Matthew 1:18-25; Luke 1:26-38
Rev. Dr. Deborah L. Clark
December 4, 2022
It’s 7:30 pm. Jeopardy time. Fran and I settle into the couch, eager to learn the categories—smiling at some, groaning at others. Fran is enthusiastic about history; I’m always pleased when there’s a bible category. In all our years of watching Jeopardy, though, they’ve never used my favorite piece of biblical trivia. Imagine it. “Biblical trivia for 2000 dollars.” The answer appears on the screen: “The command spoken most often in the Bible.” I leap out of my seat: “I know. I know. What is ‘Do not be afraid.’?” I win!
“Do not be afraid.” When a command is repeated over a hundred times in the Bible, it means it must be important; it also means it’s really hard to follow. If it wasn’t hard, it wouldn’t need to be said so many times.
Fear has always played a huge role in human living. It was a frightening world when God said “Do not be afraid” to Moses and sent him forth to free his people from slavery. It was a frightening world when the heavenly host called out to Isaiah, living in exile in Babylon. It was a frightening world when the angel Gabriel spoke these words to Mary and Joseph, when the adult Jesus said them to his followers. And it is a frightening world today. We have so many reasons to be afraid: hate crimes, mass shootings, rising totalitarianism, a planet in crisis. I’m not sure our world is any more dangerous than it was in Moses or Isaiah or Jesus’s time. Our fear is magnified by our constant access to global media; we are overloaded with news of every scary thing that happens.
This biblical imperative is powerful in its acknowledgement of the pervasiveness of fear in our lives, and also in its recognition of how destructive fear can be. Fear makes us freeze, so we fail to do things that are crucial to the well-bring of our society. Fear prompts us to do horrible things to ourselves and to others.
“Do not be afraid.” It is a powerful command, and it is a perplexing one. Fear is essential. At its best, fear is a gift from God to alert us to danger and enable us to respond. Surely the prophets and the angels are not telling us to ignore a God-given emotion that helps us survive.
I am suspicious of any command—biblical or otherwise—that asks us to deny what we are feeling. “Stop feeling what you’re feeling” is rarely helpful or healthy advice. Often it is counterproductive; the more we try to suppress emotions, the more power they have in our lives. Do the prophets and angels and Jesus want us to deny what we are feeling? Do they really expect ordinary human beings not to feel afraid?
It is a powerful and perplexing imperative. What do we do with it? I have chosen to redefine it. When the Bible says “Be not afraid,” I translate it for myself as “Do not allow your fear to control you.” “Of course we are afraid,” I say. “God understands our fear. God calls us to choose to act out of love instead of fear.”
This week I had two experiences that offered me fresh perspective on this biblical command. The first happened in my car, as I was listening to an audiobook—Atlas of the Heart by Brene Brown. Brown identifies 84 different human emotions and experiences and describes extensive research into each one. The book is inspired by her belief that when we can identify the nuances of our emotions, we make better choices about how we act upon them. One of the human experiences she describes is awe. “Awe-inspiring events,” she says, “often make us feel small compared to our expansive universe. Small, but connected to each other and to the largeness itself.” I am intrigued by her description of the combination of feelings that lead to awe: awareness of our own smallness together with a sense of connection to something greater than ourselves.
I had that definition in my mind a few days later when the Bible Study group read Isaiah 40, one of the texts we often hear in Advent. The man we call 2nd Isaiah is living in exile in Babylon when he hears a voice calling him to proclaim a message to his people. “Cry out,” the voice says to him. Isaiah’s response reflects a combination of fear and despair: “What shall I cry? All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of God blows upon it; surely the people are grass.” “What’s the point?” Isaiah seems to be saying. “We are so small and insignificant.” The voice replies, “The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.” Yes, you are small. Yes, your life is short. And you are part of something wondrous and eternal.
Members of the Bible Study group pointed out how the experience of exile narrows Isaiah’s perspective. He sees the flowers fading, Janet said, but he’s forgotten that when they go to seed new flowers will grow. Bette pointed out that when grass withers, it’s dormant, not dead. Isaiah cannot see beyond his fear and despair.
In his initial objection to his calling, Isaiah is acutely aware of his smallness and his powerlessness. He is afraid. The heavenly host reminds him that he is not alone. He is connected to the everlasting word of God—connected and called to proclaim it. The words of the heavenly host open Isaiah up to his connection with something far beyond himself. He moves from fear to awe. He says yes. He goes on to bring hope to his people in exile, composing some of the most beautiful poetry in the Bible.
We are so small. Our lives are so short. When we glimpse the vast universe, we are like specks of dust; do our lives even matter? When we see the scope of the problems around us, we can feel powerless, useless. That is terrifying. Fear of our own insignificance can paralyze us. It can also lead us to futile efforts to make ourselves feel bigger, to destructive efforts to gain power, often at the expense of others.
What changes when we open ourselves to experience connection—with other people, with nature, with God? What happens when awareness of our smallness is combined with realization that we are part of something much bigger than ourselves? Our fear is transformed into awe. And awe transforms our lives. Brene Brown quotes researchers Dacher Keltner and Jonathan Haidt, who conclude that “awe-inducing events may be one of the fastest and most powerful methods of personal change and growth.” Might it also be true that it is one of the most powerful methods of communal change and growth? What happens when we share the experience of awe?
My reflections this week led me to a new way of making sense of the angelic command. “Do not be afraid.” In Luke’s gospel, the angel Gabriel speaks these words to a seemingly powerless young girl. As Matthew tells the story, an unnamed angel speaks the same words to a man who may be struggling with hurt, betrayal, anger and shame. Both, I imagine, are acutely aware of their smallness—in relation to society’s judgments of their situation, in relation to the strange thing happening in their lives, in relation to the appearance of an angel. Both Mary and Joseph, I imagine, are frightened.
The words of the angels are an invitation to move from fear to awe. Yes, you are small. And you are connected with something much greater than yourself. You are part of God’s love being born anew into the world.
The angelic call to awe has dramatic implications for their lives, and by extension, for ours. For Mary, it is a profound affirmation of her worth. It gives her courage to stand firm in the face of societal judgment. It assures her that her smallness does not mean she is insignificant. As her fear is transformed into awe, she claims and proclaims her trust in God whose greatness is made known through the actions of small, ordinary human beings.
For Joseph, the implications are a little different. As he moves from fear to awe, he is challenged to see the judgments and assumptions of society in the light of something greater: God’s love. He is the fiancé who has been wronged, with power to condemn Mary to a life of shame for her unusual pregnancy. In awe at God’s greatness, he chooses instead to use his power in the service of God’s love.
Called from fear to awe, Mary and Joseph set off on their journey to Bethlehem. Along the way, they call out to us, inviting us to walk with them. Perhaps they repeat the angelic imperative for our benefit. Do not be afraid. Allow your fear to be transformed into awe.
What would it mean for you to respond to their challenge? I invite you to reflect on the role fear plays in your life, on the things that make you feel small or insignificant or powerless. I invite you to notice what changes if you intentionally open yourself to the truth that you are not alone. You are connected to something so great and wondrous we can’t even begin to describe it. You are connected to community, to people who care for you and want to help. You are connected with all of nature, part of an intricate web, a cycle of life and new life. You are connected to God’s love, vast beyond measure, given expression through your small acts of compassion. You are so small, and you are part of something so glorious.
The implications for our lives are dramatic. The implication for our world is dramatic. When we awaken to awe, when we claim our connection to the vast ocean of God’s love, we know what we do matters. We find new courage to act. When we awaken to awe, we see the divisions and distinctions of our society for what they are, and we refuse to accept them or be constrained by them. We find courage to work for justice. We are changed. Our world is changed.
May our fear be transformed to awe. Amen.