“Does your anxiety add one inch toward your stature” (Luke 12.25).
In June 1913, an explosion in Germany’s Bohemian Forest almost set off a war between the nations of Europe. Britain, France and others were certain the Kaiser had set off a new, destructive weapon he’d then unleash upon the continent. But Germany was adamant that the explosion was not their doing. To prove it, an expedition of their army went into the forest to find out the source. None of those men ever came back.
This is the spark that ignites a conflict that, for the next four years would engulf Europe, causing destruction and leading to millions of deaths. But it’s not what you remember from your high school history class. This wasn’t the first world war. It was the Great Martian War.
Released as part of the one-hundredth anniversary of WWI, The Great Martian War: 1913-1917 was a joint project between the Canada and the U.K. that aired on The History Channel in December of 2013. It tells, in documentary style, an alternate history where Martians land and, in their great war machines, launch an invasion.
Told through actors playing civilians and former soldiers alongside stock footage from WWI with the spider-legged Martian machines CGIed into them, The Great Martian War is a fun take on H. G. Wells War of the Worlds that does a good job of mixing historical events with fiction to present us with a conflict that, for much of the time, feels hopeless.
Aside from its music (which is awful), the film is pretty good. Some of the actors feel like they’re hamming it up for the camera, and not all of the archival “footage” works. But in the fuzzy, black and white scenes of human troops in trenches with nothing more than rifles attempting to slow down the advance of the impervious Martians, the movie does draw you in wondering how (or if) humanity will manage to defeat its invaders.
Invasions, at least in literature and film, present a “home” team (i.e. Earth, America, England) and some sort of superior force. In this story (and Wells’ novel) that’s the Martians who have an advanced fighting technology. But we also see it in non-science fiction tales, where another country invades with superior weapons, strategy, or financing.
Stories of this type play on our anxieties. They touch a part of individuals and nations that, for the moment, are on top of the global power structure. Pre-WWI saw multiple novels depicting invasions of England. And there’s a sub-genre of books these days presenting some lone survivalist in an post-American world order. It seems, no matter how powerful or in control a person or governance is, there’s something that remembers they are vulnerable. And vulnerability reminds us how little control we humans have.
Jesus words above come, in Luke’s account, as an epilogue to the story of the wealthy man who builds up larger and larger storehouses and then sits back in ease as if their riches will shield them from the vagaries of life. I’ve referenced this verse (and the story before it) before because they’re often close to the surface of my mind. Because, I have a habit of, almost always, worrying about something.
Let me draw a line between concepts here. Concern, I believe, is not what Jesus means. Concern comes from the recognition of a real problem that impacts those we love. When family or friends are ill, facing surgery, or dealing with some tragedy, that’s concern. It can occupy our thoughts, distract us, and cause us to lose sleep. But this is different from worry. Concern is rooted in love. Worry or anxiety is about control.
Jesus’ statement above is not that we shouldn’t feel concern for our families during difficult times, nor that lay-offs and financial disasters shouldn’t bother us. Not thinking about such things as food, clothing, and shelter in such times is irresponsible. No, these words are for the comfortable times.
Leanne’s taught me a phrase I repeat often when my mind decides to latch onto something that might happen—usually something breaking. If this is what I’m worrying about, she says, things must be really good. What she means is that if there were real problems, true concerns, this worry (does it always make that noise, is the house cooling/heating like it should, am I sure I closed the refrigerator door) wouldn’t warrant space in my head.
Don’t misunderstand me. Anxiety is a real issue, and for me and some of you chemistry plays a role in how often our minds find something to fixate on and worry about. But, at least for me, it’s starting point is comfort, peace. In other words, when I’m in a place of relative peace like the world powers of the prior centuries (America, England) that’s when I worry about what I can’t control. And I start to look within and without for something, real or imagined, that might change my comfortable life.
This is what Jesus is critiquing in the story about the wealthy man and his storehouses and in this admonition not to worry: the idea that we can control the world around us. The honest realization that reality isn’t something we can manage is a scary one. It means that anything—storms, floods, Martians—might come crashing into our daily life.
Such truth is frightening for someone like me who really believes, sometimes, I could head off the unpredictable. Yet, I know that fear is what Jesus is trying to get me to pay heed to; because, all of it is a waste of time. It’s an action that does nothing. Except make me forget how good it is in this moment with the ones I love, able to do what I need and want to do.
Sure, one could worry that the Great Martian War is yet to come. But is it worth missing the day ahead?
Jesus, even in your divine power you didn’t try to control the outcome of your life with us, yet you showed us how to live in each day, loving those around us. Free us from worry so we can be present in the now, where we always find you.