Passing the anniversary of the pandemic outbreak, with hope shining brightly on the horizon like the advent of spring, it seems like a good time to take stock of where this year of isolation from social norms as brought us.
While grateful for the silver linings, we’d be remiss not to acknowledge the huge cost of covid – not merely economically, but politically, socially, psychologically, and yes, spiritually. A year ago, amid the ensuing chaos, one emotion held us all under its sway – fear.
What’s interesting about fear is that we humans aren’t designed to stay scared. We call the stress of unresolved, ongoing fright, trauma, for good reason. It’s not surprising, therefore, that we come up with a variety of responses when alarmed. The logical course dictates minimizing risk. Just be careful. If you’re careful enough, you’ll be okay. Of course, that doesn’t do it for everyone. Some people resort to denial; others become hyper-vigilant, but remain anxious, nonetheless. In all cases where fear has caused the ground to shift beneath us, we’re looking for new turf for placing our trust.
People who believe in God know that we’re supposed to trust in the Lord. But do we really do it? How do we even know that our trust is genuine and not mere lip service? Perhaps we’re really thinking, at least I have my job and money in my bank account? Or we reason, what are the chances something bad will really happen to me? Maybe we simply trust in our own resiliency, like the character in Frank Herbert’s Dune who squelches fear* by facing it and visualizing it passing over him.
Of the things that make us vulnerable to Godlessness, fear has to top the list. Think of how the Devil excels at marketing to our human desire for certainty. Its voice tells us, “You can get exactly what you want – guaranteed. And don’t worry; you can pay me later. After all, you need this now.”
In contrast, God never promises to grant us wishes. Instead, the Lord often levies an un-sugarcoated “no” against even our “sensible” desires, calling us at times to suffering, hardship, and even unchosen service on God’s behalf. Consider all the stories scripture narrates about divine assignments to unlikely candidates.
Notice that God’s answer to fear is stark – “I will be with you” (Moses in Exodus 3:12; Gideon in Judges 6:16; and the prophet himself in Jeremiah 1:8, for starters). There is no coddling, no assurances of a particular outcome – just presence. The Lord’s rich provision for our deliverance from evils bears the shape and timing of the divine knowledge of what we need, not our own scripting of what we think we keep us safe.
That’s what makes it hard, of course. Putting our trust in God is believing in an outcome that we can’t see. While it doesn’t mean sitting back and waiting for service, as some unbelievers might guess, the effort in scary times is more like making our way through a labyrinth, moving forward with only enough light for a few steps ahead.
It would still be scary except that God vows to be with us – before us, behind us, and within us, every step of the way. Paul reminds us: “Nothing can get between us and God’s love” (Romans 8:39).
Having passed a year with covid hanging over our heads, perhaps we can learn to adopt a new attitude towards fear and faith. To modify Herbert’s Litany Against Fear, I suggest:
I must not fear.
Fear is the soul-killer.
Fear is the little-death that seeks to blind me to God’s love.
I will ask God to help me face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
I will turn my inner eye from the alluring paths of false promises and focus on the Lord.
Where there was fear, only I and the Lord will remain.
*From Frank Herbert’s Dune:
“I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”
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