Fear Not?
I remember the first time I heard Franklin Roosevelt’s quote, borrowed from Montaigne, that “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Of course he was talking about the kind of fear that threatened to paralyze the nation during the Great Depression. Born too late to experience that catastrophe, I responded to his words like other great fibs I had heard as a child, such as the one about sticks and stones breaking your bones but words never hurting you. How could anyone believe it?
Since then I have come to appreciate both the wisdom and the folly of fear as it plays out in a life--and in the life of a nation.
Scripture tells us that the “fear of God is the beginning of wisdom.” Oswald Chambers once echoed this statement by saying, “when you fear God, you fear nothing else, whereas if you do not fear God, you fear everything else.”
This crystallized for me in a fresh way days ago as I was rereading the passion story. Jesus is in the Garden of Gethsemane with an inner circle of disciples—Peter, James, and John. He exhorts them to watch and pray, but they have just finished eating the Passover meal with its multiple cups of wine, and sleep comes on like a drug. Unable to rouse them, Jesus looks at them with sadness, knowing that while his enemies are wide awake and plotting his ruin, his friends are fast asleep. He alone is aware of what is going to take place.
What happens next is telling. Awakening to an armed crowd intent on arresting their rabbi, they respond instinctively and in kind. One of them raises his sword and strikes the servant of the high priest. But instead of urging them on, Jesus deflates their warrior spirit with a sharp rebuke, saying, “Lay down your sword, for those who live by the sword will surely die by it.”
With these words, their bravado fades and terror rushes in. They watch as Jesus submits to the mob and to the evil that wants to tear him apart. With no way to defend their rabbi or themselves, his disciples do the only sensible thing. They flee.
In the run up to Gethsemane, Jesus had tried to prepare them. But his words must have landed on them as metaphor.
“If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also.” (Matthew 5: 39)
“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” (Matthew 5: 44)
“Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” (Matthew 16: 24)
To Peter, James, and John, the cross was a bloody reality, not a piece of jewelry to sling around their necks. My God, this is what he was talking about! He meant it literally! To be led like a lamb to the slaughter! Were they, too, to be slaughtered? Was there to be no throne, no crown, no glorious victory over the Romans, but only defeat and despair?
So they ran. And within the space of a few hours, Peter denied Jesus, not once but three times. Fear drove and defined him. It made him reach for his sword, flee for his life, and turn his back on the teacher he loved. Like the other disciples, Peter had been certain that Jesus was the Messiah who would throw the Romans out and establish God’s kingdom on earth. He could not conceive of a greater, more glorious victory than that. But Jesus’ vision was far deeper and more audacious than Peter could ever imagine, for he was aiming at a more epic battle--to crush and defeat the power of sin and death in order to win our freedom.
Peter--the church’s first leader--is not alone in his bewilderment. There are many leaders and believers today who, like young Peter, think they’ve been charged with the task of wielding the sword against their political enemies. This warrior spirit manifests on both the left and the right, often cloaking itself in righteousness, while more properly revealing itself as self-righteous. Its primary goal is to grasp raw power in order to conform the world into its own vision of what it should be—whether an anti-racist utopia or a greater, more powerful America.
I can hate my enemies because they hate me. I can demonize them because they are demons. I can use tactics like labeling, shaming, canceling, mocking, name-calling, exaggerating, and silencing because this is politics. It’s the only way the game is played and can be won, and winning is everything.
But how can the political arena be fenced off as the only realm in which Jesus’ followers are not expected to manifest the fruit of the Spirit? How can it become a carve-out that excuses us from loving others, whether or not they belong to our political tribe?
Of course we should engage in politics, but when we do it should be as good a fight as possible, if it even needs to be a fight. By good, I mean that we act, react, and speak in ways that set us apart as God’s beloved children. We are called to be wise as serpents but innocent as doves (Matthew 10:16). In the present climate, no one would say that such a startling pairing is easy and many would say it’s impossible. But Gethsemane wasn’t easy either.
Mastering the fear we feel and the sense of anger and loss that often accompanies it is challenging. It can only be done if we allow a deeper fear into our lives, which is the fear of God. What if in these fractious times, during this Holy Week, we were to take our fears to Jesus and lay them at his feet? What if we were to implore his Spirit to help us listen and open us to the surprising, even shocking, ways he wants to touch and heal our broken world? Perhaps even to touch it through us?
Jesus himself was no stranger to fear. He had to battle it in Gethsemane to the point of sweating blood. To say that he was unafraid would be to falsify the gospel narrative. But fear did not control him. He mastered it by turning to his Father and praying, “Not my will but yours be done.” Surely he can counsel, strengthen, and enable us to follow him faithfully no matter what kind of world we live in.
“Peace I give you,” he said, not long before his arrest. “I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” (John 14: 27)
Well said, Ann - thank you!