Finding Dory
My summer has not gone as planned. At the start of the year, I didn't expect back surgery or France's semifinal exit, nor Germany's early knockout. Zlatan, as usual, remains Zlatan, steady in his way. I won't delve into details, but across work and personal life, nothing has gone to plan; we're in uncharted territory. I know I'm not alone in this. If your year is progressing smoothly without setbacks, I either need to talk or you have no plans at all (which isn't necessarily a bad thing, as scripture suggests). Who predicted a war with Iran, a ceasefire with ransom payments, and then a renewal of hostilities? The resulting fluctuations in gas prices are tough on my bank account; it wasn't planning for such extreme change.
We are all trying to figure things out, creating new plans, and adjusting our expectations and goals right now and all the time. When things go wrong or don’t meet our hopes, it’s understandable why we feel like we are in a difficult situation; why we feel like things may be beyond repair. Heritage has experienced many setbacks and broken plans. Regardless of the situation, it is challenging because it requires us to respond, recover, revise our plans, find new hope, and explore alternative paths, even if they seem to contradict our previous plans; otherwise, we risk stagnation. As familiar routines fade away, anxiety increases, and we may resist recognizing new possibilities. If we refuse to develop new plans or pursue a different future when current efforts fail, we risk remaining stuck and amplifying our anxiety. We create a self-fulfilling prophecy that we are not going to make it, and guess what happens next? We don’t, because we were unwilling to see something different.
Based on what we observe in the Gospels, Jesus didn't prioritize detailed planning. He tended to react to events as they unfolded rather than sticking to strict plans. While he likely had goals or a destination in mind, he often interrupted plans to focus on the present moment. Having a plan isn't inherently wrong, but inflexible, unchanging plans can limit our engagement with the world around us. The disciples did not plan to stay in Samaria longer than they had to or for Jesus to meet and speak with the woman at the well. Jesus is willing to forgo the plan when something far more important is in front of him.
Finding Dory gives us a wonderfully chaotic picture of what it looks like to live when all the plans fall apart. Dory is not anti-planning because she has some deep philosophical objection to calendars, spreadsheets, or five-year goals. She simply cannot hold on to a plan long enough for it to become an idol. Her short-term memory loss is hard and painful, and the movie never pretends otherwise, but it also means Dory has learned a different kind of wisdom. She has learned to move forward with the next faithful step, the next remembered clue, the next person willing to help, the next open door, and to just keep swimming. She keeps swimming not because she knows exactly where she is going, but because she trusts that love is worth following even when the route is unclear.
That is the tension in this week’s scriptures. Matthew does not tell us to stop caring, stop working, stop preparing, or stop thinking about tomorrow. Jesus is not saying, “Be irresponsible; birds do it all the time.” Birds still go look for food, but they do not worry as we do. Listen, Gately’s, we talk about dinner while eating breakfast. We cannot finish one meal without at least strategizing another. (A hungry Gately is not a good thing; we are dangerous creatures.) Lilies still grow where they are planted, year after year. Ours only bloom for a day, then wither away; they only have a day, which is kind of annoying. Jesus is talking about the kind of worry that takes over the steering wheel, the kind of anxiety that convinces us the future depends entirely on our ability to control every detail of our and others' lives. Jesus says, “Do not worry about tomorrow,” not because tomorrow is unimportant, but because tomorrow is not ours to master. We do not get to control the future. Plus, today has enough trouble of its own. Today has enough grace of its own too.
James comes to the issue of plans from another angle but makes the same point. James is not against planning either. The problem is not that someone says, “We will go to this town, stay a year, do business, and make money.” That is just a plan. The problem is the arrogance underneath it, the assumption that we know tomorrow, own tomorrow, and can guarantee tomorrow. We can do none of those things, not one. Believe me when I say I have tried.
James says our life is like a mist. We appear for a little while and vanish. That may sound depressing at first, but it can also be freeing. If I am, and recognize that I am the mist, then I do not have to pretend I am the whole weather system. I do not have to pretend to be in control. If I am mist, then I do not have to carry the entire future on my back, which would greatly appreciate some relief at this moment. I can plan with humility, act with courage, and hold the outcome of the future with an open mind.
That may be the difference between a faithful plan and an idolized plan. A faithful plan gives us direction. An idolized plan demands control. A faithful plan can be changed when love calls, when circumstances shift, when God interrupts, when a neighbor needs us, when our bodies remind us that we are not machines, or when the Spirit says, “Actually, this way.” An idolized plan cannot bend. It can only break, and when it breaks, it often breaks us with it.
That is why Dory’s question matters: “What is so great about plans?” It is not that plans are bad. Plans help us get to the doctor, feed our families, prepare worship, pay bills, and make sure no one forgets communion bread. Plans are useful. But plans are not God. Plans are tools, not masters. When a plan helps us love God and neighbor, wonderful. When a plan keeps us from seeing God and neighbor, it may be time to let it go.
My whole life has not gone according to plan. Should have graduated from college sooner, from seminary sooner, gotten ordained sooner; I should already be two years into a PhD by now. But I dropped out of college twice because of undiagnosed autism and epilepsy, both triggered by stress and trauma. Where would I be if I had not gone through all of that? Who would I be? Who would I have never met? Emily was living in Costa Rica at that time so I would have never met her for sure. I probably would not be at Heritage; some of you are probably thinking, “Dang it, we had a chance!”
I learned about the occasional need to let go many years ago. I am not always good at it. If we do not eat breakfast for lunch today, my whole week will be ruined. At times, Emily thinks I should maybe hold on to plans a little tighter. None of us have complete control over what happens in this world. Change will always be on its way whether we want it or not. Change will always cost us something, will cause stress, make us uncomfortable, because that is the nature of change itself. The question is if we will have the courage to embrace it. We can try to embrace change, or we can walk away, try to hide, resist it at all costs; but then we have shown we have no faith at all.
What is so great about plans? I have a wife, dogs, friends, and all of you, just because my plans fell apart.
We are all trying to figure things out, creating new plans, and adjusting our expectations and goals right now and all the time. When things go wrong or don’t meet our hopes, it’s understandable why we feel like we are in a difficult situation; why we feel like things may be beyond repair. Heritage has experienced many setbacks and broken plans. Regardless of the situation, it is challenging because it requires us to respond, recover, revise our plans, find new hope, and explore alternative paths, even if they seem to contradict our previous plans; otherwise, we risk stagnation. As familiar routines fade away, anxiety increases, and we may resist recognizing new possibilities. If we refuse to develop new plans or pursue a different future when current efforts fail, we risk remaining stuck and amplifying our anxiety. We create a self-fulfilling prophecy that we are not going to make it, and guess what happens next? We don’t, because we were unwilling to see something different.
Based on what we observe in the Gospels, Jesus didn't prioritize detailed planning. He tended to react to events as they unfolded rather than sticking to strict plans. While he likely had goals or a destination in mind, he often interrupted plans to focus on the present moment. Having a plan isn't inherently wrong, but inflexible, unchanging plans can limit our engagement with the world around us. The disciples did not plan to stay in Samaria longer than they had to or for Jesus to meet and speak with the woman at the well. Jesus is willing to forgo the plan when something far more important is in front of him.
Finding Dory gives us a wonderfully chaotic picture of what it looks like to live when all the plans fall apart. Dory is not anti-planning because she has some deep philosophical objection to calendars, spreadsheets, or five-year goals. She simply cannot hold on to a plan long enough for it to become an idol. Her short-term memory loss is hard and painful, and the movie never pretends otherwise, but it also means Dory has learned a different kind of wisdom. She has learned to move forward with the next faithful step, the next remembered clue, the next person willing to help, the next open door, and to just keep swimming. She keeps swimming not because she knows exactly where she is going, but because she trusts that love is worth following even when the route is unclear.
That is the tension in this week’s scriptures. Matthew does not tell us to stop caring, stop working, stop preparing, or stop thinking about tomorrow. Jesus is not saying, “Be irresponsible; birds do it all the time.” Birds still go look for food, but they do not worry as we do. Listen, Gately’s, we talk about dinner while eating breakfast. We cannot finish one meal without at least strategizing another. (A hungry Gately is not a good thing; we are dangerous creatures.) Lilies still grow where they are planted, year after year. Ours only bloom for a day, then wither away; they only have a day, which is kind of annoying. Jesus is talking about the kind of worry that takes over the steering wheel, the kind of anxiety that convinces us the future depends entirely on our ability to control every detail of our and others' lives. Jesus says, “Do not worry about tomorrow,” not because tomorrow is unimportant, but because tomorrow is not ours to master. We do not get to control the future. Plus, today has enough trouble of its own. Today has enough grace of its own too.
James comes to the issue of plans from another angle but makes the same point. James is not against planning either. The problem is not that someone says, “We will go to this town, stay a year, do business, and make money.” That is just a plan. The problem is the arrogance underneath it, the assumption that we know tomorrow, own tomorrow, and can guarantee tomorrow. We can do none of those things, not one. Believe me when I say I have tried.
James says our life is like a mist. We appear for a little while and vanish. That may sound depressing at first, but it can also be freeing. If I am, and recognize that I am the mist, then I do not have to pretend I am the whole weather system. I do not have to pretend to be in control. If I am mist, then I do not have to carry the entire future on my back, which would greatly appreciate some relief at this moment. I can plan with humility, act with courage, and hold the outcome of the future with an open mind.
That may be the difference between a faithful plan and an idolized plan. A faithful plan gives us direction. An idolized plan demands control. A faithful plan can be changed when love calls, when circumstances shift, when God interrupts, when a neighbor needs us, when our bodies remind us that we are not machines, or when the Spirit says, “Actually, this way.” An idolized plan cannot bend. It can only break, and when it breaks, it often breaks us with it.
That is why Dory’s question matters: “What is so great about plans?” It is not that plans are bad. Plans help us get to the doctor, feed our families, prepare worship, pay bills, and make sure no one forgets communion bread. Plans are useful. But plans are not God. Plans are tools, not masters. When a plan helps us love God and neighbor, wonderful. When a plan keeps us from seeing God and neighbor, it may be time to let it go.
My whole life has not gone according to plan. Should have graduated from college sooner, from seminary sooner, gotten ordained sooner; I should already be two years into a PhD by now. But I dropped out of college twice because of undiagnosed autism and epilepsy, both triggered by stress and trauma. Where would I be if I had not gone through all of that? Who would I be? Who would I have never met? Emily was living in Costa Rica at that time so I would have never met her for sure. I probably would not be at Heritage; some of you are probably thinking, “Dang it, we had a chance!”
I learned about the occasional need to let go many years ago. I am not always good at it. If we do not eat breakfast for lunch today, my whole week will be ruined. At times, Emily thinks I should maybe hold on to plans a little tighter. None of us have complete control over what happens in this world. Change will always be on its way whether we want it or not. Change will always cost us something, will cause stress, make us uncomfortable, because that is the nature of change itself. The question is if we will have the courage to embrace it. We can try to embrace change, or we can walk away, try to hide, resist it at all costs; but then we have shown we have no faith at all.
What is so great about plans? I have a wife, dogs, friends, and all of you, just because my plans fell apart.