There is something about the unknown that has a habit of causing not a little stress. There is something about the unknown when it surrounds what is ultimately minutiae that seems to have a habit of being the most stressful of all. There is something about the unknown little details that shouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things that have a habit of being the very ones we catastrophise the most.

We are currently in a little period of unknowns surrounding much minutiae. I won’t trouble you with all the details. Nor will I bore you with the unfolding and endless bureaucratic hinterlands we are currently traversing as we seek resolve. What I do know is it is the small unknowns and minutiae seem to weigh much heavier than the significant matters that lie at the heart of all that is going on. I am considerably less concerned about what has happened – which was in a sense a major incident – and much more concerned about the unknown minutiae of what will happen from here. Or, more accurately, what will happen to get us back to a point of normality.

Now, before you all write in with your heartfelt concerns for us. We’re all fine. Don’t worry. A thing happened; it’s getting sorted; it will ultimately be fine. I’m not here for the sympathy. My point is that the thing that exercises us most isn’t the thing that happened – that was deeply annoying and shook us for a moment – it is the persistent, and seemingly ever-expanding, set of unknowns that now lie in front of us. And it is so easy to catastrophise those things.

The thing that happened has happened. It is what it is, as they say. It won’t continue to keep happening. It has done what it has done and it is behind us. It is a non-concern. What we have now is a set of unknowns that result from the thing that happened. Who do we call? What do we do? How do we fix it? All the things that we thought would be there to help, it turns out, are either not exactly what they cracked up to be or aren’t actually there at all. All of that has ramifications. And it’s the minutiae – which if anybody else were telling us the story (including the details) we would shrug and go ‘not such a big deal then’ – that weighs the most heavily. The little things that we convince ourselves will become big things and those big things, we think, will eventually sink us. It’s all out of our hands, woe is me, we are undone… because of a fairly small, inconsequential matter that can almost certainly be resolved somehow.

Perhaps you can relate; perhaps you can’t. I am a worrier by nature. I come from a long line of worriers. Not all branches of the family have it. I just happened to luck out with a grandfather who was a worrier. I can’t speak with great certainty for all the other 5 boys on that side of the family but they definitely didn’t all inherit it; my dad won that particular jackpot. I, of three children, also got handed that glorious trait (I can’t speak for both my siblings but I suspect at least one of them doesn’t get troubled the same way). Of my two children, my daughter doesn’t worry in the slightest but my son can add his name to this happy line. I daresay there will be grandchildren of mine who will end up cursing their lineage too (and then probably worrying about it). As a general trait, it is pretty rubbish. Worrying rarely did anything positive for anyone.

Except of course, when these things happen that cause us to worry, it reminds us again that much of life is beyond our control. We think ourselves the masters of our own destiny until some tiny inconvenience comes along that we can do very little about and we suddenly realise we aren’t. Sometimes they are major inconveniences, but still, we can do nothing about them. So much of life is simply beyond us.

The other wonderful trait I have – both as a third-generation Christian and as a pastor – is a decidedly rubbish prayer life. Indeed, a general incompetence at prayer. I am something of an ideas person. I like reading the Bible and chewing over theology. I like thinking about what different texts mean and how they apply to life. I like systems and understanding how they all fit together and figuring out the (potential) solutions when it becomes apparent yours doesn’t. None of those things are hard for me (which I understand they often are for others).

But prayer so often feels like a waste of time. I know it isn’t, but it doesn’t stop me feeling like it is. It so often feels like I am just thinking thoughts in my head, from which I am frequently distracted by almost any other thought that dares to pop therein, knowing that no audible voice is going to come back with which I can immediately converse (and, if you think that does happen when you pray, please seek help) and hoping, even though actually believing, God is listening and taking note and has the slightest bit of interest in whatever thoughts, often in hindsight nonsense, I have chosen to bother him with this time.

What you are learning about me here is that I am a terrible worrier who doesn’t pray much (certainly not enough) and isn’t very good at it when he has a go. No doubt some clever oik will pipe up that I might worry less if I prayed a bit more. But, here’s the kicker, I have it on 40 years or so of good experience that when I worry less I also happen to pray less. Which, when you think about that, doesn’t bode well for the ‘don’t worry be happy’ brigade.

One thing that cheers me in all this is reading Paul’s train of thought in 2 Corinthians. Starting in 2 Corinthians 1,Paul begins going on about weakness. He begins talking about why God brought him to a point of such affliction that he even despaired of life itself. He goes on throughout the letter about being weak and suffering. The point comes to a head when he brings up the so-called “super Apostles”. He has been saying how God works through weakness so all glory will go to him. However rubbish Paul’s ministry may look, however unimpressive he may seem in his afflictions, one thing is for sure: if glory will go anywhere, it will all go to Christ and not him. Paul was the kind of weirdo who boasted about his weaknesses because he knew when people thought he was a total loser they wouldn’t be looking at him, but might listen to his words and look instead to Jesus and give glory to him for all that has happened.

What does that mean for my worries and lack of prayer life? Only this: perhaps God has afflicted me with worry (which I hate) because he knows that is the means that will get me to pray. I pray more when I worry so God afflicted me with worries so that I might pray. I don’t worry less when I pray more – I am just not built that way – but I do pray less when I worry less. So God has given me the gift of worry so that I might pray more. And when I don’t pray more in the ordinary midst of life worries, he sometimes afflicts me with some major incident to induce more worry so that I might pray some more. Because the random thoughts in my head that I frequently get distracted by when I pray don’t seem to be quite so prevalent when I’m worried and there’s nothing I can do about it. No, it’s then that my mind in singularly focused on asking the only person in any position to resolve them to do something on my behalf!

The reason why I know this must be true – even in the midst of tedious bureaucracy to get it sorted out – is that on one call I was distinctly told by a voice (admittedly on the other end of a phone) that this very particular issue gets officially classed as, get this, an “Act of God”! Well played Jesus. Let’s talk about all those unknown bits of minutiae beyond my control, like what you just did and what you’re going to do about it now. I’m sure I’ve written about this before but I’m a bit slow on the uptake. Off I go to pray…