Harvest Thanksgiving

 

Readings: 1 Timothy 6: 6-10 and Matthew 6: 25-33

 

Harvest is one of those times in the church calendar when we love to celebrate the rhythms of creation. We bring forward our produce and gifts, and we sing the familiar, comforting hymns about all being safely gathered in before the winter storms begin.

It feels warm, stable, and deeply reassuring.

Yet, if we are honest, for many of us in a comfortable, prosperous community, Harvest can feel just a little bit detached from our day-to-day reality. Most of us haven't spent the last six months anxiously scanning the skies for rain or praying over the health of a wheat crop.

We don't get our food from a field; we get it from Sainsbury’s or Morrisons, or Waitrose if we want to avoid the riff raff! If we want strawberries in December, we buy them. If we want focaccia or sourdough bread, we don't pray for a good harvest; we simply tap our contactless card or phone.

For a relatively affluent group, the great danger is not that we forget to say thank you for our provisions.

No, the subtle danger for us is that we quietly drift into believing a profound myth: the myth of our own self-sufficiency.

One of the temptations for me is to at my life, my house, my cars, my pensions or investments, our carefully managed plans, and, maybe like me, we secretly whisper to ourselves, "I am secure. I have provided for my future."

And into that comfortable, sensible mindset, our readings today crash like a bowling ball through a set of skittles.

 

Two Masters and the Trap of "Just a Little Bit More"

In 1 Timothy, Paul writes to his young protegee in Ephesus—a roaring, prosperous commercial hub dominated by trade and the vast wealth of the Temple of Artemis (Remember the silversmiths revolt in Acts?). Paul writes to a culture obsessed with status and financial security, and he utters these famous, sobering words:

"Godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it... For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil." (1 Timothy 6:6-7, 10)

Notice Paul doesn't say money itself is evil. He says the love of money—that deep, gripping affection and trust we place in material wealth—is the root of all kinds of evil.

 

Paul uses an organic metaphor here – ‘root’. It’s a plant that takes root in the human heart and slowly strangles everything else. It echoes what Jesus said in the Parable of the Sower

Which reminds me…4:19 – God woke me up – I felt him saying read Mark4:19 – oh how exciting, maybe an encouraging word from God!

"the worries of this life, the deceitfulness of wealth come in and the desire for other things come in and choke the word, making it unfruitful" (Mark 4:19).

Hmmm – didn’t get back to sleep that night…and I’m still holding that message in my head and heart as a warning, a caution – Jesus said the way is narrow, Rich men find it hard to enter the Kingdom of God right?

Is it any coincidence I wonder that Christian faith and church attendance are declining most rapidly in the wealthy, comfortable West? When we have everything, we feel we need nothing—and the seed of the Gospel gets quietly, systematically choked out by our comfort.

There is a famous story told about one of the Rothschild family, one of the wealthiest men of his era. He was asked, "How much money does it take to make a person truly happy?" His answer was brief and it was honest: "Just a little bit more."

That is the trap of wealth. We call them "possessions," but so often, our possessions end up possessing us. They lure us into a false sense of control. They promise us security, but all they actually deliver is a moving target. Wealth tempts us to build bigger barns, store up greater reserves, and put our ultimate trust in our own balance sheets rather than in the living God.

 

The Anatomy of Anxiety

That brings us directly to Jesus’ words in the Sermon on the Mount.

Right before our gospel reading begins, Jesus makes a stark, uncompromising declaration in Matthew 6:24: "You cannot serve both God and Mammon." Mammon isn't just money; it is a personified spiritual force that demands our allegiance and promises us ultimate security.

And then, in verse 25, Jesus says: "Therefore..."

Because you cannot serve two masters, because you cannot base your life on material wealth, therefore do not be anxious about your life.

Now, when we read Jesus’ words about the birds of the air and the lilies of the field, it can be tempting to dismiss them as lovely, poetic, but utterly unrealistic idealism.

"Don't worry about what you will eat or wear? Look at the birds? Easy for Jesus to say! Because if we don't plan ahead, sow seeds, and manage our resources, we starve!"

 

In our post-industrial world, work and planning are essential. In fact, the Apostle Paul himself writes elsewhere that "if anyone will not work, neither shall he eat" (2 Thessalonians 3:10) and that failing to provide for one's family is a grave neglect (1 Timothy 5:8). The good old protestant work ethic starts to kick in.

Jesus is not calling us to a life of reckless laziness or a refusal to plan sensibly for the future.

Look closely at the text. Six times in this short passage, Jesus uses the Greek word merimnao—translated as "be anxious" or "worry."

The focus of Jesus’ teaching isn't sensible stewardship; it is the destructive, soul-crushing anxiety that comes when we try to carry the weight of our future on our own shoulders.

Merimnao literally means to be pulled apart, to be divided in mind (Meros means part or portion). It is that low-grade, persistent churning in your stomach at 4:19am. It’s the constant, unspoken fear: What if my savings run out? What if my health fails? What if the economy collapses? What if I lose control?

It is a tragic irony of our age that despite living in the most materially prosperous, technologically advanced era in human history, we are living through an epidemic of anxiety. There is a lot we find to be anxious about these days, war in Europe, an unpredictable US President, the advancement of AI which we are told by experts has a 10% chance of wiping us all out…

When we try to secure our own lives without God, anxiety is always the end result.

 

Look at the Birds, Consider the Lilies

To break this stranglehold of worry, Jesus points us back to creation—a fitting image for Harvest Sunday.

He says: "Look at the birds... Consider the wild flowers."

Notice the two distinct lessons Jesus gives us through nature:

1.   The birds emphasize God’s daily, sustaining provision. They don't store up in barns, yet God feeds them. Jesus isn't saying the birds do nothing—birds spend all day searching for food! But they live in a posture of simple, moment-by-moment dependence on their Creator.

2.   The lilies emphasize the passing, temporary nature of earthly splendour. Solomon in all his glorious, gold-adorned court couldn't match the breathtaking beauty of a simple field flower. Yet that flower is here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow.

If God takes such exquisite care of passing flowers and common birds, how much more will He care for you, O you of little faith?

 

This isn't a promise that bad things will never happen, or that Christians will never experience material lack or mental health struggles – either or both of those may be a real issue for you today. We know that faithful believers in developing nations face desperate scarcity, and many deeply godly people struggle daily with medical anxiety and clinical depression.

Jesus is not giving us a simplistic, magic formula that guarantees a smooth life.

He is addressing the seat of our trust. He is asking us: Where is your ultimate anchor? Is your life built on the shifting sand of your own resources, or on the rock of a Father who knows what you need before you even ask Him?

In the Lord's Prayer, Jesus taught us to pray: "Your kingdom come..." and only then, "Give us today our daily bread." The order is important! And notice it is daily bread—not a ten-year guarantee, not an ironclad fortress against every possible contingency, but today’s provision for today’s need.

 

The Challenge: Where Is Your Trust?

As we bring our Harvest gifts today, as we thank God for the abundance on our tables, this passage places a profound challenge before every one of us—especially those of us who are older, settled, and financially comfortable.

It calls us to a radical reset of our priorities. It invites us to step off the treadmill of acquisition, consumerism, and self-reliance.

 

Jesus sums up his entire argument in verse 33:

"But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well." (Matthew 6:33)

What does it look like for us to "seek first the kingdom"?

It means making a conscious, daily decision to transfer our trust away from our assets, our status, and our self-reliance, and place it firmly back into the hands of God.

• It changes how we view our wealth. We stop seeing our resources as a private fortress to protect ourselves against the future, and start seeing them as God’s money, entrusted to us to be used generously for His Kingdom, His Church, and the poor. More about stewardship in a few weeks.
• It changes how we hold our future. When the fear of the unknown creeps in. When we worry about our health, our independence, our children, or our world, we actively choose to lay those worries at the feet of Jesus.

As Paul wrote in Philippians 4:6 using that exact same word merimnao: "Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God."

 

We cannot control the future. No amount of money, planning, or worrying can add a single hour to your life.

So, we must let go of the illusion of self-sufficiency. Stop carrying the burden of being our own saviour.

Look at the birds. Consider the lilies. Trust the Father who holds the whole world in His hands, and seek first His Kingdom today. 

 

Richard S