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| The Storm on the Sea of Galilee Rembrandt, 1632. |
There’s the slaughter of babies when Herod feels threatened by the visit from the magi.
John the Baptist’s head on a platter at the whim of a royal consort.
Stoning by angry mobs.
The spectacle of crucifixion.
And disease: don't forget disease. Lepers, dying children.
“Don’t be afraid,” Jesus says.
“Don’t be afraid,” when he calls Simon Peter to follow.
“Don’t be afraid,” when the storm threatens to swamp the boat.
“Don’t be afraid,” when he calls Simon Peter to follow.
“Don’t be afraid,” when the storm threatens to swamp the boat.
“Don’t be afraid,” when Jairus comes pleading for his daughter to be healed.
“Don’t be afraid of those who kill the body and after that can do no more. . . Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”
“Don’t be afraid of those who kill the body and after that can do no more. . . Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”
That’s an easy message when the sky is blue and life is fine.
Harder when an invisible virus brings sudden death to even the healthiest among us, when any friend or neighbor could be spreading disease without knowing it, when reported infections double every three days and hospitals in some areas are already overwhelmed.
Harder when an invisible virus brings sudden death to even the healthiest among us, when any friend or neighbor could be spreading disease without knowing it, when reported infections double every three days and hospitals in some areas are already overwhelmed.
Don’t be afraid.
I’ve been thinking about the night before Jesus died.
They went to a place called Gethsemane, and Jesus said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” He took Peter, James and John along with him, and he began to be deeply distressed and troubled. “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,” he said to them. “Stay here and keep watch.”
Going a little farther, he fell to the ground and prayed that if possible the hour might pass from him. “Abba, Father,” he said, “everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.”
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| Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane Nicholas Ge, Russia, 1880 |
Fear?
Dread?
Sorrow?
Are those separate emotions or tied together?
I’ve been feeling all three, not so much for myself as for people I know and love. Older relatives in New York City. Friends on the front lines of medical care. Young families in urban places where too many people live too close together, where there’s too little green space, no safe choices for buying food and diapers.
I’ve been realizing how truly sheltered and privileged I’ve been. How easy it is to hold fear at bay when I live far from war or famine, surrounded by green, peaceful spaces, a quick drive from three good hospitals, refrigerator full, loving family nearby.
And struggling with the feeling that I’m helpless to help.
So much of the world lives in fear every day: terrible floods, horrific fire, not enough food, no clean water, ethnic warfare, bombs, drones.
I believe Jesus wrestled with fear, dread, sorrow, and went on to face the dangers confronting him calmly, confidently, because he knew what lay beyond the fear.
I believe Jesus wrestled with fear, dread, sorrow, and went on to face the dangers confronting him calmly, confidently, because he knew what lay beyond the fear.
He reminded his followers before he went: don’t be afraid, for I am with you always. Even to the end of the age.
Strange as it sounds, I’ve experienced that presence in times of great stress: several times when those I love were at the edge of death, other times when challenges overwhelmed me. In prayer I’ve felt a nearness I can’t explain. Not always, but often enough to know, even now, when fear presses in: we are not alone. And there’s hope beyond the fear.
We aren’t the first to wrestle with epidemics, with fear, with things beyond our control. In the Rise of Christianity, historian Rodney Stark points to Christian care for the sick during times of plague as a significant factor in the spread of the Christian faith. The first hospitals were created by Christians to provide care for people abandoned by their families.
In 1527, Martin Luther answered a letter from fellow pastors asking whether Christians should flee or stay in the face of the plague spreading through European cities. His extensive answer argues against both reckless folly and fearful withdrawal, insisting on courageous love for neighbor while taking appropriate precautions.
In 1527, Martin Luther answered a letter from fellow pastors asking whether Christians should flee or stay in the face of the plague spreading through European cities. His extensive answer argues against both reckless folly and fearful withdrawal, insisting on courageous love for neighbor while taking appropriate precautions.
The challenge is to see what that care looks like now, today.
I first heard this song, Nothing to Fear, on Christmas Day, and have been singing along to it in my various travels. I’ve argued with it, question it, prayed it. It’s become a good anthem for this strange time:
When you pass through the waters I will be with you
And the depths of the river shall not overwhelm
When you walk through the fire you will not be burned
I am the Lord, I am the Lord.
In the depths of your sorrow I wept beside you
When you walked through the shadow I drew you near
Yesterday, today, tomorrow - always the same
I am the Lord, I am the Lord.
And there is nothing to fear, nothing to fear
There is nothing to fear, nothing to fear
For I am with you always.
This is the fifth in a Lenten Series:
- Lent One: start with lament March 1, 2020
- Lent Two: rethink hunger and fasting March 8, 2020
- Lent Three: Lord have mercy March 15, 2020
- Lent Four: Wait. Watch. Wonder. March 22, 2020
