"They say that love makes the world go around," Wally mused one day. "Not true. It's fear. Fear is what really makes the world go around."
You know what? Wally is right.
Politicians know this. Fear of terrorism...fear of unemployment...fear of the stranger, the other...fear of not having enough to go around...fear of the future...push the right fear buttons and you can win an election. And, depending on the country, your fearless leader might push the ultimate fear button: "Do this, believe this, or we kill you."
Marketers know that fear runs the world. Afraid of not fitting in? Buy these fine products that will make you attractive and popular and envied by others. Afraid of disappointing your significant other, or children, or boss, or even your pet? We have just the solutions for remaining loved and valued. Afraid of not feeling good all the time? Buy these drugs. Afraid of germs, or accidents, or other people, or the natural processes of your own body or mind? Step right up, ladies and gents -- here's the cure for all your ills.
Religious institutions have never shied away from exploiting the fear factor. Do this, don't do that, or God won't love you. Believe this, don't believe that, or you're going to hell. Don't tow our line? Then we draw the line, and you're on the other side of it; God help you then. In Sunday's Gospel text, when Jesus speaks of yokes and burdens, some scholars believe that he was referring specifically to the increasingly complex and onerous set of ritual laws that the Pharisees expected their fellow Jews to follow in order to be considered "good" -- good enough to be respected as truly pious; good enough, perhaps, to speed the coming of the Messiah and the end of the hated Roman occupation.
Ah, yes...that nagging voice that originates right inside our own psyches: Not good enough. Of all the burdens we carry, perhaps this is the heaviest one of them all. In the Epistle lesson for this past Sunday, the Apostle Paul writes eloquently of our perceived inability to get it right; our own profound sense of not being good enough. "Oh, wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?") Fear of not being good enough causes us to hate and reject ourselves; to live in cringing fear of others' judgments; to pretend to be people we are not; to become defensive; to pull rank on other people because, even if we're miserable and self-hating, there's a certain small comfort in rating ourselves less loathesome than someone else. Sometimes it causes us to simply give up, and let the boulder on our backs crush the very life and hope out of us.
And there, lying in the dirt, is where we meet Jesus.
Jesus' response to all of this, not only in Sunday's text but in his entire life and ministry? No Fear. He contrasts the burden of fear with his own burden of love -- a love that finds even the unloveliest people "good enough" -- good enough to eat with; good enough to touch; good enough to care about; good enough to teach and heal and treat as members of his own household. Instead of fear, Jesus lives in a state of freedom -- freedom to be human, to be vulnerable, to take chances on behalf of others, to zig while the various power brokers of this world zag. He tells his listeners: "See how I work in the world. This is the way to do it. Follow me -- come on -- let me show you." In the popular religious mind I think we sometimes hear Jesus' "Follow me!" call to metanoia as an imperious command; in my own life it's usually been more of a conspiratorial wink and toss of the head: Pssst...over here. Let me get you out of this mess. Follow me.
The other day while driving around the county I saw an Amish farmer with two oddly-paired Belgian horses in harness: a huge, placid plow horse, with a gangly, hyper teenager next to it. The colt's harnessmate was, in effect, its teacher. When I hear Jesus say, "Take my yoke upon you and learn from me," I don't perceive the yoke as something Jesus imposes upon us, but rather something that he carries right with us -- to show us the ropes, as it were, like that old Belgian.
Does fear make the world go around? You bet. But Jesus tells us we're not of the world; we just have one foot in it, with the other foot in the inbreaking Reign of God, whose rule is grounded in love. Living in that tension between the now and the not-yet, listen for that persistent, beckoning voice: Pssst...over here. Let me get you out of this mess. Follow me.
Stained glass, St. Jude's Church, Brantford, Ontario
3 comments:
I will remember, till my dying day, the opening lines of the sermon the Very Rev. Alan Jones, Dean of Grace Cathedral, preached to the huddled, hurting masses on that grim Sunday after the Tuesday when the towers fell, almost four years ago.
"There are two choices ... love and fear."
I don't remember anything else of what he said. But that remains.
I remember, back when I was thinking about coming back to church, exploring Grace Cathedral's website, thinking, "Now, there's a church I could go to." (I should tell that to my pastor...of our very uncathedral-like li'l church.;-))
Anyhow...yes, those are the two choices. And the irony is, the fear often seems easier.
Grace is a very "thin space", a light on top of the hill, all that kind of stuff. It's got it going on.
I have made the transition to a parish in my present city of residence (only fifteen years after I moved out here from SF!) but will always cherish Grace. And it's there to go back to when I feel like it.
They do have the 11 am service and various sermons on web audio if you have broadband. Not as cool as being there but you can get a flavor.
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