What do we mean when we say God "cares"? Some thoughts on 1 Peter 5:7

November 15, 2024

Cast your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.” 1 Peter 5:7


This is one of my favourite verses in the New Testament, because it’s one that I’ve often read as an after-thought to the one that precedes it: “Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, so that he may exalt you in due time.” As a post-script, I’ve heard it as a hasty reminder that God is nice. And even nice to me. But over time, they've taken on deeper significance.


How?


Well, it started by thinking about what it might mean for God to “care”? The term is used by the disciples when the storm is assaulting their boat and Jesus is asleep in the stern. "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?" (Mk. 4:38). Their assumption is that one who cares is one who acts to rescue those who are in danger. If Jesus is asleep when they’re about to drown, then he must not care for them. Similarly, in John 10, the hired hands are those who do not care for the sheep in contrast to the Good Shepherd who does what? He lays down his life for the sheep. His care is not a feeling of goodwill but it acts to save. [[That the role of shepherds is to act to protect and keep the sheep safe is a point I was reminded of this week in an excellent critique of the responses to the ABC's resignation and the abuse and negligence described in the Makin report... but that's a blog post for another day.]]


***


What I find most interesting and relevant to 1 Peter 5:7 is the story we find in Luke 10: Mary and Martha welcoming Jesus into their home. Martha is busy with the work of hospitality. Mary is learning from Jesus and remains sat as his feet, listening, which fuels Martha's complaint. “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” (Lk. 10:40) Does Jesus not care about the unfair divvying up of duties? That Martha has not just the lion's share but is doing it all. If he cares, then he should act and tell Mary to pull herself together and do her part.


How does Jesus reply? “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things, there is need of only one thing…” Martha is worried and distracted. Just like the person described in 1 Peter 5:7, she is anxious. She is pulled in different directions, she has a lot on her plate and she needs help.


***


If we consider the Luke passage carefully and in light of 1 Peter 5:7, we can begin to see some of Martha’s willingness to trust Jesus. She is anxious (though she doesn't quite admit it as such—Jesus has to point that out). What does she do with that her fretting? She goes to the one she is coming to believe cares for her. Yes, she’s a bit demanding and pushy about it, but she knows Jesus is the answer. She knows that if Jesus cares about her, he will act. He will see her, recognise her struggle and do something to change the circumstances she’s in.


However, there’s one thing missing.


For 1 Peter 5:7 doesn’t say that God cares about us so much he’ll help us to manage our anxieties so all the plates we have up stay spinning. It doesn’t say we get to pretend we’re not anxious, that our life would actually be manageable if God would just provide the crutch or material solution to keep us going in our denial.


1 Peter 5:7 says we are to cast our anxieties on Him. Turn them over to Him. For Martha, that might have looked like putting down the pots and pans, cease chopping vegetables (or whatever it was she was doing) and give that burden of hospitality over to Jesus. The desire to welcome. The frustration that her sister was ignoring her responsibilities and taking the posture of a disciple. What if Martha had admitted it by physically putting down the weight of her frustration and angst and trusting them to Jesus? Trusting that maybe the world won’t come crashing down around her if she does. That somehow, in the letting go, things will find a solution.


***


To be honest, I’ve had one or two things happen recently where I’ve been forcibly reminded that God’s care is real. It's been a little painful. It only came through action I had to take, but that action only came because I hit something of a brick wall in my own efforts: I learned the lesson the hard way.


Yet whether learned the easy way or the hard way, I've been reminded that our anxieties can't be counseled into submission. No willpower will fix it. Instead, the solution is found through stepping out (or in reality, stepping back) and doing concrete thing that turns it all over to God. Things like saying no, admitting vulnerability, not demanding of others but actively resetting what my expectations are of myself. Saying things differently. Doing things differently. Making changes. Learning to embrace my humanity rather than fight it. It's been in doing these kinds of things that I have discovered once again that the world does not need me to live at maximum capacity for it to keep spinning. I don't need a caffeine-fuelled life (though I am still drinking an occasional coffee). It's in the letting go that I allow myself to be cared for by God. That I discover things will be just fine without me. And perhaps [edit: by which I mean definitely] the world will be better off as a result.


*****

By Suse McBay May 29, 2025
****** “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.” I’m not sure if it’s true, but George Lucas, the creator of Star Wars, is credited as popularizing a big change in film production: not having opening credits. Instead of old Westerns and black and white films that began by naming the director, producer, key stars and so on, Lucas began the Star Wars films with the very famous line: “ A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away .” And then came the opening “crawl” that sets up the viewer for the story to come: "It is a period of civil war. Rebel spaceships, striking from a hidden base, have won their first victory against the evil Galactic Empire..." And so it sets up the story of Luke, Leia and Han Solo. Well, I want to suggest this morning that here in Acts 1 we have the opening words and “crawl” to the Book as a whole. And what sets the scene? Jesus’ ascension. *** In Acts 1, Luke recaps from where his gospel left off in Luke 24, with similar talk of the spread of gospel to the ends of the earth, that his disciples will be his witnesses, and his instruction to wait for the promise of God to come that is His Spirit, as well as, of course, Jesus’ ascent into heaven. But the Acts version has a specific focus: repeatedly mention the watching and looking of the disciples, the taking and lifting up of Jesus and the repeated mention of his destination: heaven. So why this attention in Acts' “opening crawl”? How does this set the scene for the story of the church that is told in Acts and continues today? Well, in contrast to the first victory in the opening of Star Wars, perhaps preparing for more victories to come, the Ascension grounds us in the defining, cosmic-shaping victory of Jesus that began with his resurrection and conlcudes with his exaltation in the spiritual world. Echoing Daniel 7, Jesus is taken up on a cloud, the chariot of the warrior-God, and is now enthroned to rule in heaven. The work of the church is done in light of this all-encompassing victory that has already been won. Christ is already King. But it’s not only that. Often we talk about Jesus’ ascension from a human perspective: his physical departure from earth. Here the disciples see for themselves Jesus’ exaltation and the opening of heaven: they are gripped by it. Through Christ’s entrance into and rule in heaven, he is made more readily available to us on earth. T he work of the church is done by living in a new space that recognises this opening of heaven: consider God’s promised Holy Spirit who comes in Acts 2, how angels appear here and throughout Acts, as well as people being healed, delivered from evil spirits, miracles taking place and people coming to faith . The spiritual realm is breaking in. So, this Thursday of 5th week, with deadlines, looming exams and soon-to-come ordinations: where will we look? Will we stare upwards and wonder where Jesus went? Or will we look outwards, and live in the light of the one who rules the heavens and has opened heaven to us, and for whom we wait to rule the earth as well? ******
By Suse McBay May 13, 2025
*** True Colours I was in a situation a few years ago where someone I trusted and expected to act in a certain way didn’t do so. In fact, they did they did the opposite. It hurt. It hurt because there were consequences that affected me, but it also hurt because I thought I knew the person, that I knew how’d they’d respond to pressure. When the rubber hits the road and things get real. Instead, their true colours emerged, and I was wrong. Who I thought this person was, and who they told me they were, was in reality quite different from who they actually proved themselves to be . The specifics aren’t for posting online, but I’m sure you can relate. Most of us can recall some kind of experience of someone we love, someone whose character we trust, letting us down. Someone who you might have believed in—maybe even defended to other people—choosing to do something that shows they weren’t worthy of that trust. Showing that your assessment of them was, essentially, quite different from the reality of who they are. They lacked integrity. Esther’s Example This term at Wycliffe, my colleague John is teaching his way through the book of Esther for the Bible expositions in chapel. Now the book of Esther famously doesn’t even mention God: so what is its purpose? Well, in part (as my colleague has been discussing), it’s a book about wisdom. Will we learn from the wise in the story: Esther (and Mordecai)? Will learn from the foolish: King Ahasuerus? The wicked: Haman? At the start of the book, Esther is a young, timid woman, who’d been through a lot. She was orphan and had been raised by her uncle. But she shows willingness and some social savviness and does what Mordecai tells her to do. By the end of the book she’s bold and courageous. Yes, she knows how to play the political game, but she does so in order to stand up for her people who are being persecuted by Persian imperial policy. She exposes Haman’s duplicitousness. Esther has a remarkable integrity and commitment to who she is and what she values. She is willing to risk her life to stand up for what is right, even knowing the cost. She has integrity. Her insides match her outsides as her character develops through the book. When We Fail Stephen and I go to a large Anglican church in the centre of Oxford. A couple of weeks ago, we had a visiting preacher (who is also a poet and philosopher) preaching about baptism. In the course of his sermon, he reminded us that who we really are is who we are when no-one is watching. And that Jesus died for us, knowing exactly what we do when the curtains are closed and no-one can see us. Again, it speaks to integrity—and that Jesus has come to deal with it. If everyone else thinks I’m a model Christian, but at home, by myself, I’m angry, compulsive, critical, selfish or greedy, the latter is a far more honest assessment of who I am and needs some spiritual help. It exposes a lack of integrity: I have an exterior self who looks one way, but an interior self (that I hide away) that looks quite another. What will happen when the pressure is on? That interior self will come out, one way or another. The good news is Jesus went to the Cross, even for that interior self. And with his help I can be forgiven, heal and become whole. That’s in part what baptism symbolises: me dying to all that ugliness and ungodliness. Naming it, owing it and leaving it with Jesus at the Cross, and then rising to a new life that where my insides match my outsides. A person of integrity. Learn from the Wise: Daniel 11-12 But what of the original situation: when others we trusted in and believed in have let us down? I’ve been teaching my way through the book of Daniel and its been fascinating to muse on this topic. Daniel 7-12 describe a series of visionary experiences that give God’s perspective on the political problems and extreme religious oppression that led to the Maccabean revolt in the 160s BC. These were largely due to the decisions of the Antiochus IV who was on the throne of the Hellenistic empire, a Greek of Seleucid descent. You can read about Antiochus IV in 1 and 2 Maccabees, but the snapshot version is that he installed puppet high priests in the Temple at Jerusalem, looted it for money to fuel his military campaigns, outlawed the Torah (including Sabbath observance and circumcision) and, most egregiously, desecrated the Temple with pig sacrifices and an altar to Zeus. These orders resulted in many faithful Jews having to try and keep Torah secretly. When discovered, those who had done so were public shamed and then executed (e.g. 2 Macc 6:10). It was miserable existence (2 Macc 6:9). Antiochus IV’s diabolical political rule was one thing, but the book of Daniel also wrestles with this: what do we do when our religious leaders let us down? When their outsides don’t match their insides? When we discover they are white-washed tombs (Matt 23:27)? The high priest and many other religious establishment figures were swayed by Antiochus IV at the expense of their loyalty to the Lord Most High. Daniel 11 and 12 in particular speak to this situation. Daniel 11:32 says that Antiochus will “seduce with intrigue those who violate the covenant” in contrast to “the people who are loyal to their God.” A few verses later we learn why: “Those who acknowledge him [Antiochus] he shall make more wealthy, and shall appoint them as rulers over many, and shall distribute the land for a price” (v.39). Antiochus used his power and means to get what he wanted, and those who showed more fidelity to him than to the God of Israel, got to share in that wealth themselves. So, what is Daniel’s answer to when the stewards of God’s covenant and teachers of God’s law reveal their true colours? When their words and who they’ve said they are don’t match up with who they have shown themselves to be? When those around us lack integrity, what are we to do? Well, it’s not to keep hanging on and believing in religious leaders who have proven themselves to be corrupted by political power (they are destined for shame and contempt, Dan 12:2). Daniel’s suggestion is to fix our eyes elsewhere instead: “ The wise among the people shall give understanding to many; for some days, however, they shall fall by sword and flame, and suffer captivity and plunder. ” (Daniel 11:33) Look to the wise. Look to those with understanding. Come to understand for yourselves. But this is not an easy answer. For these are the folk that get into trouble. Who perish by the sword. They don’t look like winners. This is perhaps why Daniel’s own response to the visions is one of weakness, fear and trembling. To understand and see reality for what it is can be deeply disturbing. In Daniel, understanding revolves around knowing God is God of all and all kings should have limits to their power. Even when kings like Antiochus IV trample on what is sacred, and transgress into the holy of holies—divine space—God through his angels is contending with powers beyond human ones and will bring all to judgement. But the waiting in the meantime will not be easy or pain-free. That’s why the promise of resurrection is so important in Daniel 12: it’s reassurance for the faithful—for the wise—to keep going. It is they who will be raised and will be like angels: "Those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the sky, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever." (Dan. 12:3) When those we’ve trusted and believed in fail us, God is at work. There may not be easy answers, and sitting with the reality of betrayal is painful, but God is not done yet. Sometimes what is happening is part of a much bigger, cosmic picture and God will intervene. Others’ words and actions may not line up, but ours can. Our insides can match our outsides and our words match our actions. With God’s help we too can become “ people who are loyal to their God ,” those who “ shall stand firm and take action. ” (Dan. 11:32) ****** Cover picture: John Everett Millais, Esther, 1863–65, Oil on canvas, 77.4 x 106 cm, Private Collection

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