Not Yours to Carry

Part of our series Stop Trying to Stop Worrying. Psalm 55:22 and 1 Peter 5:6–7.

The worry that isn't about you

Some of the heaviest worry I carry isn't about me at all. It's about them.

The friend who stopped replying to my texts. The couple I love, whose marriage is quietly coming apart. A parent whose memory slips a little more with each visit. A kid making choices that scare me half to death. I love these people. And because I love them, I carry their situations with me. At two in the morning, running scenarios on the ceiling.

If you told me to stop worrying about them, it would almost feel like betrayal. Isn't worrying what love does? I don't think the Bible says "just stop." But it does say something better, and harder. It says some of what you're carrying isn't yours to carry.

A song from a broken friendship

Psalm 55 is David writing about the anguish in his heart. Fear and trembling have come over him. And the worst part isn't an enemy. It's a friend. Someone he used to walk with. Someone he worshipped beside in the Temple. They shared a faith, a history, a life. And now that friendship has turned into deceit and betrayal. Right in the middle of all that pain, David writes a line that sounds almost too simple:


Not because you're giving up. Not a shrug and a "Whatever, God will figure it out." You hand it over because it matters too much to carry alone. And look at the promise. He will sustain you. That's not God watching from a distance. It's God carrying the weight, holding it up, and supplying the strength to keep going. It frees us to keep showing up for people without carrying a weight that was never ours.

Humility first, then throwing

Centuries later, Peter picks up the same thread. He's writing to churches scattered across what's now Turkey. These are mostly Gentiles who have given their lives to Christ. He calls them exiles. They aren't the majority, and they aren't safe. Some are losing their reputations, and some their lives, for following Jesus. If anyone had a right to worry, it was these new believers. Here's what Peter tells them:

Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. (1 Peter 5:6–7)

"Cast" sounds gentle to us. Almost poetic, like casting a fishing line. But Peter's word means to throw. The only other time it shows up in the New Testament is when the disciples throw their coats onto the colt Jesus rides into Jerusalem.

That's the picture. You take the thing off your back and throw it onto something else. You don't set it down politely and keep one hand on it. Peter is saying throw all of it. Not just the big, respectable anxieties. The 2 a.m. stuff. The stuff you're embarrassed you still worry about.

But notice the order. Humility first. Then you throw. That's not an accident. In Greek, the casting is tied grammatically to being humble. It isn't two assignments. Peter is saying this is how you humble yourself. Letting go of the worry is the humility. Which seems so strange, doesn't it? Worry doesn't feel proud. Worry feels like love. Especially when it's worry for someone else.

When worry plays savior

Here's the uncomfortable part. A lot of our worry for other people rests on an assumption we'd never say out loud…If I just plan well enough, if I say the right thing at the right time, I can fix this.
 
Worry can be a quiet way of putting myself in God's role. We like control. We want to be in charge of the outcome. And worry lets us feel like we're doing something, even when there's nothing left to do. It feels like caring. But I'd argue it shows a lack of foresight. And it can be dangerous in at least three ways.

It's dangerous to the people we love. When I'm the one holding their life together, they stop being a person and start becoming my project. People can feel that. Nobody wants to be somebody's project. No human being was built to carry another human being's whole life. That weight crushes you slowly, over years.

It's dangerous to our faith. If I'm the savior in this story, I've quietly stopped trusting that there's another one. And the lack of foresight? I can't see the whole story. I don't know what God is doing in my son's life that I'll only understand ten years from now. I don't know what my friend has to walk through to come out the other side. Peter says God lifts us up "in due time." Not my timeline.
 
Worry assumes I know how the story should go and when it should get there. Humility admits I don't.

Because he cares for you

So humility says something like this…I am not their savior.

I love them. I'll pray. I'll make the phone call, sit in the waiting room, and say the hard thing when it needs saying. But I can't hold their whole life in my hands. And here's the good news hiding in that. Neither do I have to.

This isn't checking out. Right after these verses, Peter tells his readers to be alert, stay awake, resist. Throwing your anxiety on God doesn't mean you stop caring. It means you show up without a weight you were never meant to carry. Honestly, you're more present for people when you're not drowning in fear for them.
 
Then Peter gives the reason in five words: because he cares for you.

That's the whole argument. Not "because it's the right thing to do." Not "because worry is a sin." Because he cares for you. Take it one step further. If God cares for you, God cares even more for the people you love. You love your daughter; God loves her more. You've known your friend for twenty years; God has known him longer. Whatever love is driving your worry, a bigger, steadier, wiser love is already holding the person you're worried about.

For this week

Think of one person you are worried about. Just one. Say their name, out loud if you can. Then pray something like this…

God, I love them. You love them more. I can't hold their whole life, but you can. I'm putting them in your hands. Show me the one thing you want me to do for them today and help me let the rest go.

Then listen. Maybe the one thing is a text. Maybe it's nothing at all except trust. And if you pick them back up an hour from now, that's okay. Set them down again. Casting isn't something you do once. It's something you learn to do over and over.

All Saints is a community for all who believe, doubt, and seek. Listen to this episode on the All Saints Podcast, and find groups and more at believedoubtseek.org.