No Fear
Commentary
Object:
A woman struggling through the difficulties of the Great Depression went to the front desk of an insurance company in Minneapolis. In her hand she carried a worn and yellowed piece of paper, an insurance policy issued many years before.
The woman asked whether she could stop making payments on the policy for a while, since she had run out of money. At first the desk clerk was a bit rude. After all, he got calls like this nearly every day, and he didn't want to be bothered with another one.
But then he took another look at the paper. It was a life insurance policy in a man's name. And it was worth $300,000 -- right in the middle of the depression.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "This is a pretty valuable policy, ma'am," he said finally. "Have you talked with your husband about it?"
"My husband!" she exclaimed. "He's been dead for three years."
There she was, a woman in poverty, a woman crushed by financial fears. And in her hand she held a piece of paper that could turn her life around.
Fear keeps us clutching at paper, tightfisted and anxious. But faith in God releases to us the power of the kingdom of heaven. Faith in God is greater than any fear that might grip us. Remember Paul's words to young Timothy: "For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline."
The words "Fear not" appear 365 times in scripture, one for every day of the year. That's probably how often we need to hear our Lord warn us about the mesmerizing power of fear and doubt: "Don't be afraid. Only believe!"
Certainly, on this Pentecost Sunday, "No Fear!" is the ruling command. Jesus' disciples rise up with courage they had never before experienced as the Spirit's fresh fires firmed them. Paul, also, counters life with or without the Spirit, and notes the confidence gained when the Spirit whispers the foundations of faith in our hearts. And Jesus himself, even before the awful day of his crucifixion, promised that in the troubling of this world, one thing was certain -- the Paraclete would blaze a trail of clarity and security for those who wished to walk in the footsteps of their master and friend.
Acts 2:1-21
The book of Acts is the second of Luke's two volumes on the life and work of Jesus, presented first through his direct incarnate person in the gospel, and now through his body the church. There are several guiding forces that shape the way in which Luke tells this second part of Jesus' story. One of them is clearly stated by Jesus in Acts 1:8: "You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth." With that in mind, Luke describes the way in which this witness came to Jerusalem (chs. 2-7), Samaria (chs. 8-12), and then began its push toward the ends of the earth (chs. 13-28).
Because the witness of the church in Palestine was first guided by Peter, and that beyond Palestine gained its momentum from Paul, these two figures are central in each major section in succession:
* Peter and the Jewish/Palestinian Witness (Acts 1-12)
* Paul and the Gentile/Mediterranean Witness (Acts 13-28)
The initial organizing structure of Jesus' missional command in Acts 1:8 seems to be further developed by Luke in a clear series of church expansions that are tracked throughout the work. Each successive wave of missional outreach is built upon the previous field of witness, but pushes the engagement one step further:
* the witness to Jerusalem (2:1--6:7)
* the witness to Judea and Samaria (6:8--9:31)
* the witness to the Gentiles (9:32--12:24)
* the witness to Asia Minor (12:25--16:5)
* the witness to Europe (16:6--19:20)
* the witness to the ends of the earth by way of Rome (19:21--28:31)
All but the last of these regional (or, in the case of the move to a Gentile audience in 9:32--12:24, ethnic) expansions is brought to a similar conclusion of the type: "And the word of God grew and multiplied…" It appears that Luke perceived of the missional witness of the church in each of these sections as having pervaded those regions sufficiently so that all people within them had access to the message about Jesus. In the last section, however, the gospel is again briefly stated to both the Jews (Acts 22) and the Gentiles (Acts 26), but there is no concluding progress report of completion. Though some believe this indicates that Luke was planning a third volume, intending to track Paul's next series of journeys once he was released from Rome after his appeal to Caesar had been adjudicated, a more likely theological hypothesis would be that Luke projects the open-ended mission work related to reaching "the ends of the earth" onto the continued life of the church. Viewed in this way, the church is always writing chapter 29 to the book of Acts, so any "progress report" is only partial and interim.
The momentum of the stories told in the book of Acts is derived from a single critical incident that took place in Jerusalem during the Jewish religious festival known as Pentecost. Jesus' instruction for his disciples to stay in Jerusalem and wait for a special gift (Acts 1:4) must have seemed vague at the time, but the arrival of the explosive power of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost made sense. This celebration was a harvest festival and a time for recalling the gift of the original covenant documents to Moses at Mount Sinai. These two themes intersected marvelously with what was taking place. First, there was the dawning of a new age of revelation and divine mission, paralleling that first covenant declaration in the book of Exodus. Second, during the Pentecost harvest festival, the first sheaves of grain were presented at the temple, anticipating that God would then bring in the full harvest. This expression of faith served as a clear analogy to the greater missional harvest of the church that was begun through a miraculous "first fruits" in Jerusalem that day.
The striking symbols that accompanied this powerful event were likely understood well by most who experienced them. First, came the sound of a powerful wind. A single word, both in the Hebrew (ruach) and Greek (pneuma) languages, serves to designate "wind," "breath," and "spirit." Thus the sound of a rushing wind captured the attention of all who were about to breathe in the Spirit of God. Second, there appeared a single blaze of fire that became multiple flames above the heads of the disciples. Jesus' cousin John had said that he baptized with water, but that Jesus would baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire (Luke 1:16). This vision represented the single divine Spirit baptizing all at the same time.
Peter capitalized on these themes when he preached a sermon explaining Joel's prophecy of the "Day of the Lord." Peter tied together God's extensive mission, the history of Israel, the coming of Jesus, and the splitting of the Day of the Lord so that the blessings of the messianic age could begin before the final divine judgment fell. The pattern for entering the new community of faith was clearly outlined: repent and be baptized. The first indicated a transforming presence of the Holy Spirit in individual hearts, while the latter became the initiation rite by which the ranks of this missional society were identified (over against the badge of circumcision in its unique application to the nation of Israel, which was now being replaced -- see Colossians 2:11-12).
Although not explicitly stated, there seems to be a conscious undoing of the troubles that started at Babel through the miracle of multiple-language communications at Pentecost. In Genesis 11, the human race was becoming unified against its creator, and the divine solution to dissipate this rebellion was to multiply the languages spoken, forcing the community to become segmented into competing groups. At Pentecost this action is reversed, and the many people who communicate in their diverse local languages suddenly all hear the same message of grace. They are then knit together into a new common humanity of the church. Babel is undone by Pentecost!
Romans 8:14-17
The apostle Paul speaks of fear in religious terms. Fear is the enemy of faith, he says. Fear is a tool of the devil. Fear is the wall around the mind that wants so desperately to believe.
Maybe you know what he means. A businessman used to belong to a Presbyterian church, but for some reason, his relationship with the church soured. Now that he's getting older, though, he thinks about God often and wonders what will happen to him when he dies. Yet he can't bring himself back to church because of that old spiritual skirmish. The scars left by theological wounds still linger years after he received them. He's not sure what he believes anymore.
A family stopped going to church several years ago because they were involved in a controversy in which church members accused one another of thinking and believing falsely. The debate eventually ran its course, but the pain lingers. The family members are afraid of what might happen if they let religion play a large role in their lives one more.
A young man's brother died some years ago. He's afraid now to look God in the face because he doesn't know what he will find -- will he see a sadistic monster who plays with young lives? Will he find a stern judge who sentences first and asks questions later?
Fear is a crippler. It binds and enslaves us. It rules over us with a whip. Fear can also characterize our faith. Even if we do believe in God, even if we do go to church, a religion of fear can keep us from riding the winds of grace. A religion of fear shouts "No!" so loudly that we can't hear the "Yes!" of God's love. Fear keeps the rider on the ground.
Generations ago, one of the great churches in Edinburgh was Free Saint George's Church. Alexander Whyte, its preacher, had a powerful pulpit ministry. His sermons roared like fire. His thunder shook the rafters. His congregation sat in quivering silence as he delivered hot, spicy warnings from scripture.
As the congregation grew larger, the church decided to call a second minister. Young Hugh Black was hired as the junior colleague. Every Sunday, Whyte mounted the pulpit in the morning, Black in the evening. Soon a saying developed about the two: in the morning Whyte black-balled the saints, and in the evening Black whitewashed the sinners. Whyte spoke of the terrors of hell, and Black spoke of the love of God.
The congregation in the morning grew smaller, stiffer, and more argumentative, while the congregation in the evening grew larger, more enthusiastic, and more graceful. Whyte built walls of fear, but Black opened the gates of love. While the former probably resonated with elements of prophetic judgment, the latter had learned Paul's wonderful applications in today's lectionary reading.
John 14:8-17 (25-27)
Jesus knew the hypnotic power of fear, the crippling power of anxiety. That is why he so often tells people not to be afraid. In fact, his command not to fear is recorded more than any other single teaching. The gospels record almost two dozen instances in which Jesus challenged people to give up their fears and to try believing in God again. He said it to Peter. He said it to the ruler of the synagogue when he was told that his little girl had died. He said it to the disciples as a group on a number of occasions. Again and again he said it: "Fear not. Don't be afraid. Only believe." Here, on the night before he dies, it is the echo of his words, and it will be the first thing he says again after his resurrection.
If doubt and faith are necessary partners in our hearts, fear and faith are mortal enemies, often locked in combat. Only when we acknowledge that faith is stronger than fear can we climb again into the saddle of our religion and ride the horizons with our God.
Of course, we cannot summon up courage on our own, or make it magically appear at the snap of a finger. That is why Jesus said one very important thing about faith -- it is the gift and work of the Paraclete, the continued presence of Christ with those who own him and are owned by him as Lord and master and friend.
Application
When we go on a family bike ride, no one thinks much about how we're going to glide along. It happens rather naturally.
It wasn't always that easy. When our three daughters were learning to ride, they all took a few spills. At one point or another, each of them said, "I'm never going to get on that bike again!" And here we are today, a family of bikers.
Fear can keep us flat-footed, but the promise of greater things teaches us to try again.
If you have been thrown by the bike of your religion, if you have scars from your encounters with the church, if your theology scares you, the challenge of scripture is this: Get back on the horse; find your way into the saddle again; learn how to ride your religion once more.
How do we do that? We begin, in part, by realizing that faith is more powerful than fear. That's difficult, because fear is a powerful force in our lives. Like a horse that has thrown us, fear towers over us. And well it should, because God has given us the strength of fear to keep us from being destroyed. Fear is the alarm that goes off in our hearts whenever danger threatens. Fear can make us run faster and jump higher than we ever thought possible.
A hunter came back to his camp late at night, clothes in shreds, hair full of brambles, skin cut and bruised. He was carrying a beautiful trophy: a magnificent leopard. As his partner looked the animal over, he said, "I don't see a bullet hole. How did you bag this fellow?"
"Oh, I ran him to death," said the hunter.
"What?" exclaimed his partner. "You can't chase a leopard that fast!"
"Who said anything about chasing?" came the reply. "I was out in front!"
Fear will do that do us, won't it? Fear speeds up our reaction time. It strengthens our muscles. It demands that we run from burning houses. Whenever our senses tell us we're being challenged, our adrenal glands squirt some fear into our system, and our energy level increases. You've probably heard stories of mothers who lifted crashed automobiles to release a trapped child. Fear said, "Get that child out of there," so they did.
The power of fear can hypnotize us, too. It can stand before us and cast a spell that keeps us from moving. Maybe you've seen a hypnotist at work. She puts a man into a trance and draws a circle around him on the floor. Then she tells him that he can't cross the line -- that his feet won't be able to because of the barrier set against him. When she wakes him from his trance, try as he might, he cannot cross that line. The hypnotist's suggestion keeps him pinned.
When a rider is thrown by his horse, fear could keep him down. But a true horseman knows that if he doesn't climb into the saddle again, he'd be a poorer person for it. He needs to ride. That's how he is.
"Even youths," said Isaiah, "grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not faint" (Isaiah 40:30-31). They know that the life of fear is so much poorer than the life of faith.
Alternative Application
John 14:8-17 (25-27). When Alexander the Great was a boy, a man from Thessaly brought a horse to his father. The horse was for sale, and it was a raging beauty. No one at court had ever seen a horse so glorious.
King Philip had his grooms test the horse, but they returned discouraged. "The horse is no good," they said. "He's skittish. He's wild. No one will ever tame him."
Philip was about to send the man and his horse on their way when young Alexander stopped him. "Let me try," he said.
Philip was worried. He didn't want the horse to throw his son. But Alexander knew how to coax his father, and Philip finally gave in.
Alexander walked quickly to the horse's head and turned its face toward the sun. He put his mouth to the horse's ears and spoke softly to it. When he got on its back, the horse carried him like an old friend. The two flew together as if they were one.
"How did you do it?" people asked him later.
This was Alexander's secret: "I saw he was afraid of his shadow. So I turned his face toward the sun, and I told him I was his friend. And when we rode together, there was nothing to fear."
Beautiful, isn't it? That's the meaning of our lives -- to be turned toward the Son of God! To be strengthened by his glory and guided by his grace; to hear his great love whispering in our ears.
Suddenly the shadows of fear fade, and the horizon of faith is limitless.
Preaching the Psalm
by Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 104:24-34, 35b
This psalm is so powerful in the way that it paints God's wonderful actions. From the millions of species of creatures to the seas and the mountains, the work of God is lifted up with a poet's heart. Psalms like this, though, tend to extol what God has done, as though the Creation was done in the six days and that was that. But the truth is that God's creating power has never ceased.
Every day and in every way, Creation continues to unfold. From the startling scientific revelation that our universe is expanding to the daily creation of new land masses by volcanoes in the Pacific Ocean, God continues the mighty work of Creation. From the incredible rhythms of life and death in the seasons to something as delicate as a butterfly forming in a cocoon, God continues the ongoing saga of creating.
Because of our own finitude it's easier to see the Creation of our world as a one-time thing. It's done now and we get to live here. That's good. But what does it mean for our lives if we walk through our days and nights in the midst of the sacred act of Creation? What if God's handiwork is being crafted right under our noses? What if we ourselves are part of this process, and God is in the midst of creating us? What if, God forbid, we are unfinished?
Most people who have lived seventy years or so tend to have this perspective. They know the changes and growth they have been through in their lifetime. They know that they have not remained static. They know that God has been at work creating within them throughout all their days.
How different our lives would be if we could see ourselves as constantly being created by God. How incredible our world might be if our communities saw themselves as partners in God's ongoing act of Creation!
Then we could say with gusto, "How manifold indeed are your works, O God! How manifold and continuing! How manifold and ongoing!"
The woman asked whether she could stop making payments on the policy for a while, since she had run out of money. At first the desk clerk was a bit rude. After all, he got calls like this nearly every day, and he didn't want to be bothered with another one.
But then he took another look at the paper. It was a life insurance policy in a man's name. And it was worth $300,000 -- right in the middle of the depression.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "This is a pretty valuable policy, ma'am," he said finally. "Have you talked with your husband about it?"
"My husband!" she exclaimed. "He's been dead for three years."
There she was, a woman in poverty, a woman crushed by financial fears. And in her hand she held a piece of paper that could turn her life around.
Fear keeps us clutching at paper, tightfisted and anxious. But faith in God releases to us the power of the kingdom of heaven. Faith in God is greater than any fear that might grip us. Remember Paul's words to young Timothy: "For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline."
The words "Fear not" appear 365 times in scripture, one for every day of the year. That's probably how often we need to hear our Lord warn us about the mesmerizing power of fear and doubt: "Don't be afraid. Only believe!"
Certainly, on this Pentecost Sunday, "No Fear!" is the ruling command. Jesus' disciples rise up with courage they had never before experienced as the Spirit's fresh fires firmed them. Paul, also, counters life with or without the Spirit, and notes the confidence gained when the Spirit whispers the foundations of faith in our hearts. And Jesus himself, even before the awful day of his crucifixion, promised that in the troubling of this world, one thing was certain -- the Paraclete would blaze a trail of clarity and security for those who wished to walk in the footsteps of their master and friend.
Acts 2:1-21
The book of Acts is the second of Luke's two volumes on the life and work of Jesus, presented first through his direct incarnate person in the gospel, and now through his body the church. There are several guiding forces that shape the way in which Luke tells this second part of Jesus' story. One of them is clearly stated by Jesus in Acts 1:8: "You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth." With that in mind, Luke describes the way in which this witness came to Jerusalem (chs. 2-7), Samaria (chs. 8-12), and then began its push toward the ends of the earth (chs. 13-28).
Because the witness of the church in Palestine was first guided by Peter, and that beyond Palestine gained its momentum from Paul, these two figures are central in each major section in succession:
* Peter and the Jewish/Palestinian Witness (Acts 1-12)
* Paul and the Gentile/Mediterranean Witness (Acts 13-28)
The initial organizing structure of Jesus' missional command in Acts 1:8 seems to be further developed by Luke in a clear series of church expansions that are tracked throughout the work. Each successive wave of missional outreach is built upon the previous field of witness, but pushes the engagement one step further:
* the witness to Jerusalem (2:1--6:7)
* the witness to Judea and Samaria (6:8--9:31)
* the witness to the Gentiles (9:32--12:24)
* the witness to Asia Minor (12:25--16:5)
* the witness to Europe (16:6--19:20)
* the witness to the ends of the earth by way of Rome (19:21--28:31)
All but the last of these regional (or, in the case of the move to a Gentile audience in 9:32--12:24, ethnic) expansions is brought to a similar conclusion of the type: "And the word of God grew and multiplied…" It appears that Luke perceived of the missional witness of the church in each of these sections as having pervaded those regions sufficiently so that all people within them had access to the message about Jesus. In the last section, however, the gospel is again briefly stated to both the Jews (Acts 22) and the Gentiles (Acts 26), but there is no concluding progress report of completion. Though some believe this indicates that Luke was planning a third volume, intending to track Paul's next series of journeys once he was released from Rome after his appeal to Caesar had been adjudicated, a more likely theological hypothesis would be that Luke projects the open-ended mission work related to reaching "the ends of the earth" onto the continued life of the church. Viewed in this way, the church is always writing chapter 29 to the book of Acts, so any "progress report" is only partial and interim.
The momentum of the stories told in the book of Acts is derived from a single critical incident that took place in Jerusalem during the Jewish religious festival known as Pentecost. Jesus' instruction for his disciples to stay in Jerusalem and wait for a special gift (Acts 1:4) must have seemed vague at the time, but the arrival of the explosive power of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost made sense. This celebration was a harvest festival and a time for recalling the gift of the original covenant documents to Moses at Mount Sinai. These two themes intersected marvelously with what was taking place. First, there was the dawning of a new age of revelation and divine mission, paralleling that first covenant declaration in the book of Exodus. Second, during the Pentecost harvest festival, the first sheaves of grain were presented at the temple, anticipating that God would then bring in the full harvest. This expression of faith served as a clear analogy to the greater missional harvest of the church that was begun through a miraculous "first fruits" in Jerusalem that day.
The striking symbols that accompanied this powerful event were likely understood well by most who experienced them. First, came the sound of a powerful wind. A single word, both in the Hebrew (ruach) and Greek (pneuma) languages, serves to designate "wind," "breath," and "spirit." Thus the sound of a rushing wind captured the attention of all who were about to breathe in the Spirit of God. Second, there appeared a single blaze of fire that became multiple flames above the heads of the disciples. Jesus' cousin John had said that he baptized with water, but that Jesus would baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire (Luke 1:16). This vision represented the single divine Spirit baptizing all at the same time.
Peter capitalized on these themes when he preached a sermon explaining Joel's prophecy of the "Day of the Lord." Peter tied together God's extensive mission, the history of Israel, the coming of Jesus, and the splitting of the Day of the Lord so that the blessings of the messianic age could begin before the final divine judgment fell. The pattern for entering the new community of faith was clearly outlined: repent and be baptized. The first indicated a transforming presence of the Holy Spirit in individual hearts, while the latter became the initiation rite by which the ranks of this missional society were identified (over against the badge of circumcision in its unique application to the nation of Israel, which was now being replaced -- see Colossians 2:11-12).
Although not explicitly stated, there seems to be a conscious undoing of the troubles that started at Babel through the miracle of multiple-language communications at Pentecost. In Genesis 11, the human race was becoming unified against its creator, and the divine solution to dissipate this rebellion was to multiply the languages spoken, forcing the community to become segmented into competing groups. At Pentecost this action is reversed, and the many people who communicate in their diverse local languages suddenly all hear the same message of grace. They are then knit together into a new common humanity of the church. Babel is undone by Pentecost!
Romans 8:14-17
The apostle Paul speaks of fear in religious terms. Fear is the enemy of faith, he says. Fear is a tool of the devil. Fear is the wall around the mind that wants so desperately to believe.
Maybe you know what he means. A businessman used to belong to a Presbyterian church, but for some reason, his relationship with the church soured. Now that he's getting older, though, he thinks about God often and wonders what will happen to him when he dies. Yet he can't bring himself back to church because of that old spiritual skirmish. The scars left by theological wounds still linger years after he received them. He's not sure what he believes anymore.
A family stopped going to church several years ago because they were involved in a controversy in which church members accused one another of thinking and believing falsely. The debate eventually ran its course, but the pain lingers. The family members are afraid of what might happen if they let religion play a large role in their lives one more.
A young man's brother died some years ago. He's afraid now to look God in the face because he doesn't know what he will find -- will he see a sadistic monster who plays with young lives? Will he find a stern judge who sentences first and asks questions later?
Fear is a crippler. It binds and enslaves us. It rules over us with a whip. Fear can also characterize our faith. Even if we do believe in God, even if we do go to church, a religion of fear can keep us from riding the winds of grace. A religion of fear shouts "No!" so loudly that we can't hear the "Yes!" of God's love. Fear keeps the rider on the ground.
Generations ago, one of the great churches in Edinburgh was Free Saint George's Church. Alexander Whyte, its preacher, had a powerful pulpit ministry. His sermons roared like fire. His thunder shook the rafters. His congregation sat in quivering silence as he delivered hot, spicy warnings from scripture.
As the congregation grew larger, the church decided to call a second minister. Young Hugh Black was hired as the junior colleague. Every Sunday, Whyte mounted the pulpit in the morning, Black in the evening. Soon a saying developed about the two: in the morning Whyte black-balled the saints, and in the evening Black whitewashed the sinners. Whyte spoke of the terrors of hell, and Black spoke of the love of God.
The congregation in the morning grew smaller, stiffer, and more argumentative, while the congregation in the evening grew larger, more enthusiastic, and more graceful. Whyte built walls of fear, but Black opened the gates of love. While the former probably resonated with elements of prophetic judgment, the latter had learned Paul's wonderful applications in today's lectionary reading.
John 14:8-17 (25-27)
Jesus knew the hypnotic power of fear, the crippling power of anxiety. That is why he so often tells people not to be afraid. In fact, his command not to fear is recorded more than any other single teaching. The gospels record almost two dozen instances in which Jesus challenged people to give up their fears and to try believing in God again. He said it to Peter. He said it to the ruler of the synagogue when he was told that his little girl had died. He said it to the disciples as a group on a number of occasions. Again and again he said it: "Fear not. Don't be afraid. Only believe." Here, on the night before he dies, it is the echo of his words, and it will be the first thing he says again after his resurrection.
If doubt and faith are necessary partners in our hearts, fear and faith are mortal enemies, often locked in combat. Only when we acknowledge that faith is stronger than fear can we climb again into the saddle of our religion and ride the horizons with our God.
Of course, we cannot summon up courage on our own, or make it magically appear at the snap of a finger. That is why Jesus said one very important thing about faith -- it is the gift and work of the Paraclete, the continued presence of Christ with those who own him and are owned by him as Lord and master and friend.
Application
When we go on a family bike ride, no one thinks much about how we're going to glide along. It happens rather naturally.
It wasn't always that easy. When our three daughters were learning to ride, they all took a few spills. At one point or another, each of them said, "I'm never going to get on that bike again!" And here we are today, a family of bikers.
Fear can keep us flat-footed, but the promise of greater things teaches us to try again.
If you have been thrown by the bike of your religion, if you have scars from your encounters with the church, if your theology scares you, the challenge of scripture is this: Get back on the horse; find your way into the saddle again; learn how to ride your religion once more.
How do we do that? We begin, in part, by realizing that faith is more powerful than fear. That's difficult, because fear is a powerful force in our lives. Like a horse that has thrown us, fear towers over us. And well it should, because God has given us the strength of fear to keep us from being destroyed. Fear is the alarm that goes off in our hearts whenever danger threatens. Fear can make us run faster and jump higher than we ever thought possible.
A hunter came back to his camp late at night, clothes in shreds, hair full of brambles, skin cut and bruised. He was carrying a beautiful trophy: a magnificent leopard. As his partner looked the animal over, he said, "I don't see a bullet hole. How did you bag this fellow?"
"Oh, I ran him to death," said the hunter.
"What?" exclaimed his partner. "You can't chase a leopard that fast!"
"Who said anything about chasing?" came the reply. "I was out in front!"
Fear will do that do us, won't it? Fear speeds up our reaction time. It strengthens our muscles. It demands that we run from burning houses. Whenever our senses tell us we're being challenged, our adrenal glands squirt some fear into our system, and our energy level increases. You've probably heard stories of mothers who lifted crashed automobiles to release a trapped child. Fear said, "Get that child out of there," so they did.
The power of fear can hypnotize us, too. It can stand before us and cast a spell that keeps us from moving. Maybe you've seen a hypnotist at work. She puts a man into a trance and draws a circle around him on the floor. Then she tells him that he can't cross the line -- that his feet won't be able to because of the barrier set against him. When she wakes him from his trance, try as he might, he cannot cross that line. The hypnotist's suggestion keeps him pinned.
When a rider is thrown by his horse, fear could keep him down. But a true horseman knows that if he doesn't climb into the saddle again, he'd be a poorer person for it. He needs to ride. That's how he is.
"Even youths," said Isaiah, "grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not faint" (Isaiah 40:30-31). They know that the life of fear is so much poorer than the life of faith.
Alternative Application
John 14:8-17 (25-27). When Alexander the Great was a boy, a man from Thessaly brought a horse to his father. The horse was for sale, and it was a raging beauty. No one at court had ever seen a horse so glorious.
King Philip had his grooms test the horse, but they returned discouraged. "The horse is no good," they said. "He's skittish. He's wild. No one will ever tame him."
Philip was about to send the man and his horse on their way when young Alexander stopped him. "Let me try," he said.
Philip was worried. He didn't want the horse to throw his son. But Alexander knew how to coax his father, and Philip finally gave in.
Alexander walked quickly to the horse's head and turned its face toward the sun. He put his mouth to the horse's ears and spoke softly to it. When he got on its back, the horse carried him like an old friend. The two flew together as if they were one.
"How did you do it?" people asked him later.
This was Alexander's secret: "I saw he was afraid of his shadow. So I turned his face toward the sun, and I told him I was his friend. And when we rode together, there was nothing to fear."
Beautiful, isn't it? That's the meaning of our lives -- to be turned toward the Son of God! To be strengthened by his glory and guided by his grace; to hear his great love whispering in our ears.
Suddenly the shadows of fear fade, and the horizon of faith is limitless.
Preaching the Psalm
by Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 104:24-34, 35b
This psalm is so powerful in the way that it paints God's wonderful actions. From the millions of species of creatures to the seas and the mountains, the work of God is lifted up with a poet's heart. Psalms like this, though, tend to extol what God has done, as though the Creation was done in the six days and that was that. But the truth is that God's creating power has never ceased.
Every day and in every way, Creation continues to unfold. From the startling scientific revelation that our universe is expanding to the daily creation of new land masses by volcanoes in the Pacific Ocean, God continues the mighty work of Creation. From the incredible rhythms of life and death in the seasons to something as delicate as a butterfly forming in a cocoon, God continues the ongoing saga of creating.
Because of our own finitude it's easier to see the Creation of our world as a one-time thing. It's done now and we get to live here. That's good. But what does it mean for our lives if we walk through our days and nights in the midst of the sacred act of Creation? What if God's handiwork is being crafted right under our noses? What if we ourselves are part of this process, and God is in the midst of creating us? What if, God forbid, we are unfinished?
Most people who have lived seventy years or so tend to have this perspective. They know the changes and growth they have been through in their lifetime. They know that they have not remained static. They know that God has been at work creating within them throughout all their days.
How different our lives would be if we could see ourselves as constantly being created by God. How incredible our world might be if our communities saw themselves as partners in God's ongoing act of Creation!
Then we could say with gusto, "How manifold indeed are your works, O God! How manifold and continuing! How manifold and ongoing!"
