Cyndi and I, like many of you, enjoy certain forms of reality TV. Cyndi’s favorite shows tend to be the home renovation series — especially Home Town and Fixer to Fabulous. And honestly, I enjoy those too… at least to a point.
But I find myself especially drawn to Discovery’s off-grid homesteading shows — particularly Homestead Rescue. If you haven’t seen it, the show features families who are trying to build a simpler, more self-sufficient life, often in difficult conditions and sometimes far from modern conveniences.
Usually, by the time the Raney family arrives, things are not going well. Water systems are failing. Food sources are uncertain. Shelters are unfinished. And more often than not, winter is coming. Worse, the dream that once felt exciting is becoming overwhelming.
The Raneys show up with tools, experience, creative solutions, and a small construction crew.
In just a few days, they help each family establish critical infrastructure — clean water, reliable shelter, food systems, heat, and protection.
But more than anything else, they restore something many of those families are beginning to lose: Hope.
And I think part of the reason these shows resonate with so many people right now is that deep down, many people are searching for stability in a world that feels increasingly unstable.
We live in a world that constantly tells us we do not have enough. We don’t have enough money. There is not enough security. Not enough time. Not enough savings. Not enough preparation. Not enough success.
But, “there is good news,” the onslaught of ads tells us. And if we listen long enough, we start to believe peace is always one purchase, one upgrade, one election, one investment, one emergency fund, one achievement away.
But somehow, even with more technology, more convenience, more access, and more possessions than previous generations could have imagined… people are exhausted.
Recent surveys show Americans are carrying enormous financial stress. Grocery prices alone have become a major source of anxiety for many families. People are increasingly worried about debt, instability, and whether the systems around us can actually be trusted anymore.
And honestly, some of that worry makes sense. The latest inflation numbers confirm what most of us already know. Grocery prices are going up.
And more people are taking steps they hope will make a difference. And honestly, that shouldn’t surprise us.
When leadership feels unstable…when the news cycle runs on outrage…when institutions disappoint us…when people fear economic uncertainty…of course, people start trying to become more self-sufficient.
Some are planting gardens. Some are learning old skills again. Some are raising chickens. Some are simplifying their lives. Many are dreaming about living off-grid altogether, and a few are giving it a try.
Not because they are crazy. But because people are searching for some sense of stability. And there is wisdom in that.
The problem is not preparation. The problem is when fear becomes the thing organizing our lives.
Because fear always demands more. More control. More accumulation. More consumption. More security. More proof that we will somehow be okay.
And human nature has a way of fixating on whatever seems to relieve our anxiety… especially when we are not sure we can trust God to take care of us. Whether we’re believers or not, the truth is, we simply find a religion that we think will work for us.
John Mark Comer, author of our companion book, put it this way: “Amazon.com is the new temple. The Visa statement is the new altar. Double-clicking is the new liturgy. Lifestyle bloggers are the priests and priestesses. Money is the new god.”
That sounds harsh at first.
Until we realize how much of modern life is built around teaching us to seek peace through consumption. And yet the more we consume, the more anxious many people become.
Which raises an uncomfortable question: What if simplicity is not about owning less…What if simplicity is about refusing to let fear and greed rule your life?
Because eventually, we all serve something. And that is exactly where Jesus takes us in His Sermon on the Mount. Matthew tells this story as though he is still standing there on the hillside, listening.
The crowds have gathered because word about Jesus is spreading quickly throughout Galilee. Some come hoping to be healed. Some are curious. Some are desperate. Some simply want to hear whether this teacher from Nazareth has anything meaningful to say to people struggling to survive under the crushing weight of empire, poverty, uncertainty, and religious division.
And Matthew remembers Jesus sitting down among them and beginning to teach.
What we now call the Sermon on the Mount was not originally delivered inside a church sanctuary. It was spoken outdoors to ordinary people carrying ordinary burdens.
People worried about feeding their families. People living under taxation and political oppression.
People wondering who — or what — could be trusted. People trying to survive in systems that constantly demand more from them while offering very little in return.
In some ways, this was the ultimate reality show, featuring ordinary people living close to the edge.
Families trying to survive. Communities struggling under competing pressures. Systems demanding allegiance. Religious voices competing for authority. People searching for hope while carrying anxiety about tomorrow.
And Matthew is not simply preserving this moment as ancient history.
The audience is us.
Those of us who hear our own lives reflected in the worries of we just talked about… those of us carrying anxiety about the future… those of us exhausted by the endless demand for more… those of us wondering if there is a better way to live…
Jesus is speaking to us.
Then, in the middle of this sermon, Jesus says something that cuts directly to the heart of human anxiety: “No one can serve two masters.”
Jesus isn’t talking just about serving dictators, would-be kings, or bosses. But He is talking about whatever exerts control over us. And it’s hard enough to serve two masters when both desire the same thing. But most of us know from experience that this is rarely the case. Conflicting loyalties eventually force difficult choices. Two competing voices eventually pull us in opposite directions.
And Jesus understood that human beings are always being shaped by whatever power, value, or promise commands our attention.
The world offers no shortage of competing masters.
Consumerism tells us peace can be purchased. Celebrity culture tells us significance comes through recognition and influence. Political systems promise security if only the “right” people gain power. Wealth promises independence. Technology promises control. Endless advertising tells us fulfillment is always one step away — one more purchase, one more achievement, one more upgrade, one more carefully constructed version of ourselves.
Meanwhile, the gap between the wealthy and the struggling continues to widen. More and more people feel trapped between rising costs, growing uncertainty, and systems that seem designed to keep people anxious enough to keep consuming.
The false promises never stop.
And perhaps what makes these modern “gods” so dangerous is that they are rarely presented as evil. They are presented as salvation.
They promise comfort. Control. Security. Importance. Escape from fear.
But unlike the kingdom of God, these powers ultimately serve themselves. They always demand more than they give. That is why Jesus’ warning matters so much: “You cannot serve both God and wealth.”
Jesus is not condemning money itself, or even shopping for a new outfit. He is exposing the spir itual conflict hidden underneath our anxiety. Whatever we trust most eventually becomes the thing organizing our lives.
And that is why the next word Jesus speaks is so important: “Therefore…” In other words, Jesus directly connects worry to worship. The question beneath our anxiety is not simply: “How do I stop worrying?”
The deeper question is: “What or who am I trusting to save me?”
Because fear has a way of turning our hearts toward whatever appears strongest in the moment. Human nature clings to whatever seems capable of protecting us, providing for us, or giving us control over an uncertain future.
That is why Jesus speaks directly about food, clothing, and daily necessities. These are not shallow concerns. Like us, they know that the cost of food is rising faster than they can afford. Jesus is speaking to ordinary people living under political oppression and economic uncertainty. They understood instability far better than most of us do.
So when Jesus says, “Do not worry about your life…” He is not asking people to ignore reality. He is inviting them to trust that the kingdom of God offers something the false promises of this world never can: a life no longer ruled by fear.
Do not worry about tomorrow. It will have enough worries of its own. There is no need to add to the troubles each day brings.
Mathew 6:25-34
Jesus points to the birds of the air and the flowers of the field, not because life is easy, but because creation itself still rests in God’s care.
And then Jesus gives the invitation that stands at the center of this entire passage: “Seek first the kingdom of God…” Not first consumption. Not first accumulation. Not first status. Not first fear.
Seek first the kingdom.
Because whatever we seek first will eventually shape the kind of people we become.
And perhaps that is where simplicity begins. Not with owning less for the sake of owning less. Not with abandoning responsibility. Not with pretending the world is safe. Not with disengaging from society altogether.
Simplicity begins when we stop allowing fear and greed to organize our lives. It begins when we realize peace cannot be purchased. It begins when we stop measuring our worth by what we accumulate, control, consume, or display.
It begins when we discover that enough is not found in endless accumulation, but in learning to trust the God who already knows what we need.
The kingdom of God invites us into a different rhythm. A life where possessions no longer possess us. A life where anxiety no longer dictates every decision. A life where generosity becomes possible because fear loosens its grip. A life where we can enjoy what God provides without making those things our master.
And maybe this is the deeper freedom Jesus is offering: Not freedom from all uncertainty. But freedom from living as though fear gets the final word.
And maybe that is why Jesus’ words still speak so clearly to us today. Because most of us know what it feels like to live with competing voices demanding our attention.
One voice says: Acquire more. Protect more. Fear more. Consume more. Control more. And another voice — quieter, steadier, deeper — says: “Seek first the kingdom of God.”
Not because responsibilities disappear. Not because uncertainty vanishes. Not because life suddenly becomes easy. But because Jesus knows that whatever we place at the center of our lives will eventually shape who we become.
And perhaps that is the invitation before us this week. Not to abandon wisdom. Not to stop preparing responsibly. Not to disengage from the world around us. But to ask an honest question: What has become the organizing force of my life?
Fear? Consumption? Accumulation? Control? Status? Anxiety about tomorrow? Or the kingdom of God?
Maybe simplicity begins there. Maybe simplicity is less about decluttering our homes and more about decluttering our hearts. Maybe it begins by refusing to let fear make every decision for us. Maybe it begins by learning to recognize the difference between what we truly need and what our culture constantly tells us we should want.
And maybe one of the most practical spiritual disciplines available to us is simply learning to say: “This is enough.” Enough outrage for one day. Enough scrolling. Enough accumulation. Enough noise.
This week, challenge yourself to take one simple step toward the kind of life Jesus describes.
Perhaps that means setting aside intentional quiet each day instead of immediately reaching for your phone. Perhaps it means resisting an unnecessary purchase. Perhaps it means practicing gratitude before anxiety takes over.
Perhaps it means creating space around the table for conversation instead of distraction. Perhaps it means giving something away as an act of trust rather than fear. Not because simplicity saves us. But because simplicity can help create room for us to hear the voice of the One who does.
And as you leave today, remember this: Jesus never promised a life free from uncertainty. But He did promise that fear does not have to become our master. Because eventually, we all serve something.
So seek first the kingdom of God. And trust that the God who sees the birds of the air and the flowers of the field sees you too.
You can join us each Sunday in person or online by clicking the button on our website’s homepage. Click here to watch. This button takes you to our YouTube channel. You can find more information about us on our website at FlintAsburyChurch.org.
This is a reminder that we publish a weekly newsletter called the Circuit Rider. You can request this publication by email by sending a request to FlintAsburyUMC@gmail.com, or let us know when you send a message through our website. We post an archive of past editions on our website under Connect – choose Newsletters.
Pastor Tommy
Some content comes from John Mark Comer. The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry. Colorado Springs : WaterBrook, 2019. ISBN 9780525653097.