“But if God so clothes the grass in the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, how much more will He clothe you?”

God is often portrayed in Christian theology as being anti-wealth, after all, Jesus seems to preach against more wealthy people than poor people. 

And while I firmly believe that isn’t true, that’s not a debate for today. 

Today, we are talking about worry. 

Because wealth isn’t about the money, it’s about trust.

Look at the sky and you will see birds, none of whom have jobs, careers, shopping centers, or butcher shops, and yet they are fed. 

Look at the Azaleas as they bloom, how beautiful they are, how little effort they put into it, and yet how much more beautiful they are than Prada, Gucci, or our best clothiers. 

The birds don’t clothe themselves, and the Azaleas don’t spin their beautiful fabric of flowers, quite the contrary actually. We humans imitate them.

We print pictures of birds on our wallpapers, our shirts, our prints and paintings and patterns. We copy flowers onto everything we want to make beautiful, so much so that I challenge you to find a home without notes of floral sprinkled throughout.

So the birds have food, the flowers have beauty, and we humans—we have worry.

The birds and flowers aren’t human with the powers of self-reflection, so they are naturally worry-free, but as soon as you introduce a thinking mind, you get worry.

Some of us worry about where our food will come tomorrow, some, like me, have never had that worry our entire lives; not really.

Some of us worry about the future and our income—what if it dries up? 

What if we get furloughed, or worse, fired? 

What if tomorrow is our last day on earth?

What if we are wrong about the after-life and our place in it?

We are the richest nation on the planet, and while there is nothing wrong with wealth, its main side-effect is an infectious and devastating worry. 

We are wealthy, and since wealth is power, it becomes our ultimate safety net. 

We trust in it. 

We run around clutching it so tightly that the very object of our desire (wealth) becomes at the same time the object of our greatest anxiety. 

Which is a major Catch-22 situation and not at all pleasant. 

Meanwhile the birds loop around singing, beautiful against the blooming Azaleas, so full of flowers they seem to burst into flames, and we watch the  bluebirds, thrashers, and finches splash around in the dirty rain-washed dingy bird baths we set out for them, and all we can think of is our own problems.

This is when the American Dream implodes in upon itself. 

It’s not that wealth is the issue; it’s that wealth is too weak to hold us.

We have a safety net made of spider web.

Worrying is just one side-effect.

But the Maker of it all speaks to us in the birds, in the Azaleas, and most of all, in 17th century King James’s majesty of style: “Seek ye first the Kingdom of God, and all these things will be added unto you.”

God isn’t upset with our money; He’s just very, very unimpressed. 

And so are the birds, for that matter.