Every idol has a liturgy. A set of habits, repeated daily, that form you into its image.
The idol of control is no different. If control is the false god, worry is the daily worship service.
What the liturgy looks like
You might not call it worship. You might call it "staying on top of things" or "being responsible." But notice the pattern:
Morning check. Before you pray, before you eat, you check. Email. News. Messages. The weather. Your bank account. You are scanning for threats. This is the call to worship.
The mental rehearsal. Throughout the day, your mind runs scenarios. If this happens, then I will... If that falls through, then I need to... This is the liturgy of worry — rehearsing futures that have not arrived.
The night review. Lying in bed, you replay the day. What did you miss? What might go wrong tomorrow? This is the evening prayer of the anxious heart.
None of these are evil in themselves. But when they are compulsive — when you cannot not do them — they have become a practice of formation. They are shaping you into someone who lives on permanent alert.
How worry forms you
Here is what the liturgy of worry produces over time:
A body that does not rest. Your shoulders are tight. Your sleep is thin. You startle easily. Your nervous system is tuned to threat, not peace.
A mind that cannot be present. You are always in the next hour, the next day, the next crisis. The person in front of you gets half your attention because the other half is managing the future.
A heart that trusts poorly. When you have been your own savior for long enough, it becomes very difficult to let anyone else — including God — hold anything for you.
This is what formation looks like. Not a single dramatic choice, but a thousand small repetitions that slowly shape who you become.
Naming it honestly
The point here is not shame. You did not choose to be anxious. But you can begin to notice the habits that feed your anxiety. And noticing is the first step toward a different kind of formation.
The question is not "how do I stop being anxious?" — as if you could flip a switch. The question is: "What am I practicing every day, and what is it making me into?"