August 12, 2007
(Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost; Proper 14)

Do Not Fear, Little Flock

by The Rev. Canon Susan Sommer

Genesis 15:1-6  •  Psalm 33:12-22  •  Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16  •  Luke 12:32-40
(From The Lectionary Page)

Do not fear, little flock. It is your father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.

Now I don’t know whether eye-rolling was a common response in first century Palestine to outrageous statements. But if it was, now would the time for the disciples to have rolled their eyes. Do not fear? Who is Jesus kidding? They’re on their way to Jerusalem and Jesus has already predicted twice that suffering and death await him there. He has been teaching and healing along the way, and in so doing, has managed to scandalize those in authority and to flout conventional theological wisdom at every step. He has willingly engaged the forces of chaos, he has handled unclean things with impunity, he has consorted with sinners and reprobates. Meanwhile, the disciples have left everything behind to follow him. They have taken a huge leap of faith, there’s no way is he getting out of Jerusalem alive, and he tells them not to fear?

In a word, yes.  Last Sunday we heard Jesus's teaching on keeping priorities straight when it comes to our possessions. Today's passage picks up 10 verses later and really puts that teaching in broader context. Our material stuff isn't the only thing that can get in the way between us and God. We ourselves can be our own worst enemies, especially when it comes to fear.

"Do not be afraid, little flock." That's a mouthful. Human anxiety running amok has probably screwed up more things in this world than any other emotion, with the possible exception of hate. When we are fearful, the portion of our brains responsible for higher reasoning shuts down, and the more primitive portions of the brain swing into action. When anxiety dominates our lives – whatever the cause of that anxiety – we are less inclined to think through our response and are much more inclined to simply react. And the first casualties of living in chronic anxiety usually are our relationships. We make ourselves crazy and we make those close to us crazy as well. Worst of all, fear has a way of driving a big wedge between us and God.

I read recently that mammals, including humans, are born with only two fears: a fear of loud noises and a fear of falling. All other fears are learned responses – either as a result of personal experience or, more commonly, from the shared experiences of family members, friends, and one’s cultural milieu. We’ve evolved into beings that have the capacity to fear because it keeps us out of danger.  So it’s important to realize that Jesus is not patronizing his disciples (or us) by blowing off human anxiety. Not at all. Nor is Jesus beating us up for suffering from clinical anxiety or phobias which are beyond our rational capacity to change. (Mine, by the way, is gephyrophobia – a fear of crossing bridges – which I have had for most of my adult life.) Rather, what Jesus is doing is reminding us in what kind of God we have put our trust.

This is a God whose pleasure it is to give the kingdom. This is the God who brought Abram up out of the land of the Chaldees and led him to what would become the Promised Land, who gave him and his wife Sarah a child in their old age, who centuries later rescued their descendants from slavery in Egypt, who gave them the Torah as a way of staying in relationship. This is a God who grieved when his people fell away from the Torah, who never ceased to bring them back by sending prophets, and by finally sending them his only begotten Son. This is the kind of God we have: a God who seeks a relationship with all whom he created. A God who delights in us, who longs to be at the center of our lives in such a way that we wait eagerly for his appearance with great anticipation.

This is why Jesus counsels his followers to lives of readiness. To be alert is very different from being anxious. Those of us who are parents know the difference, for example, between keeping an eye on your kids and hovering over them. To be alert is to put energy into being present mentally, emotionally, and spiritually in the moment. He gives two images: one of household servants watching for the Master's return in the middle of the night; another of a householder whose house was robbed. The clear implication is that those who stay watchful benefit, while those who fail to perceive what's at stake stand to lose everything. Jesus of course is speaking to his disciples in this passage, but Luke is also speaking to the Church to whom he directed this gospel in the latter days of the first century, when the Second Coming had been delayed and fears were mounting.

Human fear -- anxiety -- is a fact of life. It's useful insofar as it keeps us safe from danger. But all too often fear, in one form or another, is the predominating force in our lives. Fear of change, for example, can keep a congregation trapped in its past, unwilling or unable to envision its future. Fear of the unknown can keep us trapped in unhealthy relationships and behaviors. Fear of failure or humiliation keeps us from taking risks and engaging the gifts God has given us.  Fear of pain often leads to all kinds of addictions. Fear of death keeps us from truly living.

To fear, to be anxious, is human. To allow our anxiety to dwell at the center of our lives, to drive all of our decisions and relationships is idolatrous. To try to deal with our fear through willpower or denial (my own personal favorite) is counterproductive. There's another way, Jesus tells us. Let it go. Surrender your life not to fear but to the power of God whose pleasure it is to give the Kingdom. God can't be at the center of our lives when fear has taken up squatter's rights first. And to be at the center of our lives is what God wants most of all from us.