Everyone does it. Some secretly, while for others it’s more
public and at times quite embarrassing. When
we’re aware of it most of us would prefer not to talk about it. Revealing it seems far more humiliating than
pretending there’s nothing much to reveal.
Many of us become such skilled pretenders we’re convinced we don’t do it
or don’t have it at all. At this point,
it probably has us. Fear so willfully
takes on disguise, it has a creative ability of becoming part of our way of
being in the world.
If my fear were a mode of transportation,
it would be the old mountain bike I used as an early teenager. It was a hand-me-down. In my household, with three brothers and good
parents who either didn’t have the money to throw down on new stuff or simply
didn’t see the point, you had to learn to love hand-me-downs. I guess I learned to love my bike, kind
of. It had already been well loved by
one or two of my brothers, so I’m not so sure there was much left to love.
My bike was rusting all over and the
seat never stayed put. It made all sorts
of obnoxious noises as I rode up and down the street. A lot of strange clicks, knocks and squeaks
most days. Sometimes it sounded like
someone emptied his toolbox along with a small animal into giant blender. And I swear I spent every Saturday morning
repairing punctured or flat tires.
Somehow this old bike got me to baseball practice, over to a friends
house or to my next odd job, but almost never without frustration. On occasion the chain would suddenly lock up
or fall off track. Whatever travel plans
I had on those days were shot. I’d have
to lift up the back end and push my failing bicycle all the way back home. I never quite figured out how to put the
chain back on by myself. The gears made
it all too confusing.
Now, I don’t live in fearful apprehension
of an apocalyptic disaster. I don’t worry
a tsunami will reach Portland, as plausible as that may be. I suppose most of us are undeservedly
fortunate to live without fear of real physical harm. Although, a few days ago I suddenly awoke just
before dawn and immediately noticed a black speck on the ceiling. It was a little spider, probably poisonous,
camping out directly above my face. He
was just watching me sleep. I’m pretty
sure I only woke to turn over onto my side, but once I saw him I froze. When women and children shriek at the sight
of a little spider, I like to play it off as no big deal. I assure them all is well and walk over
calmly to remove it with a kleenex. In
truth, the poised assurance I offer indicates I’ve already peed my pants. If I fell back to sleep, I knew this spider
would dive bomb directly into my mouth or begin to chew my face off! For all I know, it did. Cleo was completely unaware and no help at
all, so I laid there paralyzed. I was so
tired and disoriented I eventually fell back asleep. Remarkably, I haven’t died yet.
Irrational phobias aside, some of my real
long standing fear has went along unnamed.
I hate this. I prefer to walk
about with some inner familiarity in life, as though I’m walking into the bar
on Cheers. Being afraid generally assumes we have
somehow become conscious of something known or unknown, which seems worthy of
panic or dread. Fear of unknown outcomes
or some identifiable situation is one thing.
But, I’m especially acquainted with the first more draining part of the
phenomenon.
It’s the part where you sense some
ambiguous anxiety has set in but can’t fully see what’s wrong. These emerging feelings are usually named
worry or doubt. And they may be well
named. However, our conversation with
even these two is usually so brief it can barely pass for an introduction. When we’re really frazzled, anything related
to fear within our inner self hardly gets a willing glance. Yet, it all remains with only a nickname. This has me wondering if our most powerful
fear wanders among the most hidden things within us. If it does, I’m not so sure it’s meant to be
treated as an intruder.
We may be frozen, standing on the edge
of a stuck, failing relationship; or feel the darkness of our circumstance
pulling us into the deep, but at least there fear has emerged with a
presentation of opportunity. Must
something change now? At that point we
form a response, whether intentional or not.
If nothing else we may pretend we’re fearless or shamefully refuse to
acknowledge and converse with our fear, whether we know what exactly it is or
not. This must be why Jesus asks
ridiculous questions of us at clearly inopportune times, like “Why are you so
afraid?” (Matthew 8:26) Oh Jesus, for God’s
sake SHUT UP! I’m busy not dealing with the real problem!
After going nearly my whole adult life
terrified of my answer to Jesus’ question, I’ve finally started listening to
the resounding yet vague string of frustration tangling things in my life. This year for Lent I knew I needed to pick up
and carry my cross, to follow Jesus up the hill. I felt the weight of it before I ever knew
what I was carrying. If I knew it would
require me to expose any of it, I would have left it there on the ground. But, I guess Jesus wasn’t afforded the luxury
of bearing his cross in private. So, I
decided I would attempt to fast fear. At
the time I only knew I felt plagued by it. I could feel its way of stocking my every
hope. Gathering what remnants of courage
I had, I entered this season of dying with some discipline, trusting this part
of myself would be lost as Easter approached.
As I took it from one pastor friend of mine, in its place I wanted to
feast on whatever sources of love and strength I could find. To my surprise, the journey has not called
for an urgent retreat from fear, but a willingness to venture out alongside it,
wandering among whatever else might be found near it.
It’s been a rather uncomfortable
ride. It always has been really. I sense the deep desire to reach out in
vulnerability to a friend, but retract convinced he/she can hear my
embarrassing inner racket. I’ve told
myself for so long it’s better not to move when something needs repaired, it’s
easy for me to cancel travel altogether.
At least then, if the other decides I’m not the best ride-along I will
be spared the hurt. I haven’t given up
though. I know where I need to go most
often. It’s just that moving forward wholeheartedly
will likely invite more potential breakdowns. I’m sure I will hindered when met with others’ judgment. I will most likely be hurt and confused by
their inability to see what is genuinely difficult to see in me or within
themselves. But, I think I’m tired of
this way of getting around.
Fear can get us to where we’re going,
but we never arrive in the best shape; and sometimes it changes our destination
en route.
Lately, I’ve been getting around via
different transportation. One of Jesus’ good
friends once said “There is no fear
in love. But perfect love drives out fear…” (1 John 4:18). I
like this. I imagine this disciple whom
Jesus loved has been around the same block I circle continually. The love he speaks of here is divine in
character. It is something different and
beyond us, which is precisely what we might lack and desperately need—to be
seen, to be known. Even if there was no
one else, this love reaches out to us until our character is set free to match
his, the One who keeps reaching. It’s
just hard to recognize and trust because love like this gently but
intentionally touches everything frightfully painful as it reaches. The inner racket continues as I write it, but
I choose the risk of traveling by love. Ultimately,
our great effort to maintain the “safe” old mode of transportation wastes grace
and energy. Thankfully, we have friends
who are awfully patient and are so willing to go along with us.
This is how it works I think. I’ve been blessed with small experiences that
confirm stepping through fear toward the connection I so desire is actually
possible for me. One of my aunts told me
I don’t have to be annoyed by my fear and that I should let fear be a
teacher. Whether the teacher is fear
itself or the ones who can stand in it with us, we can learn to greet whatever
once paralyzed us. In this way, fear
doesn’t have to be feared. What if we
don’t need to fight or flee? It doesn’t
always lead to where we desire, but it’s still not a dead end. There may be no fear in love but in order to learn
to love and live in it, fear has something to reveal on the way.
