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.

Third Sunday of Lent: Why is God doing this to us?

“In those days, in their thirst for water,

the people grumbled against Moses saying:

Why did you ever make us leave Egypt?

Was it just to have us die here of thirst…?

So Moses cried out to the Lord: What shall

I do with this people? A little more and they

will stone me…”  --Exodus 17:3-7

“Why did you ever make us leave Egypt…Was it just to have us die here of thirst?”  Sound familiar? Whenever I feel overwhelmed and helpless, exhausted and afraid, desperate, my prayer turns into something a lot like that of the Israelites in the desert.  Why did you do this, God? Why are you making my life so hard? I thought we were friends! What did I do to deserve this?  For me, this usually involves something to do with owning three cats.  So, when I was headed to the HEB Wednesday night to get paper towels (because one of the cats keeps peeing on counters and carpets and linoleum… as well as mail, magazines and tote bags!!!) I was cursing my pets, my prayer life, and wondering what I had done to offend God.

But… walking into the store, I learned firsthand the reality of desperation.  The pandemic known as the Coronavirus finally hit home.  The shelves of the store were almost completely empty. Unless you liked Peanut Butter Captain Crunch you were out of luck as far as cereal goes.  The only rice left was sushi.  Not a single bottle of laundry detergent to be had. Luckily, they still had plenty of paper towels. A big display right next to the front doors.  I wandered around looking for those few other items that I had been asked to pick up, and everywhere I looked were other people wandering with their carts, some of them overflowing with water and canned goods, and frozen pizzas, but most of them half empty like their eyes… Everywhere I looked there was that strange gaze: stunned, afraid, desperate. What’s happening? Why? Who can we blame?

We don’t like feeling vulnerable, none of us do. We don’t like feeling unsafe.  Humans like things to be predictable; it makes us feel safe.  We like to know what comes next, so we don’t have to worry about it.  And yet, if we stay safe, if we hide from danger, avoid being vulnerable, if we remain locked in our secure little risk-free (and germ-free) boxes, if we stay in Egypt… what happens? Our horizons shrink, our view of life becomes smaller and smaller until it gets almost microscopic.  Instead of worrying about our neighbor or about our friends (or even our family) we begin to see only ourselves, our fears, our discomforts, everything is measured by what it will mean to us, what affect it will have on “Me.”

But as I was standing in stunned disbelief looking at the desolate pasta aisle, I had an experience that I think speaks to this question of “Why did you ever make us leave Egypt?”   Standing there, staring at the barren shelves, gazing in disbelief at the remaining three jars of lo-fat Alfredo, and the one remaining box pasta, some kind of whole-wheat “healthy” rotini—I think I felt like the Israelites. How had this happened? Why would God do this? How come He wasn’t protecting me?  It was a pretty sad moment, but then a woman approached with her full cart and paused. For a moment, I thought she was about to speak to me—she was standing so close. But instead, she reached past me and put a box of spaghetti back on the shelf. Nothing special. Just plain old regular spaghetti. And then she walked away.  I picked up the box and called out, “Thank you.” She turned and smiled and said something like, “I didn’t really need it,” and disappeared.

And so, I come back to the question: Why did you ever make us leave Egypt? Was it just to have us die in the desert?  What if the answer was yes? What if God said, That is precisely what I am doing?  Only… you won’t die.

Last week at Mass we heard the reading about Abram’s call (Genesis 12:1-4). Abram is living a comfortable life in Haran, when God comes to him and says: Pack up. I want you leave this place and go somewhere far away from your father’s house, your family, your comfort zone, your security. Don’t ask questions. I will show you where to go. It is a foreign land where you will live among strangers and probably feel very vulnerable.  But, that is how I am going to make you into a great nation, that is how I am going to make of you a blessing to all who bless you.

What if the key to becoming who we were meant to be, who we were made to be, a blessing to the world, is to be vulnerable?  What if the real key to becoming fully alive, to becoming a blessing is first to step out of our comfort zone, out of our security blankets and take a risk, take a chance, become vulnerable. Begin to feel thirsty.

I was feeling a wave of panic come over me as I stood there in that crazy madhouse of a grocery store staring at empty shelves and zombie apocalypse shoppers and suddenly a person stopped and put back something she didn’t need.  I wonder if it was because she saw a person in need. Because she saw someone who looked vulnerable, someone thirsting.  I wonder.  And I wonder, who was really blessed in that moment.  I received what? Perhaps a small act of charity from a stranger. A simple box of spaghetti.  But, thinking about that smile as she turned the corner, I wonder what she received? Perhaps something much better… The blessing that comes from helping someone in need.

The other part of this passage that interests me is that little detail of Moses going to God, practically in despair.

What shall I do with this people? A little longer and they will stone me!

Clearly, he too feels vulnerable, helpless, desperate. And yet, in his helplessness he turns to God and through God’s grace blesses the people who do not die of thirst, but receive water from the rock and –in the end—they too become a blessing, become a light for the world; a chosen people, set aside—vulnerable, conquered, exiled, yes!  But in exile, in captivity, in loss they are the bearers of God’s word, they are the chosen people, God’s beloved! 

Think about that during this time of fear and anxiety and empty grocery shelves. This “pandemic.” How God’s love and calling is so often revealed in suffering and a sense of helplessness.  Think about how God may be calling us through this hardship. Through your sacrifice and discomfort and even your fear and loss, how is God calling us to witness His love? It may be something as simple as letting someone else know you are afraid, so that they can be blessed by offering comfort and aid. Or perhaps you will be the one who puts a box of spaghetti back on the shelf so that it will be there for someone else.

Remember, we are here because God has put us here, in this time, this place, this life. We were made for this.  And we are never alone. On His way to Calvary, Jesus walks this path with us.  We are loved.  So, do not be afraid, be vulnerable.