There is nothing to fear

Sermon for Immanuel Lutheran Church, Independence

Matthew 16:24-17:8

“When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome with fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, ‘Get up and do not be afraid.’”

            My first religion course as a freshman at Augustana College was Murray Haar’s Religion 110 course, and the primary textbook for that class was a 666-page (I kid you not) tome called The Beginning of Wisdom: Reading Genesis by Leon Katz. If that phrase—The Beginning of Wisdom—means something to you, it is probably because you have heard it in scripture before, not in Genesis but in Proverbs—Proverbs 9:10, which reads: “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” The fear of the Lord is then picked up and repeated several times in Proverbs, and then in the book of Job and in Isaiah and in the Psalms.

            So, my ears perk up every time Jesus speaks of fear, because not once—not a single time in all the accounts of Jesus’ ministry—does he tell us to be afraid. Not once does Jesus say we are to fear him; not once does he say we are to fear God. Instead, he repeats the words, “Fear not.” Get up and do not be afraid. You have nothing to fear any longer.

            Too much of our lives are spent in fear. You all may have seen that business about spy balloons that the military shot down this week. Some say they are from China, some say they are from aliens. Choose your fear, really. We tend to imagine the worst possible outcome to fear. Reality, meanwhile, will remain unchanged—what will be will still be. We are reminded that we do not have everything under control. We are fragile. We are little. We need something to save us.

            To some extent, this is the state in which every single one of God’s campers arrives at camp, whether that camp is Ewalu or the camp of your congregation on a Sunday morning. God’s campers come afraid and in need of the reminder that we have a Savior in Jesus Christ who beckons us not to run but to stand, because our fears are not to be realized. The disciples never get this, by the way. They are always freaking out, whether it is in a boat on the water as it was in the Children’s message or atop a mountain. The disciples continue to live in fear, even most poignantly after the crucifixion when they are locked in a room. Meanwhile, Jesus repeats, “There is nothing to fear.”

            Campers come to Ewalu with all sorts of fears. Little fears, like spiders; medium fears, like the dark; big fears, like what is going to happen when some of them go back home to families that are not as loving, accepting, and affirming as those campers deserve. We have kids who are scared to say they aren’t going out for that one sport… we have kids who are scared to come out as gay; kids who are scared of losing things… or losing people; kids who are scared of what is happening back at school; kids who are scared of being away from home. We see it all. The fear of the Lord may well be the beginning of wisdom because it is fear of the one thing that holds all our other fears. Can we trust in this God who can smush us with the holy finger at any moment, or is God just another, bigger thing to be afraid up.

            Jesus, meanwhile, says only this: “Get up… do not be afraid.” This God who created you could certainly wipe you off the face of the planet if God so-chose, but God does not and will not do so. In fact, this God who needs nothing has instead elected you—to love you—to care about you. When folks call me and say “What are you teaching campers at Ewalu?” this is exactly what I say: We teach campers that they are loved by a mighty God who is the only thing worthy of fear so that they need not live in fear any longer. This God, who we know in Jesus Christ, came to die for you. For you--in spite of all of your fears.

            In a single Sunday morning church service, it is hard to make a real impact on those fears, but in a week’s time at camp, let me tell you, we punch above our weight for making a dent in the fears that kids bring to us. Kids who were missing home discover that they are safe even apart from a loving family. Kids who have experienced not enough love at home get that hint that they are beloved, sometimes more deeply than ever before. Camp is a petri dish of latent fears and daring hopes where young adults and children converge and find their voice and deepen their faith. And all of it is only because of Jesus Christ, who tells us “Do not be afraid.”

            So, we live into those words in all we do. On the challenge course, when I get groups of kids I often begin with trust leans and the first question I have them ask one another is, “Am I safe?” It’s a question of incredible importance and not just for the activity. Everything hinges on the person who is catching them meaning it. It is the foundation for everything we do at camp, because if a person asks, “Am I safe?” and you say, “Yes” and then they lean backwards and fall on their butt, then you have signaled that we are not about the truth here. And the truth is Jesus Christ, who said he is the way, the truth, and the life. We walk in the way of Jesus, often mis-stepping, often like the disciples desiring to make shrines to things and people that are not the right things to worship. We all make mistakes, but our faith is grounded in what is true—and the truth is that we have a God who conquers fears.

            This is a partial advertisement for camp, but it is something that I believe plays for all of us every day. We all carry fears with us. For those of you who have children or grandchildren, those fears tend to multiply with every new, fragile human being you love. Fear is the shadowy reminder that we cannot save what we love—not ultimately, not even day to day. Living involves risk. So, if fear is the beginning of wisdom, it is because we are mortal, because we have to come to terms with the reality of living in a world broken by sin where children get cancer and terrible people commit terrible crimes against innocent victims. We don’t have to have the “why” figured out, but we do need to understand two foundation realities: 1. There is much that is worthy to fear, but 2. You have a God who holds it all—who did not ascend a throne but a cross. So, when we struggle, when we are desperately hurt, and especially when we are dying or when others we love meet death, God is not absent but more present than ever, crying alongside, suffering alongside. The end of wisdom is that there is nothing to fear not because bad things don’t happen; after all, Jesus cried over Lazarus even though he would be raised, and we cry over what we lose because of genuine, Christ-like love for our sisters and brothers. Instead, the end of wisdom is that cascade of peace that drowns out even death—when the hope of salvation lies not in our capacity to protect what we ultimately cannot save but in God’s infinite capacity to love and save us.

            We need love. Just like our fears, every one of us seems to need love in different ways and our love gravitates toward different things. We are not cookie-cutters but made in the wide diversity of God’s image, which is the best news of all, because it means that no matter who we are, who we love, what we love, or what we fear, God has made us in God’s image and says, “Get up, fear not.” Because God loves you in the way you are desperately craving.

God holds together what you cannot—all of your fears. They are nothing in the face of a God who enters into death on our behalf and raises us as a new creation, beloved, saved, and free. In Jesus Christ, there is truly nothing to fear.