Some words come into style and pass just as quickly from our vocabulary, even quicker than "groovy," meaning really nice, or "fraidycat," meaning - well, that's kind of obvious. You don't hear those words too much anymore. How about "bad," back when "bad" meant "good"? Let me use it in a sentence: "Man, that was a bad sermon." At least I always interpreted that to mean, "Pastor Kennedy, that was one of the most articulate and insightful sermons I ever heard. That was a bad sermon." So if any of you hip folk want to comment on my sermon this morning, just tell me it was bad ... and I'll thank you for the compliment. But please, don't use "boring." Like the seven-year-old who said to the pastor, "That was the most boring sermon I ever heard." And his mother, in line behind him, quickly said, "Robert! Don't listen to him, Pastor. He just repeats what everybody else is saying."

But here's what got me thinking about words out of favor, and I guess you have to be of certain age to remember this word. Worrywart. My Mom used to say it all the time, "Tim, don't be such a worrywart." When I first told her that I wanted to be a pastor, but I didn't know if I could speak in front of people, she said something like, "Don't be such a worrywart Tim; I'm sure your sermons will be bad." I always took great comfort in her confidence, but now I'm thinking that she said that in the early '60s, before bad became good!

I'm just being lighthearted about this word, "bad," but worrywart gets right to the theme of our Gospel text. Jesus tells his disciples not to worry. And why would he tell them that if he didn't sense that they were a bunch of worrywarts or fraidycats? Often Jesus tried to calm the disciples, "Do not be afraid." He walked upon the water in the midst of the storm, as the disciples cowered in the bow, "Take heart, it is I; Do not be afraid." On the Mount of Transfiguration, when Moses and Elijah appeared with Jesus, Peter, James, and John fell to the ground like frightened children. Jesus told them, "Get up; Do not be afraid." Jesus encountered a few of the disciples on Easter morning and told them, "Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me." And it was in Galilee, some time after Easter, that Jesus gave his disciples the antidote to being the worrywart or fraidycat, "I am with you always." That was our text from last week ... and the words apply this week too: "I am with you always."

"Do not worry about tomorrow." I picture Jesus speaking these words in a soothing tone of voice, maybe with a smile on his face to model what therapists would call "a nonanxious presence." Rabbi Edwin Friedman writes, "To the extent we can maintain a 'nonanxious presence' ... such a stance has the potential to modify the anxiety in the others. The problem is to be both nonanxious and present." Jesus was both. Jesus never lost his head, even as he was losing his life. And I have to think that Jesus could be so calm in even the most severe of storms, is that he spent time in prayer ... and had the faith that God would see him through. Like that sign on a church lawn: "When your knees knock together, kneel on them." I can't picture the knees of Jesus knocking. Then again, he did spend a lot of time upon them in prayer!

"Do not worry about tomorrow." As Jesus comforts his disciples, his words echo down through the ages and have lost nothing in translation. "Do not worry about tomorrow." They are words directed to everyone of us. The Greek "mer-im-nah'-o," translated as worried, has a stronger sense than just worry; more like anxious. "Do not be anxious about tomorrow." To me, anxious is worry multiplied, worry squared. But either way, Jesus tells his followers not to worry. Worry is a lack of trust, a lack of faith in a loving God who cares more for humans than for the birds of the sky and the lilies of the field. Beyond that, as Jesus reminds us, "... can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?" And again, Jesus would not have counseled his disciples not to worry, unless they were worrywarts, fraidycats.

I don't worry ... but I have concerns. I am not anxious, but I have concerns. And see, if I label them "concerns" and not "worries," I take myself a bit off the hook, knowing that Jesus would not so easily let me off that hook. Some of my concerns? Not in any particular order, here are three: the war. We don't need a Memorial Day to remind us that four-thousand-and-eighty American lives have already been lost in Iraq; let's end it before the odometer clicks to one more death! Another concern: Will this third time around be a charm for Elizabeth - and will her cancer finally be conquered? A further concern: Will my granddaughter be born healthy, into a world where people are committed to saving the earth? In ten years, will she think her granddaddy's sermons are bad? (Sorry, I just like playing with that concept).

In a beautiful commentary on this text, Dr. Tom Long makes the observation: When Jesus invites the disciples to look, really look, at the carefree world of nature, he invites them to look at a world where God provides, freely and lavishly, a world where anxiety plays no part, where worry is not a reality. Jesus invites us to allow our imaginations to enter such a world, to compare this world with the world in which we must live out our lives.

"The rent is still due, of course, and the department store still expects payment for jeans and coats, but we have seen this other world, this world of God's gracious and tender care, and it promises to overthrow the power of anxiety. We will still wonder if we can make the checkbook balance this month, but there is nothing in this world that can take away what God provides - dignity, a sense of worth, the confidence of being treasured in the heart of God. (My addendum: All the wealth in the world cannot add to that; no poverty can take it away!)

"There is a kind of worry about the coming day that is normal, even healthy. Tomorrow's chemistry test or job interview is bound to provoke concern, and this command 'do not worry about tomorrow" is not an invitation to finesse the exam or to waltz into the interview unprepared.'

And Long concludes, "Those who know that God summons the sun to rise are confident that, whatever tomorrow brings, it will also bring God with it. So, they are content to leave tomorrow's trouble to tomorrow, to roll up their sleeves, and as children of the kingdom face the problems that walk through the door today."

And I conclude with advice shared with Lisa Owens. Lisa was facing knee surgery and was a bit nervous about it. She worked in an animal hospital and she asked her boss, the veterinarian at the clinic, if he had any advice. Without hesitation he told her, "Turn your worries into prayers, get plenty of rest, and don't lick your incision." That advice is at least as helpful as Bobby Mcfarrin singing, "Don't worry, be happy." Incision and rest aside, brother and sister worrywarts, it may be helpful to look at life through a rose colored heart, and turn all your worries into prayers. There is something so positively powerful about positive thinking, that it just might  turn your day around. As a result, maybe tomorrow will be really bad (bad, of course, meaning good)!