Why be afraid?--some thoughts on anxiety, autonomy and God's love

Why be afraid?

“Who surrendered Jacob to the plunderer

and Israel to the pillagers?

Was it not the Lord…?” –Isaiah 42:24

“Do not be afraid…”  --Isaiah 43:1b

I’m already growing tired of isolation. Already the adventure is getting old. The thrill of staying home and having so much quiet is becoming exhausting –so quickly.  How long has it been? A week? Barely… And, besides… we haven’t even run out of beer yet! 

So, why? Why does doing so little, sacrificing so little, feel so very exhausting? We have food, we have shelter, we have internet access and streaming movies! What is it about all this that weighs so heavily on my shoulders that my back physically aches? And anyway, this is Lent, right? I’m supposed to be making a sacrifice, right?  I know. But, come on God… This…?

In all this quiet, with all this time for thinking, I keep wondering…  What’s the trouble? Why does this seem so overwhelming? Perhaps it has something to do with feeling helpless. The sense that I can’t just do what I want, or go where I want, when I want.  Heck, we are so worried about accidentally bringing the virus home to our daughter, I can’t even run over to the grocery store whenever I like.  I have resorted to ordering everything on-line or calling a neighbor for help. Our one-legged neighbor up the street has done grocery shopping for us –zipping around the store in his motorized wheelchair picking up gluten free and vegetarian items for us—another neighbor just sent her son to Buchanan’s in the Heights to get us some milkweed for the caterpillars.  I have supplies, I have help… what am I worried about? I wonder if it has something to do with feeling like I am losing control?  And looking around I keep hoping for some sign that someone, somewhere knows what they are doing. That someone is in control…

But who? Who is in charge?  Is it the president? The governor? The mayor? The CDC? Or is it something else? Something bigger? As the spread of the Coronavirus continues and the strange quiet of a self-isolating world grows, it is much too easy to grasp at every news update for some announcement of a breakthrough or sign of waning in the virus.  Some sign that the powers in charge have gotten it under control.  But…  who is actually in control?

Which brings me to my scripture passages.  Yesterday reading Isaiah 42, I came across that first passage. The voice of the prophet chastising the people for not understanding who is in control.  Historically, he is referencing the fall of Jerusalem and the Babylonian captivity,  speaking to a people who put their trust in human powers: political treaties, military strength, economic systems, storehouses of gold, etc.  God’s prophet is calling out God’s people: Come on team… if you get dragged off into slavery, who do you think allowed that to happen? Who handed you over to the plunderers? Who gave you up to be pillaged? Who is really in charge, here?

Reading this passage at the end of what was supposed to be my Spring Break, those words seemed to hold a message as immediate as any news update.  Yes, this is a frightful time, but we need to remember—we are never in charge. Not any of us. No matter how rich, no matter how “powerful,” no matter how well-connected. We are never in charge. President Trump is not in charge. The governor and the mayor are not in charge. Not even the doctors and scientists! Not even the CDC.  I applaud all those efforts, don’t get me wrong—but in the end all our efforts to protect ourselves from harm are in vain unless the Lord’s hand guides us, strengthens us, holds us safely in His palm.  As the psalmist sings:

Unless the Lord builds the house,
    the builders labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
    the guards stand watch in vain. (Psalm 127)

One hears in Isaiah’s words, a message of warning. The people and their priests and prophets were blind and deaf to God’s teaching (cf. 42:18-21), and stubborn in their unwillingness to learn. What I hear in this warning is a sense of God’s frustration. God has tried everything else; He’s tried being nice and gentle and loving, but the people won’t learn their lesson. So, now He’s going to try something like what we might call “tough love!”  

And yet, it is love, not resentment and fury, not bitter judgment that God bestows on His people. He surrenders them to the Babylonians not out of bitterness and frustration, but out of desperation. As if it were a last chance, a final hope. He loves them so much He surrenders them to the horrors of destruction and captivity in order to save them. Which calls to mind another time God surrendered someone to captivity and destruction, out of love. The time He surrendered His Son even unto death, death on a cross (cf. Philippians 2:8). The ultimate act of love.

And Isaiah reminds us of that love in the first verse of the very next chapter. Speaking for God, he writes:

“Do not be afraid, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by your name
and you are mine” (43:1b).

 

Assuring God’s people that they have nothing to be afraid of, reminding them of God’s love. They are His own. And like a loving parent, God calls each of us by name.

When we are in the midst of a crisis, a fearful time, experiencing a kind of dark night of the soul, we can begin to feel hopeless.  Abandoned.  But what we see here in Isaiah is that God tells the people, even in the midst of their suffering, in their darkest days: “Do not be afraid. I have redeemed you… you are mine.”

Reading this, thinking about it, praying those words over and over, I found myself reassured. Yes, we are in the midst of a pandemic, and I have no idea what will happen next. Each day we hear dire reports and new statistics read by voices tinged with gloom. We see helpless figures standing at podiums, trying to reassure us, trying to look like they know what they are doing… trying to look like they are in charge.   But, in fact, we know that regardless of their position or title, they are just as powerless as the rest of us.  We know who is really in charge. 

And we don’t need to be afraid.  Even in the midst of a crisis, when our so-called leaders seem as confused and frightened as the rest of us, we don’t need to be afraid. The fact is, no matter what comes next, the happy ending has already been announced. We are loved. We are redeemed. And even in our darkest hour, when we feel utterly helpless and alone, there is a tender voice that calls each of us by name. And it is the loving voice of one who is and always has been in control.

King Hezekiah and the pandemic of selfishness

“…for he was thinking: there is

going to be peace and security

in my lifetime.”  --Isaiah 39:8

“My lifetime…” Me, my life… How will this affect me? How will it benefit or trouble me?  How often is that our only concern, our one true focus? And yes, I am thinking of all the people who are hoarding food, hoarding disinfectants, hoarding toilet paper!!  Why?  Because they are worried. They are scared. Me too.  We all are, at least a little bit.  But some people are letting that fear guide them. They are so anxious that something might disrupt their comfort, distress their routine, that they are grabbing for every bit of security and control over their world that they can. Regardless of how it affects anyone else, they are anxiously gathering the supplies they need to live a life of peace and security.

This passage in Isaiah deals with Hezekiah, king of Judah (716-687 BCE), and a warning he receives of future troubles that will come after he has died.  Hezekiah is one of those kings with a mixed record. He is praised for religious reforms, for purifying and repairing the Temple, for centralizing worship at the Temple, and tearing down “high places” and idolatrous objects. He also reigned during the siege of the Assyrians, and is credited with keeping the city safe, and yet at the end of his life he is depicted as a vain and foolish man who is easily tempted by praise and honor.  And –by a false sense of peace and security.   

This passage comes at the end of a story about Babylonian emissaries who come to visit King Hezekiah.  And in a moment of foolish pride, Hezekiah shows off his castle and all his riches to these emissaries.  Soon after this visit, the prophet Isaiah comes to Hezekiah to call him out for his foolishness.  He tells him:

“The days are coming when everything in your palace, everything

your ancestors have amassed until now, will be carried off

to Babylon. Not a thing will be left… Sons begotten by you

will be… eunuchs in the palace of the king of Babylon.” (cf.39:6-7)

But Hezekiah’s response is only: at least there will be peace and security in my lifetime.  How are we any different today? And I don’t think this speaks just to the current pandemic and fears. It’s about the way we have been living for decades, if not centuries. We –at least here in the West—have been living lives of covetousness and consumption. We want, and we get and we discard and then we want some more. And there is little concern for other people, other generations who might have to suffer the consequences of our lives of abundance and comfort and amassing so much personal treasure that we can’t even contain it, but have to rent storage units to keep safe our overabundance! We could apply the lesson of King Hezekiah to so many things: global warming, overflowing landfills, personal responsibility, corporate greed, Wallstreet, the financial crises… It all boils down to—on some level—selfishness, disregard for the other, for our neighbor, and for the poor people who make the cheap shoes we love to buy, for the future, and for the rest of the world—even those we can’t see. Or choose not to.

Let us take a moment, here and now, while God has slowed the world down for us, given us some breathing space, a moment to sit still and listen to the birds, hear the breeze in the leaves, watch the clouds passing by, and smile at a neighbor who is quietly walking past pushing a stroller or walking a dog. Let us take a moment here and now and learn the lesson of Hezekiah.  On the surface he was a pretty good king, pretty good Jew, but below that surface there was a selfishness and vanity that festered like a boil (cf. 38:1-8), and left behind it a nightmare of desolation. After his death, Hezekiah’s son, King Manasseh, returned to all the practices Hezekiah had tried to reform, even adding to them things much worse: human sacrifice, the worship of pagan idols. In the end, Hezekiah’s peace and security in his lifetime, lead to the destruction of the Temple and the Babylonian captivity. 

But there is hope. God’s love is unchanging, eternal. And here we are in this place and this time, being called by God to make a few sacrifices, to get our priorities straight.  It is a chance for us to think about the legacy we want to leave behind: do we want to be remembered as people who shopped well, or people who loved generously and without fear? 

Take a moment and think about someone who might need you to reach out to them. Someone homebound, or elderly, someone frightened by the news, someone who has no sense of peace or security, but only anxiety and fear. Or loneliness. Do you know of one person like that?  Call them. Focus for a moment, not on yourself, but on them. Ask them how they are doing, ask them if they need anything, and most of all tell them you were thinking about them and wanted to hear their voice. And before you hang up the phone, tell them you will pray for them.  Then take a moment and do it.

We need to slow down and make space for others. Start here. Start now. In your own heart, this very day, make room for just one more.  And tomorrow… maybe another… two by two we will fill God’s ark with those we love until the moment we find it is full—because everyone has found a place inside. Today we begin to love as God loves, to love everyone. And it starts by looking outside yourself, your security, your peace, your lifetime.

Isaiah's broken pot--and the scholar's unintended help

“…on the day of the great slaughter

when the strongholds fall.” –Isaiah 30:25b

This verse, this fragment of a verse, comes near the end of chapter 30, and  follows immediately upon a vision of security and comfort, of abundance and peace—an almost Eden-like vision—and that placement caught my attention so I went searching for some guidance from footnotes and commentaries, trying to find out what the scholars had to say.  And here is what I learned.

First: scholars speak of the fragmentary nature of the book of Isaiah. They even speak of three different Isaiahs: first (ch. 1-39), second (40-55) and third Isaiah (56-66) writing over a period of hundreds of years. This fragmentariness is emphasized in my Catholic Study Bible (Oxford 2007) by referring to the chapters as “a collection of collections” (RG 205).  The implication being that over hundreds of years followers of Isaiah were gathering pieces of manuscripts and sayings and scraps of sayings and only much later someone(s) began organizing them into a book as best they could. But, in no way are we to imagine that the book is even meant to be a cohesive whole. It should be read as a kind of library of sayings—almost a crazy quilt of sayings attributed to or connected to the prophet. But, definitely not an unadulterated vision from a single individual named, Isaiah.  

As evidence of this theory scholars offer the surprising awkwardness of this phrase (and others like it). The sudden abrupt change of tone from peace and comfort to slaughter and destruction is, in this theory, a sign of that fragmentary structure.  The Jerome Biblical Commentary calls this “day of destruction” passage a “surprising thought” which appears to belong somewhere else (JBC 279.16:52c).  Okay. Maybe so.

Second: Another thought about this particular “fragment” is that the abrupt change of tone is intentional.  They interpret the phrase as referring not to Israel’s destruction, but the slaughter of Israel’s enemies (in particular, the Assyrians). Read this way, the verse seems to explain why Israel will experience abundance and tranquility: because her enemies will be destroyed!  Okay. I can see how that might make sense.

Third: But… my concern is not the same as the scholar’s. My concern is with God's word, the text that God has given us, not with the text a human hand, community, culture created (or intended).  As a reader of faith, my concern is with the Bible we have, not the one that we might have had.  The creation of the Bible, possible sources, fragmentary verses, questions of translation and alternative manuscripts, etc, Yes! Those are appropriate scholarly concerns worthy of all their efforts.  And if they shed light on the meaning of difficult passages –or even complicate our understanding of easier passages, that is all good. And deserving of their work.  I don’t want to demean that.  As people of faith we want the best and most accurate translations and annotations we can get, as tools to help us understand God’s word. God’s meaning. These can be useful tools for opening the eyes of faith to the eternal truths living in His word.  And I think that is what happened for me as I contemplated this “surprising thought.”  

I want to show how a brief note to an obscure fragment of a pieced together verse in the midst of a massive and difficult and sometimes quite obscure text, opened my eyes and ears to a truth planted there by an author eye has not seen and a voice ear has not heard… so to speak.

Because the fragment stood out, because it didn’t seem to make, it caught my attention.  Because of that, I went in search of commentary to help me understand.  And because of that, I stumbled upon a footnote that questioned whether the fragment even belonged where it is in Isaiah.  But, because it is there, and seems slightly out of place, it caught my attention. 

Let me step back for a moment and say, my first instinct was to question not the text, but the footnote. My initial instinct was to challenge the so-called experts: The emperor has no clothes! so to speak. These so-called experts with all their degrees and studies and training… Who are they to tell me how to read the Bible?!  

Yet, because of the note, I went back and reread the whole chapter. This time paying extra attention to the imagery of the verses leading up to that “day of destruction.”  In search of clues, I even got out a different translation to see if that would help. And reading the passage with new eyes, through this different translation, I discovered this:

“He will shatter it like an earthenware pot, ruthlessly

knocking it to pieces… not one shard can be found

with which to take up fire from the hearth or

scoop water from the storage-well.” (Isaiah 30:14)

Clearly there is something here that reminds us of that “day of destruction” imagery. And this is part of a prophetic statement about Israel’s disloyalty that starts in verse 12. It calls to mind her rejection of the “Holy One of Israel,” and tells of how Israel’s sin will become a breach in her security, a “bulge at the top of a wall which suddenly and all-at-once comes crashing down” (30:13b), and rereading all of this I thought: Yes! This image, this language, it prefigures that destruction, even that falling stronghold.  This seemed to me clear evidence that this “surprising thought” which “may be displaced from another section” (JBC 279.16:52) might not be as as surprising and displaced as it seems.

In fact: where else could it belong? Rereading the whole chapter, because of the scholar’s note, I could see with fresh eyes the movement of the chapter: from warnings to prophecies to testaments against Israel and her ill-advised alliance with Egypt to promises of mercy and guidance, forbearance and forgiveness, of rain and abundance of crops and flowing streams on every hill top then abruptly back to a vision of “great slaughter” and falling strongholds that echoes God’s earlier promise to shatter like a clay pot our walls of security (our battlements) so completely that we won’t even be able to find a piece large enough to carry a hot coal or scoop up a tiny drink of water.

It is as if God (or the prophet) were lulling us into a false sense of security –like the one we get from our earthly alliances (our wealth, our position, our reputation, etc)—only to shatter it by reminding us that God’s grace is not comfortable.  It does not come cheaply. It is not easy. All God asks is… Everything.  Take up your cross and follow Him to the Mountain of the Lord where streams flow and the bread is abundant, rich and nourishing (cf.30:23) where even the oxen and donkey eat sorrel by the shovel full.

Letting go of my ego, my pride, my sin isn’t easy.  Those are my security blankets. My battlements, my stronghold, so to speak. Letting them go makes me feel vulnerable. My walls are broken, my tower has fallen, my defenses are breached, shattered even.  Which may be exactly where God wants us. For, in that moment of vulnerability and brokenness, God assures us He will be right there with us, sharing with us the “bread of suffering, the waters of distress…” (cf. 30:20).  And He will no longer hide Himself from us, but we will see Him with our own eyes, and hear His voice guiding us:

“This is the way; walk in it…” (30:21b)

And so, in the end, I am left to wonder not what this verse meant to the ancient writer, not what it was intended to say by the later scholars who created the book of Isaiah, and not whether it applies to Israel or to Assyria or any other enemies... In this broken shard, this tiny fragment, I hear a word that speaks to me. A voice that says on the day of destruction, when my tower has fallen, God will be with me. And I begin to wonder, is it possible that only in our brokenness, only when our walls are breached and our towers and battlements shattered, only in our hour of weakness and vulnerability can we actually begin to hear the that was always there, always calling to us those merciful, compassionate words of loving guidance:

“This is the way; walk in it.”

Calling us to come climb the Lord’s mountain of love, where water flows free and the earth abundant in her gifts; climb the Lord's mountain and walk with Him in the beautiful garden.

Maybe that isn’t exactly what the scholars are seeking as they gather their footnotes, but thanks to their notes, (and God’s grace) it is what I hear. And I needed to take a moment to thank them for their help in opening my ears.