2 Tm 4:6-8, 16-18

24 October 2004

“Fearless”

            I have a question.  How many of us have ever imitated the priest and the Levite from the parable of the Good Samaritan?  Is anyone willing to admit that?  Maybe we haven’t crossed over to the other side of the street to avoid the wounded—at least, not in the literal sense.  But how many of us have avoided someone who was flat out weird?  (And for me to think somebody’s weird is saying something!)

            Do we ever give people the bum’s rush?  (That phrase itself says a lot about how a certain group of people get treated.)  And how often do we go out of our way to avoid people we’ve decided we don’t like?  I think all of us can find ourselves somewhere in these questions I’ve been asking.

            Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest who does spiritual formation in New Mexico—and whose book on Job I used last year during my sermons on Job—has noticed this stuff in himself.  “I have observed in myself, I am ashamed to say, that people I do not ‘like’ are usually people that I am somehow afraid of, but in very subtle ways, and sometimes even understandable ways.  I am afraid they will control the conversation, they will use up hours of my time, they will be needy or high maintenance, they will express neurotic or stupid opinions, they will want more of me than I want to give,” and so on.[1]

            I think I can identify with what he’s saying.  There are times when I just don’t want to deal with someone or something.  Sometimes that’s okay; we all need to take a break.  But he’s on to something when he talks about the fear below the surface.  I know I forget that time itself is a gift from God, and sometimes I’m afraid to lose, just as Fr. Rohr says, even “the next 10 minutes.”

            He continues, “Unless we observe and surrender our small, daily anxieties, we won’t recognize the really big fears, in all their disguises, that control our politics, our [churches], our bank accounts, and the world’s future.  Fear has such control over most lives and most groups because it is hardly ever recognized as such.”  Sometimes it appears in the disguise of “prudent concern, common sense,” or justified anger.[2]

            Certainly, some fear is healthy, like the fear of putting your hand on a burning stove.  But it’s fear that remains hidden that does the damage.  If fear isn’t dragged out into the open—where we can recognize it—then it’s able to work against what is good.  It’s similar to the way that, in the Gospels, Jesus would force demons that had possessed people to reveal themselves.  Sometimes he even made them state their name.  If we’re gripped by something that instills in us a continuing sense of anxiety, of dread, being able to name it—to pin it down—is a big step toward recovery.

            Of course, there are fears for which we don’t have to search very hard.  Our fears may be physical in nature:  fear of being attacked, fear of debilitating disease.  Sometimes fear is economic.  Will I be able to pay the bills?  Will I lose my job?  Dare I speak out about an injustice?  Relationships with others are a minefield of fears:  like concerns for children and other family members.  Our social contacts…who knows what kind of stuff that will lead to?  Then there are worries about mental and spiritual health.

            While I was just now going through that list, you probably thought of some other ways in which we are fearful creatures—ways in which we look like, or at least feel like, the guy on the cover of our worship bulletin!  He’s one of the residents of Springfield from the show “The Simpsons.”  He’s known simply as Comic Book Guy (he owns a comic book store), and he looks like he just discovered that his mint condition first issue of Spider Man has a tear in the cover…

We all have our favorite fears!  As for me…I think being tortured would be a fate worse than death.  Maybe that’s why I got interested in Amnesty International and its work to prevent torture.  Actually, for me, the idea of just being in prison is bad enough!

            Our epistle reading deals with this kind of stuff:  being in prison and being scared to death.  No, wait a minute!  It’s about being in prison and not being scared to death.  It’s about being fearless.

            I said last week that this letter, for various reasons, probably did not come from the hand of Paul.  But whether he, or some later student of his, actually composed the words, it’s safe to say that it tells his story.  This is the story of the aging apostle, realizing that his chances of being released alive by his Roman jailers are fading fast.  And…this is the story of his assurance in the face of that grim prospect.

            Like servants of God in other eras—I think of Martin Luther King’s “I’ve been to the mountaintop”—the apostle Paul knows that the end is near.  “I am already being poured out as a libation [a drink offering], and the time of my departure has come.  I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (vv. 6-7).  What an awesome thing to be able to say—to have that kind of confidence in the life one has lived!

            It’s not like Paul would have always been able to feel that way.  At a certain time in life, he finally responded to the love of God.  Yet even after that, he still had flaws.  He still was a sinner.  But his walk with the risen Lord taught him to become fearless.

            There’s something in our scripture reading that gives what we could call a “for instance” of his fearlessness.  In verse 16, we see that, upon being taken to court, Paul’s friends are nowhere to be found.  The charges brought against him no doubt concern his activities in proclaiming the gospel.  The prosecution would have access to any witnesses they want.  But Paul is left to defend himself.  He’s been left, as they say, twisting in the wind.

            In his prison cell, he must be thinking, “Just wait ‘til one of that ungrateful, cowardly bunch comes to visit me!  I’m gonna let ‘em have it!”  Then again, maybe not.  The same risen Lord who’s walked with Paul for years knows something about being abandoned when the cops show up.  It’s rubbed off on Paul, since he says, “May it not be counted against them!”  That’s not the voice of a man controlled by fear.

            It’s precisely because Paul is fearless that he can be a bigger man than those wishing him harm.  And he can forgive those who’ve let him down.  How badly we need people like that today in our country, with its politics of fear and its spirituality of fear.

            I watched all three of the debates between President Bush and Senator Kerry.  (And I apologize in advance to those of you who thought they were very enlightening exercises!)  Amid the dodged questions and repeated slogans, I thought there was one especially telling moment.  In the second debate, the one in St. Louis, in which the candidates fielded questions from the audience, it was the final question that I found really revealing.  There was a woman who asked the president if he could name three mistakes he had made…and (I’m paraphrasing) what he had learned from them.

            He couldn’t even think of one, besides regrets about appointing a few people to certain positions.  But when it was Kerry’s turn, he didn’t do any better.  He simply started listing mistakes that Bush had made.

Neither man took this opportunity to admit that, of course, I have made mistakes.  This woman’s question gave each of them a chance to show a little bit of maturity.  They could have acknowledged, “Yes, I am human.  I haven’t always gotten stuff right, and I’ve learned from it.  Let me share some wisdom I’ve gained!”  But apparently, the fear of being labeled a “flip flopper” prevents our political leaders from respecting our intelligence.  (Okay, I’ve said my piece!  You can tell me afterwards what an idiot I am!)

            The politics of fear is about much more than politicians afraid of being honest.  Fundamentally, it’s a way of controlling the population.  A certain level of anxiety must be maintained for it to work.  In the 1950s, there was the Red Scare, in which a communist was behind every tree.  After 9-11, there’s a terrorist behind every tree.

            But Americans aren’t unique.  History shows over and over that fear is an effective method.  Our friend, Jürgen Moltmann, in his book In the End—The Beginning, speaks of his youth in Nazi Germany.  “In order to unite the people completely, a permanent state of war was proclaimed, war against [Communism], against ‘the Jewish plot to rule the world,’ against…whatever enemy was allegedly at hand.  The whole of life took the imprint of friend-enemy thinking.  ‘He who is not for us is against us’ and must be exterminated.”[3]

            Those who’ve read the book 1984 by George Orwell will remember how the government maintains a never-ending state of war.  The enemies shift for no apparent reason.  Those who ask questions are considered traitors.  I wonder, can we learn to ask questions other than what the major political parties and the mass media spoon feed us?

Still, the fearlessness of the apostle Paul goes to a deeper level than the politics of fear.  That’s something on the surface; it’s only a symptom.  More primary is the spirituality of fear.  It manifests itself in myriad ways; it appears in countless forms.  How can we get a handle on this slippery devil?

Richard Rohr says, “[W]e cannot just talk ourselves out of our fears…We have to admit that we don’t want to lose something, and admit exactly what that something is.  Is it our reputation, our manner of living, our group identity, our control?  Then we can deal with the real demon, instead of shadowboxing with enemies that are not the real enemy at all.”[4]

Fear causes the reptilian part of our brain to take over.  That part of the brain is noted less for intelligence than it is for instinct.  That’s no way to approach an election, and it’s definitely no way to approach our relationship with God.

“The story is told of a seeker who met Jesus on a lonely road.  ‘Lord,’ inquired the pilgrim, ‘after all the people had been fed with the bread and the fish, you said to your disciples:  “Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost” (John 6:12).  What are the fragments that must be gathered up so that nothing will be lost?’  Jesus gazed at the [traveler] a long moment and then answered:  ‘The fragments are your fears, which multiply like the loaves and fishes and fill more baskets than you can carry by yourself.  These must not be lost.  Instead, they must be brought to me, so that I may bear them with you.  In this way, nothing that is part of you will be left unfound.’”[5]

            Every single person here is fearful.  Pretending otherwise won’t change it.  So…do we continue to trust—to take a strange kind of comfort in—the fear we have known?  Or do we trust in something unfamiliar:  the peace of God?  Are we willing to entrust our fear into the hands of Jesus?

            May the fearlessness of Jesus rub off on us, so that we may join with the apostle in saying, “I was rescued from the lion's mouth.  The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and save me for his heavenly kingdom.  To him be the glory forever and ever.  Amen” (4:17-18).

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