August 7, 2022
Rev. Mary Erickson
Hope Lutheran Church
Genesis 15:1-6; Luke 12:32-40
From Fear to Faith
Friends, may grace and peace be yours in abundance in the knowledge of God and Christ Jesus our Lord.
Two explorers were on a jungle safari when suddenly a ferocious lion jumped in front of them. “Keep calm” the first explorer whispered. “Remember what we read in that book on wild animals? If you stand perfectly still and look the lion in the eye, he’ll turn and run.”
“Sure,” replied and his companion. “You’ve read the book, and I’ve read the book. But has the lion read the book?”
Fear. It’s something we all experience. Fear is one of the first emotions we feel. Animals sense it, too. Fear is an essential emotion. When we’re around a danger, fear raises its signal to warn us.
But fear has a way of multiplying. Fear can become so all-present that we live in an ever-anxious state. One fear leads to another. We even name our fears:
• Acrophobia: Fear of heights
• Agoraphobia: Fear of open spaces or crowds
• Claustrophobia: Fear of confined spaces
• Xenophobia: Fear of strangers or foreigners
And there are lesser known fears but just as real:
• Arithmophobia: Fear of numbers
• Atychiphobia: Fear of failure
• Coulrophobia: Fear of clowns
• Scolionophobia: Fear of school
• Glossophobia: Fear of speaking in public
• Nomophobia: Fear of being without your mobile phone
Fear plays an outsized role in our lives. How much are we affected and swayed by fear? How are our words and actions – and our silence and our inaction - motivated by fear?
Fear becomes the principle rudder steering us. We’re afraid of how the world perceives us. Will I be seen as stupid? Is my body shape wrong, my hair too frizzy? Will I be criticized if I speak my mind? Am I smart enough, capable enough? Will I fail and be a laughingstock?
Fear leads us to respond defensively over perceived criticisms. We fear financial ruin, we’re anxious over health threats, we’re afraid we might lose our job. We feel like we’re in a pressure cooker at work over fear for dropping the ball. We fear for our children and grandchildren. We fear for our nation, our democracy, of the threat of recession. We fear for the future of our world, of global warming.
So much fear! That little rudder steers us through a tempest, past dangerous shoals and leviathans in a state of non-stop anxiety.
Our readings today from Genesis and Luke both deal with the power of fear. In Genesis, Abraham and his wife Sarah are worried about a problem that affects many people: infertility. They have tried a very long time to conceive to no success.
As we encounter Abraham in today’s reading, both he and Sarah are very old. Sarah’s biological clock has run down completely. What will become of them, these two elderly people living in a land far from their place of birth? Who will care for them?
God speaks to Abraham words that are peppered throughout the Bible: Do not be afraid. Al-tirah in Hebrew; me phobou in Greek. The scriptures echo with this refrain: let go of our fears and trust in God.
Abraham pours out his deepest fear to God. He and Sarah have no children. When he dies, all he possesses will pass to a servant and his memory will drift into the desert’s sands.
Like Abraham, we pour out our fears to God in prayer. And God hears. Sometimes we feel something after our prayers. A presence, an assurance. Something conveys “fear not” to us.
As Abraham revealed his deepest fear to God, something urged him to go outside and look at the night sky. “Do you see those stars, Abraham?” the inner voice said to him. Imagine the spectacular number of stars to be seen in the darkness of that dry desert air. The voice dares Abraham to try and count the stars. “Your descendants will be more numerous than these.”
Abraham believes the blessed assurance of this answer to prayer. The Bible says, “the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.” His faith took over as his rudder. His ship was steered through life’s tempests by faith, not fear.
But the struggle wasn’t that easy. Abraham and Sarah continued to experience infertility. Finally, Sarah was compelled to act. She instructed Abraham to have sexual relations with her slave woman, Hagar. Abraham concedes, and this handmaid conceives and bears a son, Ishmael.
Thirteen more years will pass, and again God tells Abraham that he and Sarah will have a biological son. Abraham falls down laughing at the prospect.
As fears turn into a marathon, hope slowly burns away into despair, and we become cynical. Fear leads to despair, and despair begets cynicism and a host of other ills. When fear becomes our rudder, we’re steered upon dangerous shoals: cynicism, apathy, selfishness, hardness of heart, cruelty.
It would be a long, uncertain journey, but eventually the day came when Sarah miraculously conceived, and she bore her son Isaac. The name means laughter. This little baby was the joy of his parents. He transformed their doubt and sorrow into joy.
In our reading from Luke, Jesus tells his disciples this same, abiding refrain, “Fear not.” He senses that they’re as timid and skittish as a herd of sheep. “Have no fear, little flock,” he tells them.
He says this on the heels of the reading we heard last Sunday. There was a dispute between two brothers about an inheritance. They want Jesus to play arbiter in the conflict. Jesus warns them not to become obsessed over material possessions.
Then he turns to the lilies of the field and the birds of the air. Doesn’t God provide for all their needs? Do birds fret over what they’ll eat? Do they plant crops to bring in a harvest? No, God provides for their daily bread, and God will provide for us, too. Jesus urges us to strive after what really matters: the kingdom of God.
And then he says it in our passage today, the invitation that echoes throughout scripture, “Do no fear, little flock!” God will provide.
Do not fear. I remember from my catechism that there is one thing we are instructed to fear. Luther’s explanation to the each of the commandments begins with the admonition to fear and love God. When I was a young girl in confirmation class I used to think that was very strange. How can I fear and love God at the same time? Aren’t those incompatible? How can I fear the one I love? And how can I love the one I fear? And even more, doesn’t the Bible tell us that perfect love casts out fear? So how can I fear AND love God at the same time?
The type of fear mentioned in the commandments is a different kind of fear than what we ordinarily mean. It’s more akin to the feeling of awe and marvel. It’s what we feel when we stand beside something of immense grandeur or beauty or power. When we see an awesome sunset over a lake we feel a stir, a shudder, even, inside. When we consider the intricacies and the power of the atom, we feel awe and wonder. When we stand like Abraham under the broad canopy of the star-studded night sky, we feel small in comparison.
When I was the pastor at a former parish, we had a very old style boiler. It was this huge cast iron monster! It stood over six feet tall and ran about 15 feet in length. Sometimes I would find myself in the basement to go and fetch some random item stored down there. And while I was passing the boiler, it would fire up. The fire began in the rear of the boiler. As the chamber filled with fire, it roared. I assured myself that the boiler was functioning just as it was designed to do, but it was frightening to stand so close to such power!
This is the awe, the type of wondrous fear we feel when we consider the power of the divine. It’s very different than a fear that’s driven by the threat of destruction.
But the church has not been innocent of that other kind of fear. How often have we contorted this kind of wondrous awe for God into the dread of destruction before a God who threatens us with obliterating fire and condemnation? The church, sadly, has been the guilty agent of terrorizing the souls of so very many with hellfire and eternal dread.
But is this depiction of sinners in the hands of an angry God the true representation of the divine? Is not our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ the perfect reflection of the God we cannot see? And what do we see when we look to him? We see the One who dwelled from eternity with the Father. And we see One who didn’t cling to sheer power for power’s sake. No, rather, we see exactly where his power comes from. His power was fulfilled, and it emerged from the core of divine love.
It was that perfect and unquenchable love which compelled him to dwell among us! That love drove him to come to us in quiet humility, as one of us. This divine love was born in the warmth of a lowly stable among the dumb animals. He was laid in a simple hay-filled manger, not in a royal crib.
In his ministry he preached to the crowds hungering for a good word, a word derived from the center of mercy and forgiveness. He accepted those who were rejected by polite society: the insane, the prostitutes, the tax collectors. He healed indiscriminately.
And his finest and final act of mercy came not through a display of heavenly fireworks. He rejected the plea to call down heavenly fire to destroy. His power was made perfect through weakness. Divine love led him to the cross. It led him to death and even to the depths of hell itself.
It was there, from the bowels of hell, in the place most alienated from the source of divine love, that divine love planted the seed of redemption. The sprout of salvation germinated from the place of utter despair and sorrow, from the place of the gnashing of teeth and the hollow sobs of wretchedness, here is where divine love was sprouted. Up, up it grew. It reached up to the tomb until the tomb was filled to capacity and the heavy stone door exploded open on that Easter morning with light and life.
This is the perfect reflection of the God we cannot see. In the form of his Son in the flesh, as a negative perfectly reflects the developed picture. In him we see the invisible God. And what we see is not an image of terror and wrath. We see, rather, the source of all love and life.
“Fear not,” he says, “Have no fear, little flock, for it’s the Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”
Good friends, take heart! May we steer our course through the tempests under the strong rudder of faith. And may it be reckoned to us as righteousness.
