The Prescription for Anxiety
Rejoice in the Lord always. Again, I will say, rejoice! (Phil. 4:4)
If anyone ever had a reason to be anxious, it would have been Paul. He’s about sixty years old, thirty years a Christian, and there’s hardly a seaport on the Mediterranean that he doesn't know or hasn’t seen. His back is all angles and curves due to the miles he’s traveled and the beatings he’s suffered. He received thirty-nine lashes on five different occasions. He was beaten with rods on three others. Scars spider web across his skin like bulging veins. He was once left for dead. He has been imprisoned, deserted by friends and co-workers, and has endured shipwrecks, storms and starvation. He's likely half-blind, squinting just to read. (Gal. 4:15) What's more, he’s awaiting trial before the Roman emperor, Nero, who has learned to curry favor with his Roman citizens by killing believers, of which Paul is its poster child. And as if the oppression from the empire weren't enough, Paul also bears the weight of newborn churches whose members are bickering and whose false teachers are preaching out of pride and envy. (Phil. 1:15-17) His future was as gloomy as his jail cell.
Yet to read his words, you'd think he'd just arrived at Sandals in Jamaica. His letter to the Philippians bears not one word of fear or complaint. He never shakes a fist at God. Instead, he lifts his thanks to God and calls on his readers to do the same. "Rejoice in the Lord always. Again, I will say, rejoice!" (Phil. 4:4) Paul's prescription for anxiety begins with a call to rejoice, and Paul used every tool in the box on this particular verse to get our attention. First, he employed a present imperative tense so that his readers would have understood him to say to “continually, habitually rejoice!” And if the verb tense wasn’t enough, he removed the expiration date: "Rejoice in the Lord always." And if the verb tense and the word always were both inadequate, he repeated the command: "Again I will say, rejoice!"
But how can a person really obey that command? To rejoice . . . always? Is it possible for any person to maintain an uninterrupted spirit of gladness? No, but that’s not Paul's challenge here. We’re urged to "Rejoice in the Lord." This verse is a call; not to a feeling, but to a decision. A deeply rooted confidence that God exists, that he’s in control and that he is good. The apostle held firm to this belief. Let Nero rage. Let preachers self-promote. Let storms blow. As a tent maker himself, Paul's tent of faith would never collapse because he’d stabilized it with a sturdy belief system. So, how sturdy is your own?
Flip back the flaps of your soul and you'll see a series of beliefs that serve like poles to stabilize your tent – your life. Your belief system is your answer to the fundamental questions of life: Is anyone in control of the universe? Does life have a purpose? Do I have value? Is this life all there is? Your belief system has nothing to do with your skin color, appearance, talents or your age. Your belief system is not concerned with the exterior of the tent, but with its interior. It is these set of convictions – all of them unseen – upon which your faith depends. (Heb. 11:1) If your belief system is strong, you’ll stand. If it’s weak, the storms will prevail. Belief always precedes behavior. That’s why the apostle Paul, in each of his epistles, addressed convictions before he ever addressed actions. To change the way a person responds to life, you must first change what a person believes about life. The most important thing about you is your belief system.
Paul's belief system was Gibraltar-strong. Take a close look at the poles in the tent of the apostle Paul and you will see one with this inscription: the sovereignty of God. Sovereignty is the term the Bible uses to describe God's perfect control and management of the universe. He preserves and governs every element. He’s continually involved with all created things, directing them to act in a way that fulfills his divine purpose. In the treatment of anxiety, a proper understanding of God’s sovereignty is absolutely essential. Anxiety is often the consequence of perceived chaos. If we sense that we’re victims of unseen, turbulent, random forces, we worry and get anxious.
Psychologists verified this fact when they studied the impact of combat on soldiers in World War II. They determined that after sixty days of continuous combat, ground troops became "emotionally dead." That’s understandable since soldiers endured the constant threat of bombs, machine guns and enemy snipers. The anxiety of ground troops in the study was no surprise. But the comparative calm of fighter pilots? That came as a shock to the researchers since the pilot’s mortality rate was among the highest in combat – 50% of them were killed in action. Yet, fliers loved their work. An amazing 93% of them claimed to be happy in their assignments, even though the odds of survival were the same as a coin toss. So, what made the difference? Simply stated, the pilots had their hands on the stick. They sat in the cockpit. They felt that their fate was theirs to determine. Infantrymen, by contrast, could just as easily be killed standing still or even running away; they felt forlorn and helpless. A formula was thus confirmed: perceived control creates calm; a lack of control gives rise to fear and anxiety.
But you don't need a world war to prove that formula. Gridlock will do the trick. A team of German researchers found that a traffic jam triples your chances of a heart attack. It makes sense, I suppose, since gridlock is the ultimate loss of control. We may know how to drive, but the guy in the next lane certainly doesn't. We could be a NASCAR champion, but the texting teenager could very well be the end of us. There’s no predictability, just stress. Anxiety increases as perceived control diminishes. So, what do we do? Control everything? Never board a plane without a parachute? Never enter a restaurant without bringing your own silverware? Never leave the house without a gas mask? Never give away your heart for fear of a broken one? Never step on a crack lest you break your mother's back? Face anxiety by taking control? If only we could.
The problem is that certainty, or control, is a cruel impostor. A person can accumulate a fortune and still lose it in a recession. A health fanatic may have an exclusive diet of fruits and nuts and still battle cancer. A hermit can avoid human contact altogether and still struggle with insomnia. We want certainty, but the only certainty we have is that certainty isn’t certain. That's why the most stressed-out people in the world are control freaks. They fail at the very thing they pursue the most. The more they try to control the world, the more they realize they can’t. Life becomes a cycle of anxiety, failure; anxiety, failure. We can't take control because control is not ours to take. The Bible has a better idea.
Rather than seeking total control, relinquish it. You can't run the world, but you can entrust it to the God who does. This is the message behind Paul's admonition to "rejoice in the Lord." Peace is within reach, not for a lack of problems, but because of the presence of a sovereign Lord. To read Paul is to read the words of a man who, in the innermost part of his being, believed in the steady hand of a good God.
Suppose your dad’s the world's foremost orthopedic surgeon. People travel from all over the world to see him. He routinely exchanges damaged joints for healthy ones. With the same confidence that a mechanic changes a spark plug, your dad removes and replaces hips, knees and shoulders. At ten years of age, you’re a bit young to comprehend the accomplishments of a renowned surgeon, but you're not too young to stumble down the stairs and twist your ankle. You roll and writhe on the floor and scream for help. You’re weeks away from your first school dance and this is no time for crutches. You need a healthy ankle, and yours is anything but. Then into the room walks your dad, still wearing his surgical scrubs. He removes your shoe, peels back your sock and examines the injury. You groan at the sight of the tennis ball-sized bump. Adolescent anxiety kicks in. "Dad, I'll never walk again!" "Yes, you will." "No one can help me!" "I can." "No one knows what to do!" "I do." "No, you don't!" Your dad lifts his head and asks you a question. "Do you know what I do for a living?" Actually, you don't.
You know he goes to the hospital every day. You know that people call him "doctor." Your mom thinks he’s pretty smart, but you really don't know what your father does. "So," he says as he places a bag of ice on your ankle, "it's time for you to learn." The next day he’s waiting for you in the school parking lot after class. "Hop in. I want you to see what I do," he says. He drives you to his hospital office and shows you the constellation of diplomas on his wall. Adjacent to them is a collection of awards that include words like distinguished and honorable. He hands you a manual on orthopedic surgery that bears his name. "You wrote this?" "I did," he says. His cell phone rings. After the call he announces, "We're off to surgery." You scrub up and follow him into the operating room on your crutches. During the next few minutes, you have a ringside seat for a procedure in which he reconstructs an ankle. He’s the commander of the operating room. He never hesitates or seeks advice. Like Nike, he just does it. One of the nurses whispers, "Your dad’s the best." As the two of you ride home that evening, you look at your father. You see him in a different light. If he can perform orthopedic surgery, he can likely treat a swollen ankle. So, you ask, "You think I'll be okay for the dance?" "Yes, you'll be fine, son." And this time you believe him. Your anxiety decreases as your understanding of your father increases.
Our biggest fears are sprained ankles to God, and a lot of people live with unnecessary anxiety over temporary limps. The next time you fear the future, rejoice in the Lord's sovereignty. Rejoice in what he has accomplished. Rejoice that he is able to do what you cannot. Fill your mind with thoughts of God. "[He is] the Creator, who is blessed forever." (Rom. 1:25) "[He] is the same yesterday, today, and forever." (Heb. 13:8) "[His] years will never end." (Ps. 102:27) He is king, supreme ruler, absolute monarch, and overlord of all history. An arch of his eyebrow and a million angels will pivot and salute. Every throne is a footstool to his. Every crown is papier-mâché next to his. He consults no advisers. He needs no congress. He reports to no one. He’s in charge, and we can rejoice in his Sovereignty.
Sovereignty gives the saint the prescription for peace. Because while others see the problems of the world and wring their hands in anxiety, we see the problems of the world and bend our knees.
Grace,
Randy
