Why do you heap upon yourself such a weight of cares? You take the troubles of today, and then you reach out and drag tomorrow's anxieties onto your shoulders as well. The day already has its own burden; why press it down further? Our Lord commanded us not to be anxious for the morrow, for the morrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble. When you lie awake, your mind churning, you are borrowing sorrows that have not yet arrived, and you gain nothing but weariness. The time itself cries out against you for this senseless affliction. You have received this very hour to bear its own distress; why force it to groan under the weight of the next?
Consider the birds of the air, the lilies of the field. If God feeds them and arrays them in splendor, will He not much more care for you, O you of little faith? It is as though a king promised to supply all your daily bread from his own stores; you would be confident, you would cease from frantic striving. Yet here is the King of Heaven, pouring out His blessings upon you from your youth up, and still you are bound in knots of anxiety. This is not the way of faith. When we know that it is God who feeds us, we must put off all worldly care. To cling to such restlessness is to insult His tender provision. He commands for no other reason than to deliver you from superfluous anxieties, which serve only to choke the divine seed within you.
These thorny cares grow up and suffocate the word. The rich and the fretful alike prove unprofitable for the things of Heaven, for they are slaves to their own disquiet. You lose sleep, you feel everything must come together, you grasp at an outcome. But tell me, what is it you truly seek? A life of ease, free from trouble? Then know that a bad conscience brings perpetual fear, trembling, and pallor: the fraudulent man cannot enjoy his gains, the sinner looks on the sun itself with suspicion. But the one who is conscious of no evil, who has been fruitful in good, rejoices even here. True peace, the peace that passes understanding, is the fruit of a life set upon God, not upon the shifting sands of circumstance.
Do not barter away your salvation for an easy arrangement of temporal affairs. Strip yourself of this ridiculous clothing of worldly anxiety, and then you will find honor and pure pleasure. The beauty that fades, the success that withers with disease or time, these are not worthy of your soul's gaze. Cultivate instead that incorruptible loveliness of a quiet spirit, which neither age wrinkles nor anxiety disfigures. Let us root out these thorns, and make the ground of your heart ready for the divine seed. Then, even in tribulation, you will have good hope. For if the apostles endured countless dangers with alacrity, it was because they were persuaded of a good hope to come.
Therefore, I will certainly pray that God will work all things for your good, but even more, I beseech you to loosen your grip on these earthly demands. Cast your care upon Him, for He cares for you. And when the waves of anxiety rise, run to the harbor of the divine oracles, and let there be nothing secular in your soul, but a great stillness before the Spirit. The Eucharist, the very Flesh and Blood of the Son of Man, is the medicine of immortality and the antidote to death; there you will find life in yourself. Do not delay, do not postpone your peace. Let this day be the day you lay down the burden, and let the morrow take thought for itself.