YOU ARE FORGIVEN FOR YOUR FEAR
Author: Fr. Michael Byron
April 19, 2020
I still recall one of my most personally humiliating
experiences as a young priest (and there have been a few of them along the
way). In fact, I’d call it one of the most humiliating experiences of my life
as a professed Christian. And I’d call it more than humiliating; I’d call it
shameful and even sinful. It was nearly 30 years ago and I was driving home
from a vacation trip to visit family in Denver, CO. I was speeding along
Interstate 80 in western Nebraska on a sunny summer afternoon, alone in my car.
All of a sudden, I came upon a horrifying scene on the freeway. A semi-trailer
truck had gone off the road, obviously at a high speed, and had slammed into a
large tree. The cab of the truck was completely destroyed. And from all
appearances it must have happened just moments before I got there. There was
still smoke coming from the cab, and there were one or two other travelers who
had stopped and were making their way through the tall grass to get to the
wreckage. It was hard to imagine that anybody inside that truck could still be
alive.
And so what did I do? I kept right on going because the
whole thing frightened me to death. It was a decision made in an instant, but I
could have turned around and gone back to help – or at least to be there. But I
didn’t do that. Instead I sped away because I was scared of what I might see
inside that truck. I ran away when it might have been my job, or my duty, or at
least my Christian responsibility to be of some comfort.
I think of it still from time to time. Nobody ever knew that
I wasn’t there for a person in trouble; but I wasn’t there – because of fear. In
fact, this is the first time I’ve ever shared this story, because I’m ashamed
of what I failed to do that day on the road. I’d like to think that I’d respond
differently now, but I don’t really know. Some people respond quite selfishly
and protectively when they are suddenly thrust into a situation of panic. Like me.
Other people respond quite courageously and generously. Like the good people
who were wading through the grass to get to the scene of the accident. I pray
to be more like them. This is not intended to be a tell-all homily, but I share
it because a whole lot of us are living today amid a time and circumstance that
can be very frightening; a sudden kind of panic, demanding from us an exercise
of courage and faith and selflessness, perhaps as we have never been made to do
before – or ever thought that we’d have to.
Some will respond well. Others will think only of
themselves. We’re seeing it right now on a large scale. I understand it,
because it confronted me one day a long time ago in Nebraska.
Fear itself is nothing to be ashamed about. It’s a natural
human emotion. Jesus tells us again and again and again in the gospels, “Do Not
Be Afraid!”, “Do Not Be Afraid!” By that he is not telling us to deny our
feeling or to shut down real threats. But he is begging us not to be controlled
by those things in ways that make them bigger than He is, than God is, than
Easter is. Fear must never become our foundation.
The first Apostles got to know a whole lot about fear as the
result of following Jesus around, at no time more than on Good Friday in
Jerusalem. And as I mentioned here two weeks ago on Palm Sunday, the Twelve all
pretty much caved in to it, allowing themselves to be overwhelmed by the terror
of the moment, becoming concerned first and foremost with themselves, and doing
all they could to remove themselves from the situation. Behind a locked door in
an upper room.
They must have felt ashamed too, at the way they deserted
the man who needed them. but what was done was done. Jesus was dead and they
were ultimately failures. The story was over. Fear had won the day.
Except none of that was true, and it still isn’t – or at
least doesn’t have to be. That’s really up to us. Whether fear becomes the
baseline for our behavior, or whether Easter faith does… that’s ours to decide.
Both are there for us to embrace.
And today it’s not only the fear of a virus that would impose
itself upon us. It’s also another kind of fear – a more personal one, namely
the fear that we can never be forgiven for our failures, and that shame is our
life sentence in this world until the day we die. That’s what the Apostles
thought too – until Jesus showed up to say, “Peace Be With You.” Translation: “I
forgive you. For whatever it is that is causing you to operate out of regret
and remorse and guilt, I forgive you if you will accept it. Peace be with you.”
St. Thomas, Didymus, set the bar pretty high when he insisted that he would
never believe that he was forgiven until he’d probed the wounds of Jesus with
his hands and fingers. Jesus allowed even that, if it was needed in order for
Thomas to be freed from his fear and doubt. But then Jesus was quick to add, “It
doesn’t have to come to this. Blessed is anyone who is willing to believe, who
cannot yet see or cannot yet understand.” Thomas didn’t have to go through all
those contortions, but the Lord was willing to meet him even there. “Do Not Be
Afraid!”
There is much in the air right now – both literally and
figuratively – that we cannot see or understand. It’s a frightful virus, but it
is not stronger than the promises and the presence of our Risen Lord. For many
of our fellow citizens, it brings even death and terrible grief and the raising
of a thousand “why” questions about God and ourselves. We would be dishonest to
sweep all of that away, but we would be unfaithful to concede victory to any of
it. Resurrection came about in the very same way – through death, grief, and “why?”
Our weekly Eucharist gathering here – and now virtually at
home – is meant to be an eternal memory of that bewildering miracle. We must
never forget it. Neither fear nor shame have the last word in our pilgrimage to
God, and our behavior – especially in these days – must make that obvious to
others. That is the “sending” of which Jesus speaks in John’s gospel today.
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