly effervescent joy, unbounded peace, unbroken serenity; and still less is there warrant for irresponsibility toward the Lord in the use of his gifts. Joy and peace and freedom there are, but only within the matrix of unadulterated commitment to Jesus, along with all the pressures such commitment must inevitably bring.
None of these “worries” is purely selfish. Moreover, such concerns (a less emotive term than “worries”) are essentially God-directed. That is, they are a result of looking at things from God’s perspective, and seeking to ensure that his will be done on earth as it is in heaven. The absence of such “worries” is irresponsible.
On the other hand, many worries are both illicit and harmful. There is nothing wrong with puttering about the kitchen; but if commitment to the kitchen prompts impatience and distorted values, it deserves rebuke (Luke 10:38–42). Some seed gets planted and grows in a most promising way at first, before thorn bushes choke the life out of it; and those thorn bushes are “the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth” (Matt. 13:22). We sense Paul’s desire to eliminate corrupting worry in Philippians 4:6f.: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Too many Christians overlook the fact that the apostle here gives us the means of overcoming worry, as well as his prohibition.
I dare not neglect prayer and thanksgiving if I am to enjoy God’s transcendent peace and overcome my worries. I must abhor thankless bitterness and eschew sulkiness. My worries must be enumerated before the Father, along with thoughtful requests framed in accordance with his will. These requests must be offered to the accompaniment of sincere gratitude for the many undeserved blessings already received, and for the privilege of stretching my faith by exposure to this new and improved hardship. Thus the follower of Jesus learns really to trust the all-wise and all-gracious sovereignty of God (Rom. 8:28), as he begins to experience the profundity of Peter’s injunction: “Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you” (1 Pet. 5:6f.).
Most—if not all—illicit worries indicate an acute shortage of confidence in God; and therefore to some extent they are self-centered. Most are bound to temporal categories; and where they are not, as in the fearful brother who fears God’s grace is insufficient to pardon him, all the rich promises of the gospel are available to quell them.
Perhaps the trickiest forms of worry are those which marry legitimate concern with self-centered worry. For example, the preacher may be honestly exercised about an impending address he is to give, that it be true, helpful, anointed by the Spirit of God, and spoken in love. But he may also be worried about his reputation. We humans are very skilled at developing mixed motives and mixed worries. God help us to reinforce the good and hold the evil in abomination.
With what sort of worry is our Lord concerned in Matthew 6:25–34? Quite clearly, he is not advocating carefree irresponsibility. What he teaches is that even material necessities are not valid causes of worry among the heirs of the kingdom. Therefore our physical needs, however legitimate they may be, must never supplant our prior commitment to the kingdom of God and his righteousness. Furthermore, he teaches that these same needs become opportunities for living a life distinctive from the surrounding pagans who never learn to trust God for even the basic necessities.
The general principle, 6:25
“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes?” The New International Version’s “Do not worry” is superior to the King James Version’s “Take no thought,” since the injunction is not designed to promote thoughtlessness, but freedom from care.
There is an implicit a fortiori argument here. An a fortiori argument is one with the form, “If this, then how much more that?” There are some famous examples of such reasoning in the New Testament. Perhaps the best known is Romans 8:32: “He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?” God has already given us his best gift; how much more will he give us lesser gifts! Another excellent example of an a fortiori argument lies in the chapter under study: “If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?” (Matt. 6:30). Again, in Matthew 7:11 we find: “If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!”
In Matthew 6:25, the a fortiori argument is only implicit, because the form isn’t present; but the thought seems to be something like this: he who provides us with life, with bodies (which from our perspective are most important), how much more will he also provide things of lesser importance like food and clothes! Therefore, the follower of Jesus is not to worry about such needs, as basic as they are.
This point is driven home by two examples.
Life and food, 6:26f.
“Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?”
During three enjoyable years in Cambridge, England, I spent most of my time working in the excellent facilities of the Tyndale Library. Outside the window by my desk stretched a pleasant, well-kept garden. Every morning, and often throughout the day, scores of birds would come to scratch and peck and pull up worms. But for all their constant activity, they seemed carefree and alert; they chirped and sang, the high note of the robin mingling with the more mellow warble of the thrush and the common note of the sparrow.
These creatures live from day to day, “they do not sow or reap or store away in barns.” Jesus, however, is not arguing that they should be our paradigm, and that we should therefore abolish farming. Rather, he goes on to tell us that despite the day-to-day kind of existence among birds, “yet your heavenly Father feeds them.” The conclusion is inevitable: “Are you not much more valuable than they?” If your heavenly Father feeds them, will he not undertake to feed you, especially in the light of the fact that he considers you more valuable than they? And therefore is not constant worry about how future meals will be provided an affront to God, a charge that we cannot trust his providence? Has not Jesus already taught the heirs of the kingdom to pray, “Give us today our daily bread”? And will this prayer, taught by Jesus himself, be mocked by the Almighty?
Jesus’s argument, both in this example and the next, depends for its validity on a biblical cosmology. Consider four models. The first might be called the open universe.
In this model, the Gs represent gods; the bottom of the diagram is the physical universe as it may be perceived by primitive peoples. My sister lived for years among the people of a certain New Guinea highland tribe. This tribe was pre–Stone Age in its technology—that is to say, however sophisticated they were in other areas, their arrowheads were made of teak or bamboo, not stone (much less metal!). Their cosmology was much like the above model. They thought their activity affected the gods in some way; and these gods or, better, spirits (a more appropriate term, since the people were animists) in turn affected things, people, and events in the perceived world. Such spirits are somewhat whimsical and capricious; and so a great deal of time and care go into placating them and winning their favor. Right religious practice, avoidance of taboos, and the appropriate propitiating sacrifices, all help to ensure good crops, victory in the impending skirmish with the next tribe, the survival of the newborn baby, and the like. In this open universe, of course, science (as we think of it) is inconceivable. The gods (spirits) are too unpredictable; “laws” of cause and effect could not be discovered because they are unexpected, and, if they were somehow unearthed, they would be otherwise interpreted.
The second cosmology is the closed universe. It might be schematized like this:
Everything that is, lies within the circle. And everything that takes place is to be explained by what is already in the circle. The best modern representative of this model of cosmology is science of a purely mechanistic and atheistic variety. There is nothing other than matter, energy, and space. Even time and chance are secondary. And every thing, every person, every event, every emotion, is to be explained by mechanistic principles of cause and effect. Science is not only possible; it is the only perspective considered legitimate.
Some might make an alteration to this model:
At first sight, this is quite an improvement: God is at the center of things. In fact, however, it differs little from the second model, because God is merely part of the mechanism. The best contemporary examples of this sort of cosmology are found among certain philosophers and theologians. These men are not atheists in the sense that they deny the existence of a god; but they are atheists in the sense that they deny that there is a personal and transcendent God. God becomes to them the ground of being, the impersonal force which directs man to authentic existence, and the like. God-words are common; but they refer to some “Being” far removed from the God portrayed in the Bible. And in terms of the way men see reality, science (and its laws of cause and effect) is the dominant force. Men may be called upon to make decisions, but sober reflection reveals that even such decisions are determined by the facts of science (either absolutely or according to the vagaries of statistical accident). I think this cosmology might be labeled the quasi-theistic existentialist universe.
A fourth model may be used to picture biblical cosmology. It is the controlled universe.
In this diagram, everything in the phenomenal universe is found, without exception, within the circle, along with every other created thing or being. Within this universe there are scientific laws to be discovered, and a patterned order which supports principles of cause and effect. Above this universe stands God. Actually, because of God’s omnipresence, he stands both above this universe and in it (to use spatial categories). However, the infinite-personal God cannot be identified with his creation. In this sense, God stands ontologically over against his creation as its Creator and Sustainer. Designed by him, the universe hums along according to regular and predictable laws; but it does so only because he constantly exercises his sovereignty over the whole. No part of the system ever operates completely independently.
Moreover, at any instant he chooses, he is free to suspend or abolish scientific “laws”; that alone will account for such a miracle as the resurrection of Jesus from the dead. Man can discover scientific “laws”; indeed, he must, he is commissioned to do so as the steward of the creation. But the scientist who has adopted this biblical cosmology will not only recognize such laws and allow for divinely initiated exceptions, he will realize that those laws continue faithfully because of God’s sustaining power. More specifically, since divine sovereignty is mediated through the Son, the Christian will hold that it is the Son who is, even now, “sustaining all things by his powerful word” (Heb. 1:3).
This biblical cosmology must be carefully distinguished from two counterfeits. The first is offered by Deism: God has started the whole machine running, like a giant watch; but he has now more or less left it to its own devices. The Bible pictures God, rather, as Sustainer. The second counterfeit recognizes God’s sovereignty and transcendence, but pictures divine control as so immediate that science is excluded. The model becomes akin to the open universe I mentioned first, with all the Gs coalescing into one God. But this ill accounts for the orderliness and structure God has built into the system, and for the mandate he has given man concerning it.
Old Testament believers were quite aware that water evaporates, forms clouds which drop their rain, which provides rivulets, streams, and rivers which run to the sea; but more customarily they preferred to speak of God sending the rain. Such is the biblical cosmology.
This cosmology stands behind Matthew 6:26. Only those who have adopted such a cosmology will sense the thrust of the passage. The Christian looks at a beautifully plumed bird, or an eagle in flight, or a robin straining valiantly in a tug-of-war against a fat worm, and sees his Father’s design and his Father’s care. A bat swoops low at dusk; and the Christian does not say, “Ha! Marvelous aerodynamics, there! Evolution is quite remarkable.” Rather, ornithologist or no, he testifies to God’s activity behind the flight. And the wren who works all day to feed her chicks is evidence of God’s provision for tiny baby birds. The believer who has understood and adopted this biblical cosmology has a constant, abundant array of evidence around him concerning divine providence and beneficence.
Jesus adds one more emphasis to this example. He asks, “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?” (6:27). This verse has been translated in many different ways. For example, in addition to the rendition of the NIV just given, we find:
Which of you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature? (KJV).
Can any of you, however much he worries, make himself an inch taller? (Phillips).
And which of you by being anxious can add one cubit to his span of life? (RSV).
The problem is that the word translated “life” by the NIV can either mean stature or age. Zacchaeus was little in stature (Luke 19:3); Abraham was past the age to father children (Heb. 11:11). In the Greek New Testament, the same word is used in both verses. So in Matthew 6:27, we are asked which of us can add a single cubit (a linear measure of perhaps eighteen inches) to his stature or to his age. The latter seems inappropriate: linear measure can scarcely be added to age. But stature seems no more appropriate, because the force of the question in this case would depend on a very short linear measure, certainly not a cubit. All of the above efforts at translation have been generated by these difficulties.
I am inclined to follow those who see an idiom here, something like this: “Who of you by worrying can add to the pathway of his life a single cubit?” In America a person might say on his birthday, “Well, I’ve reached another milestone.” Of course, he hasn’t; what he has done is used linear measure as a metaphor for age. As a person walks the pathway of life, the time comes when God determines it will end. Worrying will not change that decree; he cannot travel a single cubit farther. So why worry about it?
Body and clothes, 6:28–30
Clothes are scarcely less important than food; and Jesus treats both in the same way. “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?” (6:28–30). The word rendered lilies is, in the original, an obscure word which probably means “wild flowers,” flowers of the field, complementing the “birds of the air” in verse 26.
Watch those flowers grow: they do not work to earn or buy their beauty. They grow. Each flower individually, and all of them in a field as they collectively decorate the green grass, make the opulent splendor of Solomon’s clothing pale by comparison. This is God’s work; the biblical cosmology is again presupposed. The Christian sees the fresh greenness of well-watered grass, and, whether or not he acknowledges the effect of chlorophyll, he certainly acknowledges the God behind the chlorophyll. God clothes the grass with spectacular arrays of flowers, even though the grass is destined to be mowed down and burned up. Shall he not be even more concerned to clothe us, his children?
In other words, biblical cosmology plus observant eyes engender real trust in God. Small wonder Jesus calls those who do not perceive these lessons, “men of little faith” (6:30).
Distinctive living, 6:31f.
At the end of Matthew 5, Jesus insists that his followers must love their enemies, for even pagans and public sinners love their friends. The norms of the kingdom require that our lifestyle be distinctive. Now in chapter 6 we discover—as in love, so also in freedom from worry: “So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them” (6:31f.).
Lack of uncompromising trust in God is not only an affront to him, but also essentially pagan. In other words, verse 32 provides two important reasons why we are not to sound worried and frustrated like secular men. The first is that if we worry as pagans do, it is transparent that we are pursuing the same things they are; but if we are, then because the kingdom values are so different, the kingdom is necessarily being denied. Second, such worry on the part of those who profess faith in God constitutes some sort of denial of that profession, since the heavenly Father is well aware of our needs (cf. also 6:8), and our conduct is advertising loudly that we don’t believe it.
Our worries must not sound like the worries of the world. When the Christian faces the pressure of examinations, does he sound like the pagan in the next room? When he is short of money, even for the essentials, does he complain with the same tone, the same words, the same attitude, as those around him? Away with secular thinking. The follower of Jesus will be concerned to have a distinctive lifestyle, one that is characterized by values and perspectives so un-pagan that his life and conduct are, as it were, stamped all over with the words, “Made in the kingdom of God.”
What does this principle imply for Christians in the professions, in trade unions, in big business? Suppose even one-tenth of contemporary nominal evangelicals pored over the pages of Scripture to establish what their lifestyles should be like, and, with balance, determination, meekness, and courage, found grace to live accordingly. What transformation would be effected in our world! How the light would alleviate the darkness; how the salt would preserve society!
In the fourth century, the Roman emperor Julian the Apostate failed in his efforts to suppress Christianity, largely because of the distinctive living he found among believers. He told his officials, “We ought to be ashamed. Not a beggar is to be found among the Jews, and those godless Galileans [he meant the Christians] feed not only their own people but ours as well, whereas our people receive no assistance whatever from us.” We have some things to learn from the early Christians (not to mention many later ones, such as the Anabaptists) about the sharing of material things; but, more broadly, we have even more things to learn about the importance of the kind of living which is eager to pursue kingdom perspectives.
The question immediately at hand is worry. Would it not be wonderful if some world leader were forced to say today, “We ought to be ashamed. Not a worrier is to be found among those fanatics who call themselves Christians. They cope not only with the pressures faced by other men, but the pressures we put on them as well. And then they go and give comfort to some of us when we worry, whereas our people are constantly gulping down tranquilizers, visiting assorted counselors, and mass-producing overweight ulcers.”
The heart of the matter, 6:33
Because our heavenly Father knows what we need and has committed himself to be gracious to his children, Jesus gives this pledge: “But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well” (6:33). Our part is to avoid consuming worry, even over essentials, and to pursue the kingdom of God. The word “seek” here is present imperative, suggesting unceasing quest. God’s part is then to provide his children with what they need.
Three limitations must be observed. (1) This promise is to the children of God, not to all men indiscriminately. This is made clear by the contrast between Jesus’s disciples and pagans in 6:31f., as well as by the condition in 6:33a itself: Seek first his kingdom and his righteousness. (2) Jesus promises that necessities will be provided (in context, food, drink, and clothes are specified), not luxuries. Many Christians in the West would think it very hard indeed if they had to live at subsistence level, for they have long since come to take as necessities things which others would assess as luxuries. God in his lavish mercy often gives much more than the essentials; but he here pledges himself only to the latter. (3) I think the major exception to this pledge occurs when Christians are suffering for righteousness’ sake. Some are martyred by starvation and by exposure. The overwhelming importance of the kingdom may require self-sacrifice even to this ultimate degree.
God does keep this promise. In the affluent West, too few of us, especially if we are young, have experienced his faithfulness in this regard. But some have been privileged to experience pressure to the point where they have had absolutely no recourse but God. I know a couple who, some years ago, were serving a small, lower class church in Montreal. On Christmas Day, the man distributed food packages, gathered by the church, to the destitute in the vicinity. He returned home to his wife, and both of them thanked the Lord for the food with which he had provided them—one can of beans. One half hour later they were invited out to a Christmas dinner.
Such stories could be multiplied endlessly. God answers prayer and supplies the needs of his own. To this I testify from many experiences of his grace, especially during the long years while I was a student, frequently without any money at all.
But at least I was a student. What shall we say of the desperate hunger that stalks so much of the globe today? I have seen little of it; but what I have seen of it in a Christian context confirms the promise of Matthew 6:33. God provides for his own. This in no way reduces our responsibility to share what we have; rather, it enhances it, for God’s most common way of meeting the material needs of his poor children is by laying such needs on the hearts and consciences of others among his children.
This prompts two other reflections which, even if they are not explicitly stated in the text itself, are quite important. They speak to questions lurking in the back of our minds in these days when evangelicals are reassessing their social responsibility, and at the same time the so-called “Protestant work ethic” has come under attack.
On the first point, we Christians desperately need to assess our goals and commitments in the light of what the Scriptures teach about caring for the hungry (see Prov. 22:9; 25:21f.; Isa. 32:6; 58:6ff.; Ezek. 16:49; 18:7; Matt. 25:42; Luke 3:11; 12:48; Acts 4:32ff.). Christians first of all ought to support their own, but they must reach out to others as well. Sooner or later the mad race toward more and more possessions must cease: let Christians choose to get out of the race now, before there is no choice.
On the second point, work and profit are not to be despised. The Puritans receive much bad popular press; but they have a great deal to teach us about working with integrity. They saw their work as a form of service to the Lord, and, believing that they should be faithful in small things as in great, worked with zealous industry. Moreover, their desire for education brought them advancement, and their simple lifestyle multiplied their savings. (How much does an “average” family of four spend per annum on cigarettes, junk and excess food, alcohol, and questionable entertainment? This arithmetical exercise produces staggering results.) The tragedy of the Puritans was that later generations came to believe, though few would be so crass as to express it, that righteousness and industry were worthwhile virtues because they led to thrift and wealth. They disciplined themselves so that they might accumulate things. Gradually a biblical perspective was subverted into an abhorrent materialism.
Disciples of Jesus must think clearly about these things. They will seek first their Father’s kingdom and righteousness, assured that he will provide enough to cover their needs. And, industrious and honest as they may be, they will refuse to tie their lives and happiness to treasures which can be corrupted and stolen. And rich or poor, they will struggle to understand how best to please their Father by using the wealth he has entrusted to them.
The goal, then, is always the kingdom of God. For the Christian, the disciple of Jesus, there is no other. The logic entailed by this simple fact orients his thinking to kingdom values and concomitantly abolishes worry over merely temporal things, a worry which compromises his trust in his heavenly Father.
Final reason for reducing worry, 6:34
I think Jesus must have said the words in Matthew 6:34 with a wry smile. So far his reasons for sending worry to oblivion have been essentially theological. They have turned on the compassion and providence of God, and on the superlative value of the kingdom. But this last reason is purely pragmatic: “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own” (6:34).
It is as if Jesus recognizes that there will be some unavoidable worry today after all. But let’s limit it to the concerns of today! Our gracious God intends us to take one step at a time, no more; to be responsible today and not fret about tomorrow. “Each day has enough trouble of its own.” And if there will be new troubles tomorrow, so also will there be fresh grace.
The person who enters the kingdom adopts the perspectives of the kingdom. In broadest terms, this entails unswerving loyalty to the values dictated by God, and uncompromised trust in God. In the light of so high a calling, our self-examination will produce some bleak results; and we shall want to pray the words of T. B. Pollock (1836–1896):
We have not known Thee as we ought,
Nor learned Thy wisdom, grace, and power;
The things of earth have filled our thought,
And trifles of the passing hour.
Lord, give us light Thy truth to see,
And make us wise in knowing Thee.
We have not feared Thee as we ought,
Nor bowed beneath Thine aweful eye,
Nor guarded deed, and word, and thought,
Rememb’ring that our God was nigh.
Lord, give us faith to know Thee near,
And grant the grace of holy fear.
We have not loved Thee as we ought,
Nor cared that we are loved by Thee;
Thy presence have coldly sought,
And feebly longed Thy face to see.
Lord, give a pure and loving heart
To feel and own the love Thou art.
We have not served Thee as we ought;
Alas, the duties left undone,
The work with little fervor wrought,
The battles lost or scarcely won!
Lord, give the zeal, and give the might,
For Thee to toil, for Thee to fight.
When shall we know Thee as we ought,
And fear, and love, and serve aright?
When shall we, out of trial brought,
Be perfect in the land of light?
Lord, may we day by day prepare
To see Thy face, and serve Thee there.