Do Not Be Afraid [Last Epiphany A]

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

Matthew 17:1-9

Do not be afraid

It started out as a normal day in first century Palestine. The disciples were shooting the breeze, maybe arguing about rank and order, maybe retelling the stories of feeding miracles and amazing healings. Everyone in the crew had mostly forgotten about the uncomfortable incident from six days earlier – or at least they were pretending to have forgotten. It is embarrassing still for Peter, so I won't get into it, except to say that no one likes being called “Satan” – especially by Jesus.

But the thing about Jesus is: even a serious rebuke is colored with love. And so on this perfectly ordinary day, when Jesus felt like a hike, he personally invited Peter, along with James and John. It seemed like a good day for a hike and so the guys strapped on their boots, grabbed their water, I don't know, satchel, pouch, probably not bottle, and hit the trail. They followed Jesus up the mountain. I mean, up the high mountain; that is an important detail that I suspect was added in later re-tellings by the disciple who had the most difficult time keeping up. Four guys, hiking up a mountain, a high mountain. A good way to get some exercise and some fresh air, sure, but otherwise, it was a pretty normal day.

Until Jesus stopped climbing. And then everything stopped being normal.

It makes for a nice, interesting story, this Gospel story: strange, but nice. But to actually be there, to witness this event, would be terrifying. This is some crazy stuff, unprecedented, anything but normal. Let's revisit what actually occurred on that mountain, that high mountain. Well, the hike ended when Jesus stopped and his face turned into the Sun. Terrifying. And then his clothes, I'm not sure what color they were before, probably brown-ish, turned dazzling white – without bleach, without a washing machine – just spontaneously. And then the ghosts appear. Moses, who dies in the Torah, is standing right in front of them. Terrifying. And then Elijah, who was once carried into the sky by a fiery chariot, shows up too. He's either a ghost like Moses. Or, since the Bible suggests he left Earth without dying, maybe he is just hundreds of years old and able to materialize at will. So all of that is also terrifying.

No reason to stop the scary there. Why not add the audible voice of God? The very intonation that created the stars and separated the light from the darkness, that shook the earth, and makes the mountains as though they were not. They hear that voice. Sun faced Jesus. Two holy apparitions. The voice of the Creator splitting their ear drums. By the time the sudden cloud dissipates, the disciples are face down in that high mountain dirt trembling in fear. Obviously.

Oh, and this is all before Jesus lays this one on them: he is going to be killed and rise from the dead. Trying processing that information.

In this midst of what is no longer a normal day, Jesus looks at his three disciples, dusty and distressed, and says to them, “Get up and do not be afraid.” Which, by the way, is easy for him to say; he hasn't yet looked in the mirror at his glowing face.

The disciples were, our text tells us, “overcome by fear.” They were frozen, paralyzed, unable to move, like dead men. And every last bit of that fear was justified. Of course they were overcome. Of course they were afraid.

The disciples: faces hidden in the sand. And Jesus touches them and says, “Get up and do not be afraid.” Throughout Jesus' ministry in Matthew's Gospel, Jesus heals many people. The healings are achieved through some combination of word and touch. And so when Jesus heals the leper in chapter eight, he first touches the man and then says, “Be made clean!”

When Jesus sees his frightened disciples lying on the ground in fear, he touches them first and then says to them, “Get up and do not be afraid.” Except when Jesus says, “Get up” he uses, in the Greek, the same words the angel says at the tomb on Easter morning. And so, we might consider that what Jesus says to his disciples is more like “Be raised up” or “Be resurrected.” I am tempted to think that by touch and word, by word and touch, Jesus is doing more than making a suggestion to his disciples; he is making a miracle in their lives.

In the Gospels “do not be afraid” is like a refrain. We hear it over and over again. From the mouths of angels. From the mouth of Jesus. “Do not be afraid.” But the events of the Transfiguration story, today's Gospel story, are scary. And being told by an angel that you will be a pregnant, unwed teen: that's scary. Watching someone walk across the surface of a lake toward your boat: that's scary. Finding an angel in an empty tomb that was supposed hold the body of your Savior: that's scary.

And so is this crazy world. The news presses down on us with scary stories: of environmental disasters, cyber attacks, the threat of global terrorism, horrible tales of sex trafficking, the heartbreaking aftermath of yet another heroin-related death, and what feels like an endless string of mass shootings. Tension and division and violence and war: this is a scary world. And the problems feel overwhelming.

And Jesus says, “Do not be afraid.” But fear seems justified. And so why would Jesus keep saying “Do not be afraid”? Especially to the disciples who will follow him down that mountain on a path that ends at the cross. Especially to us who are told constantly that fear and anxiety should be our default mode.

And where does Jesus get the strength anyway? He is staring down a terrible, brutal, tortuous death and telling us to not be afraid. Jesus knows fear devours our ability to trust God. And the path Jesus walked, the path to which he calls us, cannot be walked with a deep trust that the God who sends us also sticks with us through even the most terrifying moments.

The problem with fear is that it prevents us from moving forward into the future God wants for us. Fear's goal is to drive us into the ground, to bunker us down. Fear's goal is to keep us from heading back down the mountain, into the world, with Jesus. Fear's goal is to close us in, to close our mouths, to close our arms, to close our hearts. Fear is a disease that paralyzes our souls.

And that is why Jesus touches his disciples, a healing touch, and that is why he speaks to them, lying on the ground like dead men, a word of life: Be raised up, be resurrected. Fear is not the end of the road.

Fear is the enemy of the Gospel in this world. Yes, of course, sometimes you will be afraid, you will encounter something terrifying. And your first instinct might be to just close up shop. But don't. Don't let fear control you. Don't let fear prevent you from becoming the person, the minister of the Gospel, God is calling you to be.

There is plenty to fear in the world. But Jesus says, “Do not be afraid.” Fear's goal is to close us in, to convince us to hide. Don't do it. Walk into this dark and dangerous world and let your light shine. Fear's goal is to close your mouth. Don't do it. Speak the truth in a world of spin. Fear's goal is to close your arms, to cause you to look at your sisters and brothers with suspicion and hatred, to cause you to look at other beloved children of God and see enemies. Don't do it. Open your arms so wide that your love leaves you vulnerable. Fear's goal is to close your heart. Don't do it. Leave your heart so exposed that it is broken open wide over and over again; let your love spill our extravagantly, spill it everywhere you go because perfect love casts out fear.

There is a lot to fear in this world. Fear is a big business. And you will be reminded of that every day – by politicians, and reporters, and marketers, and by your friends and family on social media. You will be reminded so much and so often, in fact, that you might be tempted to hide your face in the ground.

But Jesus is with you. And he's not content to leave your there in the dirt. “Get up and do not be afraid.”