Homilies
Do Not Worry
“Do Not Worry”. Many of us come to this passage with a mixture of feelings. For some, these words are deeply comforting. They have been heard in moments of uncertainty as a reminder that God is faithful, attentive, and loving. “Your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things” has brought a steady peace to anxious hearts and held people through seasons of change.
For others, however, the same words have landed very differently. They may have been heard at moments of desperate need, when food was scarce, when health failed, when paperwork threatened safety, when disability or trauma made daily life overwhelming. In those moments, “do not worry” may not have sounded like comfort, but like a dismissive and impossible demand.
Jesus says: “Do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ … But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”
At first glance, this sounds like a call to abandon all responsibility and to just wait and trust in God. And in part, it is. But it is not a call to passivity, we need to accept our responsibilities in helping others and in helping ourselves.
We must also notice what Jesus actually names. Before he says “do not worry,” he names some very real, physical needs: food, drink, clothing. These are not luxuries. They are matters of survival and dignity. He also does not say, “These things do not matter.” He says, “Your Father knows that you need them.”
That distinction is important. Jesus is not dismissing material need; he is affirming that God takes it seriously. This is not a God that is beyond or above bodies, bills, borders, diagnoses, or hunger. His care is spoken into a world where people are already struggling.
It is also worth remembering who Jesus is speaking to. His audience is not wealthy landowners or political elites. It is ordinary people many of them poor, vulnerable, and living under imperial pressure. These words are not spoken down to the desperate without understanding as is often incorrectly referenced with Marie Antoinette as saying ‘Let them eat cake’. But is spoken amongst them, with understanding. Jesus was a wanderer, he and his disciples relied on the hospitality of others.
Over time, Christians have heard this passage in very different ways. Some have heard it as a call to radical trust: a reminder that fear does not have the final word, and that life is held within God’s care. This reading has sustained countless people through times illness, grief, and uncertainty and reminds us that we are not alone in our striving.
Others have heard it as a warning against misplaced priorities: an invitation to resist a life consumed by accumulation, anxiety, or status, and instead to orient ourselves toward God’s grace. In this sense, the passage challenges cultures of excess or exuberant living
But there is also a third way this passage has sometimes been heard and although often unintentional, it reads as a kind of spiritual pressure placed on those who are already struggling. When “do not worry” is taken as a command that must be obeyed at all costs, it can seem to suggest that anxiety is a failure of faith, or that unmet needs indicate some kind of spiritual deficiency.
For people living with live issues such as poverty, disability, mental illness, or insecure immigration status, this interpretation has the potential to be deeply damaging. Worry, in these contexts, is not a moral flaw; it is a rational response to real threat. Anxiety can from many sources and be neurological, trauma-shaped, or rooted in systems beyond an individual’s control.
If a reading of Scripture though, leaves people feeling ashamed for being human, then something has gone wrong in how it has been heard.
“Do not worry” is not the same as “do nothing”. The Greek word translated as “worry” carries a sense of being pulled apart, divided, consumed by fear. Jesus is not condemning planning or responsibility. He is addressing the kind of anxiety that fragments the self and erodes hope.
Scripture elsewhere affirms preparation and mutual care. Joseph stores grain. The book of Proverbs praises prudence. Paul organises collections for those in need. The early church shares resources so that “there was not a needy person among them.” Jesus himself accepts food and hospitality. He heals bodies as well as spirits. He never tells the hungry not to notice their hunger. Instead, he feeds them.
So “do not worry” cannot mean “ignore need” or “refuse help.” Trusting God does not require rejecting medicine, benefits, advocacy, community support, or practical assistance. These are often the very means through which God’s provision comes, through the service of others.
When we pray and trust that God will provide, that provision does not usually fall from the sky fully formed. More often, it arrives through human hands and human hearts: through foodbanks and warm spaces, through night shelters and soup kitchens, through charity shops, community cafés, advice centres, and quiet acts of generosity that never make the news. These are not signs that faith has failed; they are signs that God is at work among us.
Christians have always believed that we are God’s hands on earth. God’s care is not abstract. It is embodied. It looks like meals cooked, doors opened, blankets shared, time given, dignity protected. When the church and the wider community act with compassion, God’s provision takes flesh in the world.
And we do this because every person we meet is made in the image of God. Not some people. Not only the strong or the self-sufficient. Every person; those who are hungry, those who are anxious, those who are disabled or displaced, is bearing God’s image and are deserving of respect, and dignity.
Jesus makes this unmistakably clear later in Matthew’s Gospel, when he says: “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”
In those words, Jesus removes any distance between worship and care, or between faith and action. To feed the hungry, to welcome the stranger, to clothe the poor, to make space for those who are cold or exhausted is not just a charitable extra. It is an encounter with Christ himself.
So when Jesus tells us not to worry, he is not telling us to ignore need. He is calling us into a kingdom where no one is left to worry alone, because the community shaped by God’s righteousness steps in with care.
A great deal of harm can be done by imagining God’s provision as something that replaces human responsibility rather than working through it.
In Scripture, God’s care is rarely magical or detached. It is relational and communal. The manna still had to be gathered. Widows fed prophets. Neighbours carried paralysed friends. Churches organised support. Care flowed through people. To say that “God will provide” while refusing to be part of that provision is not faithfulness; it is a misunderstanding of how God works.
Seeking first the kingdom of God does not mean withdrawing from the world’s needs. It means committing ourselves to a vision of life where no one is invisible, or abandoned.
So how might we hear this passage faithfully? Perhaps we might hear it as a word against despair, rather than against need. A reminder that even when systems might fail us, God does not forget us. Or perhaps we might hear it as a word to those who are secure in their lifestyle, calling them to trust God enough to share their resources, advocate for, and stand alongside the vulnerable.
It could be that we hear it as permission to receive help without shame, trusting that God’s care often comes through ordinary, human channels. And perhaps we should hear it as a call to the church, not to tell people not to worry, but to ask why they must.
When Jesus says, “Seek first the kingdom of God,” he is not offering an escape from worldly reality. He is offering a different way of inhabiting it.
The kingdom of God on earth looks like: Communities where no one faces hunger alone, Care that honours the dignity of all people regardless of need and a church that carries burdens together rather than explains them away. Then worry is not something to be banished by a command, but is instead eased by love.
Jesus does not speak these words to scold those who are anxious. He speaks them to reassure the fragile ones. He names real needs and places them within the wider truth of God’s provision through his people.
“Your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things.”
May we honour and trust in that promise and participate in God’s loving care for each another, today, tomorrow, and every day.