Heroes in the Time of Fear [Proper 7B]

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

Mark 4:35-41 & I Samuel 17

Heroes in the Time of Fear

I still remember it vividly – because fear is like that; it sticks in the soul.  When I was a child, we lived in a dodgy neighborhood, close to a junk yard.  Our house was a long, brick ranch – and my bedroom was at one end, while my parents’ room was at the opposite end.  A long hallway separated us.

And I had this fear that, in the night, someone was going to drive down our long driveway, the one between the junk yard and our home, and break into our house and take me or hurt me – me at the end of the long hallway.  Any time I heard a noise late at night, fear washed over me, whispered its dark secrets into my frantic mind.  And I would pull the red quilt, the one decorated with the birds of Ohio, the one from my grandmother, over my head and I would try my best not to move a muscle.  I would slow my breathing so that no intruder could hear me hiding.  I would lie still beneath that blanket, taking small, silent breaths, as if I were paralyzed – which, in a way, I was: by fear.

Somewhere inside of me that fear left a lasting imprint.  So vivid still that I can feel the warmth of my imprisoned breath and smell the old quilt.  Fear sticks in the soul. Fear is a powerful thing.

Fear is so powerful that it becomes a character in our stories – something real, something tangible, something with which we struggle and strive – an obstacle to overcome, a villain to defeat – or even a ruler who accepts our resignation.  The Bible stories we heard today feature giants and storms and a raging sea, but at their core they are really stories about fear – old stories, ancient stories, stories that live in the DNA of our faith.  And they do so because fear sticks in the soul.

They always remembered that giant’s name.  And his height.  And even the weight of his spear-head.  And they remembered the way in which the entire nation froze in his presence.  Generation after generation listened closely to the story of Goliath, the Philistine giant.  They listened because even though they were not in the valley of Elah on that storied day, they knew in their bones that the story was true.  They knew because they faced their own giants; giants haunted their lives too.  The fear that paralyzed an entire army and its king did not die with the giant.  They knew how it felt to stand across the valley from an impossible situation, from a nightmare come true.  They knew that fear took many forms and still had the power to mock them and paralyze them.  They too knew what it was to be dominated by fear – because they were human.  And so it wasn’t just a good story; it was their story.  And every time David walked into the valley with his sling and stones, it gave them hope.

When they listened to the story of the raging storm, those early Christians could feel the cold waves beat against the back of their necks – sending chills down their spines.  They understood the panic the disciples felt.  Disciples in a small boat – caught between the raging storms above and the deep sea below, the deep sea that threatened to devour them.  They, of course, were not in that particular boat with Jesus, but they knew the story was true.  Because even though they believed that Jesus was with them, in the boat with them, it still felt like the world was about to devour them.  And they were scared. 

Their leaders, Peter, Paul, James, were all gone, killed by a blood-thirsty Empire looking for a population to scapegoat.  And they were the ones who were blamed for the Empire’s problems.  Those who remained were hunted – sacrificed to the gods of national pride and security, power and violence.  Of course they were afraid.  And they understood the disciples’ panic in this Gospel story.  They had prayed the same desperate prayer, “Jesus, do you not care that we are perishing?”  And every time Jesus said peace to the storms and the sea, it gave them hope.

Jesus was in the boat but the storms still came.  Life can be hard and it can be scary.  Jesus was in the boat and the disciples were still afraid.  But even though they were afraid, Jesus was with them in the storm.  Yes, we stand looking out into a future that promises pain and failure and loss and death.  Yes, we turn on the news or browse our social media feeds and the world looks like a terrifying place – for us and for our children.  But just because the world is scary, doesn’t mean we have to live in fear.

The problem with fear is that it prevents us from moving forward into the future God wants for us. It prevents us from being the kind of people God wants us, needs us, to be.  Fear's goal is force us under the blankets.  Fear's goal is to prevent us from walking into the world with our hearts on our sleeves. 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 the Scriptures give us these stories.  That is why the giant falls.  That is why the storms cease and the seas calm down.  That is why the Scriptures tell us, literally hundreds of times, to not be afraid.

Fear is the enemy of the Gospel in this world. Yes, of course, sometimes you will be afraid, you will encounter something terrifying. Life is just like that.  And your first instinct might be to just build up your walls and shut up your heart. But don't.  Don't let fear control you; don’t let it defeat you.  Don't let fear prevent you from becoming the person, the minister of the Good News of God’s radical love, that God is calling you to be.

There is plenty to fear in the world. And still Jesus says, “Why are you afraid?”  Why are we afraid when he is right there in the boat with us?  Fear's goal is to close us in, to convince us to hide. Don't do it. Walk into this dark and dangerous world, armor off and heart wide open, and let your light shine. Fear's goal is to close your mouth. Don't do it. Speak the truth in this world of toxic partisan rhetoric.  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, to see animals, to see criminals. 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 out 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 give up and give in and hide under your blankets.

But this terrified world is counting on you.  The ancient Israelites were paralyzed by their fear until David walked into the valley – vulnerable and fearless, trusting in the God who says “Do not be afraid.”  This world needs some heroes: people who see the giants in the land and keep moving forward, people who see the giants in the land but still believe that the power of love is stronger. 

This world needs some heroes.  And though this building was full of little ones in capes this week, I think our children need some heroes most of all.  Because they are the collateral damage in a culture that runs on fear, that is driven by the politics of fear.  Children today don’t fear the monsters under the bed.  They have nightmares about school shootings – trust me, I have a child who has had those nightmares.  They see pictures of children behind bars on TV, on computer screens, on the cover of the newspaper.  They see the tear-stained little faces and they don’t wonder which party is to blame; they wonder only why are they crying and what can we do to make the tears stop.   

Our children need us to be brave.  They need us to reject the fear that we are being sold.  They need us to walk in love and not in fear.  They need us to believe deep down in our souls that Jesus is with us and so we don’t have to give in to fear.

Sometimes, after hiding under my blankets for a long while, I would scrape together enough courage to run down the hallway.  I would run as fast as my little legs could manage, all the way to my parents’ bedroom.  Because I knew they were not scared like me.  They weren’t hiding under the blankets.  So I could just rest easy.  And if things got scary, I knew they would be brave; I knew they were my heroes.