Sermon by Reverend Dr. John W. Mann | May 21, 2023

1st Peter 5:6-11

When my brother Jim was in high school, he discovered that one of his friends was a cousin; though cousin to some degrees removed. Our great-grandfathers were half- brothers. At the time it was an odd occurrence. Now, with the advent of DNA testing, people may discover relatives they didn’t know they had. Sometimes it’s the long-lost welcomed into the fold; or the embarrassment that comes to light.

In a way, we’re all related. We can think of the fact that we exist as a statistical miracle. Each of us has direct ancestors going back through the mists of time; a lineage that has survived unbroken, through disaster, war, pestilence, disease and all the slings and arrows of time and chance. The close to 8 billion people alive today have ancestry that in time narrows down to fewer and fewer people.

We could say that human nature as we know it today is pretty much the same as it was thirty thousand years ago. Back then people had language, they had tools, they made art, they had religion. All the things that express human nature. They used tools made from wood, stone and the bones of animals; we go the hardware store. They told stories around the campfire; we watch Netflix.

Evolution played a part in who we are today. Certain human traits that we find bothersome today were necessary for survival in the olden days. The survivors passed on their genes to the following generations.

People probably said in their way, “Watch out for the lion. Don’t wander too from the cave.” Those who failed to heed that advice did not survive. Some people who were mindful of that advice survived. The ancestral genetic code picked up other survival mechanisms along the way and passed them down to us.

Back the time of the hunter-gatherers, there was probably someone who lay awake at night, worried about the lion. What if it comes in the night? Why do we have to tell stories about the lion around the campfire? Somehow that genetic code which makes it easier for a person to be anxious got passed along. So today, human family that we are, we are survivors; and we can feel that anxiety. It is in us, to the core of who we are.

Peter, who was a follower of Jesus, reminds us, “Cast all your anxieties on God, because he cares for you.” Peter knew anxiety. It’s there in the stories. He wanted to walk on water, and he jumped in and almost drowned. When Jesus shined like a light, he wanted to build a shelter to hold onto the experience. He swore that he would stand by Jesus to the end; soon after, he swore that he never knew him. Peter was not a flawed character, so much as he was prone to anxiety; he was a human being. I imagine he did not give that advice because he thought it was easy. He gave it because it was part of his own struggle.

It’s normal to feel anxious at times. It’s that sense that causes us to look outside the cave to make sure the lion isn’t around. But sometimes we never want to leave the cave because the lion might be around. Sometimes we have to arrange things in a certain order; or we have to perform rituals before we leave the cave to ensure the lion won’t get us. Over and over again. Or something reminds us of the lion and we panic. Or worst of all, we weren’t even thinking of the lion and we panic for no apparent reason.

One thing I remember about being a child is people talking about as if I wasn’t there. “What’s wrong with him? Why does he have that grin?” It was a “nervous grin;” it was one way that my anxiety showed itself. Getting yelled at, “Quit smiling!” was not helpful.

One of the times I had to go into the hospital; we were at the doctor’s office and some tests were needed; tests that required blood, my blood. That required putting a needle in my arm. The needle was like the lion to me, something to be avoided at all costs. To say that I put up a fuss is an understatement.

One clever person thought that if I don’t see the needle, then it shouldn’t bother me. But I knew it was out there and that it was coming for me. As I sat in a pitch-black room with one person holding me, someone turned on a pen light so that they could see what they were doing. As the pen light drew near, I knew exactly what was happening. There was a needle coming. That was not an effective strategy.

In the hospital they didn’t try to hide anything. Every four hours the nurse carried in a tray with a huge syringe on it and it was time for my shot. The nurse started coming with orderlies, because I had to be caught first and then held down kicking and screaming. After a couple days of that, they came up with a new strategy.

A different nurse came into my room. She was empty handed. She just wanted to talk. She explained that I needed the medicine in order to get well. I understood that. She agreed that the shots were painful; not as some said, just like a little bee sting. She asked if I knew how to count to ten. Of course I did. We counted to ten together; she set the pace. She said, “That’s how long the shot will last. Can you be brave enough to count to ten with me?” Oh, well, brave enough. The first time was a real challenge; but counting to ten helped me to realize that the focus of my anxiety had a beginning and an ending. It was a way of giving me some sense of control over what was happening.

That’s really what we want with anxiety, a sense of control. In the sense that we own it, rather than it owning us.

We can be thankful that the people who wrote about Jesus and what it means to be his followers were honest in their portrayals of themselves. They were not the heroes of their own sagas. They were not super saints endowed with some special spiritual power. The fact that they had been with Jesus in person, and yet they still had to deal with what it means to be human, shows us that they were like we are. The time between then and now is but a short chapter in human history.

Peter offers some sage advice that we can translate for our time.

Humble yourselves – Ask for help. That’s not always an easy thing for some of us to do.

Cast your anxiety on him because he cares for you – talk to God and seek caring support. We can avoid any sort of religious notion that tries to tell us if we just have enough faith, if we just pray with enough conviction, that all will be well. Prayer is not a cure for anything. Prayer is a conversation with God. Prayer is putting ourselves in touch with God. Prayer is the experience of God with us. Prayer is taking a breath in and letting a breath out while counting to ten. Remember the Serenity Prayer:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.

Discipline yourselves – take positive steps toward well-being.

Resist the lion, i.e. the temptation to rely on easy answers or faulty advice.

Know that you are not alone.

Seek the presence of Christ, through prayer and meditation. Seek the presence of Christ through fellowship with a caring and supportive community.

One of the advantages we have over Peter and the people alive during his time, is modern medicine; by comparison, the miracles of modern medicine. We might hear people with a public voice criticizing “Big Pharma.” Without “Big Pharma” we would be in a heap of trouble.

The drug maker Eli Lilly, the company that first marketed Fluoxetine under the brand name Prozac, made billions of dollars from that invention, along with many other drugs for the benefit of humanity. They didn’t just put their profits in the bank. They invested millions of dollars into the Presbyterian Church through a program at Louisville Seminary that offered grants to pastors who needed some time off.

In 2002, they gave me a $12,000 grant to take a three-month Sabbatical. I had written up a proposal entitled, “Listening to God,” that included a long reading list and plans for what I would accomplish and hopes for what I would bring back to the church. They said, “Take it easy. It’s a three-month Sabbath, not a contest or an achievement. So, I spent a summer on a 9000-mile road trip around north America, from the west coast to Cape Breton Island in Nova Scotia.

Some folks in the church didn’t like the idea. Time off with no strings attached. One elder on Session asked what I would do with any left-over funds. I said I would make sure that I spent every penny. Today those sabbatical grants are for $50,000.

I could say that the Eli Lilly grant saved my life. Along with the anti-depressant I’ve been taking for the last forty years. So thank you Eli Lilly for that.

Thank you, Peter, for being honest and authentic. And thank you God for caring about us and loving us with all our anxieties. Amen.