Fear

When I was a kid, I remember my family being in a scary situation. I have no idea what it was over, maybe bad weather, or an escaped convict lurking in the neighborhood, or maybe the ongoing saga of marital strife that defined my childhood, but I do know we were all in knots with very real fear....the kind that makes you want to hide under your bed and hold your breath. There was a woman with us, the grandmother of some close friends, whom we all called "Granny." She was a tough old broad, a God-fearing woman, but one who could spit in your eye from ten feet away if she wanted to. In her stern yet loving way, she admonished us to not be afraid, that fear is a sin because we are not trusting God to watch over us.

I told my therapist this story not long ago and, like most people, I imagine, she was horrified that this woman would shut down a child's emotions so completely, to tell us we were wrong to feel as we did. And not even just wrong, but committing a sin, a willful act of evil on our parts.

But in that moment, and perhaps more so now, those continue to be words of peace and comfort. Father Snapp in his sermon this morning talked about the snake in the garden of Eden. The Great Deluder, that sneaky bastard who is always whispering in our ears, convincing us so easily of the most terrible things. For me, it is to be afraid. In my weakest moments I believe I will be left alone, separated from those I love, either through death, circumstance, or by my own unloveable nature. Although I don't necessarily believe in the devil in a physical sense, I can see how helpful it would be to visualize that snake tickling my ear with that forked tongue of his. It is empowering to recognize the source as The Father of Lies.

So, to fear is to sin. Earlier in my life I wasn't even sure I believed in the idea of "sin." But now, with my particular experience, I feel like I can say there is no other word for it. It is the most palpable form of sin I have yet experienced, and boy am I a sinner. Despair so thick there were days I could literally not see the sun shining. There is hope in Father Snapp's words, in Granny's wisdom. I don't have to be afraid. Fear is a choice. In the words of everybody's favorite adopted mother, Marilla Cuthbert, "To despair is to turn your back on God."

And it's not really about choosing not to be afraid, all that is needed is just to turn back around and enjoy the sunshine that is already pouring down on all of us. The Prince of Peace has already empowered us, before we ever stumbled the first time....all we have to do is remember it is there.

Belly Button Lent, Part I

We are nearing the final hours of Fat Tuesday and I'm doing my best to polish off the cooler-full of beer residing on my front porch. I've put a lot more thought into this year's lenten discipline than I ever have before, but there's still time where I could change my mind, or maybe come up with something better. For the next hour or so, I have the luxury of giving up anything I want without having to actually deal with the consequences of my choice.......until tomorrow.

I've always thought fasting was rather lame, probably because I have such a deep connection with my stomach. I would never think of robbing it of what it rightly deserves. And if fasting is it's own end, then I still think it's lame. But I'm beginning to see the possibility that it doesn't have to be about starving yourself until God gives you what you want, like some big baby throwing a tantrum. For someone like myself, it is an easy thing to make some monumental decision and then go about my day like nothing had happened, and not think of it again until a week later. And I think this is the problem I've always had with Lent. I go through the Ash Wednesday service then wander about the rest of the day with soot on my face, and I wonder why people are staring at me. I need things to surround me and remind me of what I'm doing. I can't stay inside the church all the time, and I certainly can't carry off their icons to gaze upon endlessly, but what if there were actions that I performed in my daily life, that I could do a little differently, just to remind myself that I'm supposed to be focused elsewhere. And this is where fasting comes in (or *might* come in, I should say....I'm delaying decisions here). Unlike giving up something minor that I might only eat every once in a while, changing something significant about my diet that would require me to pause, think, and make a different choice regularly throughout the day could be a very real help. And not because I'd be a healthier person if I didn't drink sodas or eat fatty foods; that would just be deflecting from the much bigger (and scarier) motive of connecting with God on a real level.

So once I've gotten my body's undivided attention, then what? Yippee! I'm starvin' for Jesus! That just seems silly. I imagine some sort of ritual prayer, a verbal recognition of my own mortality and of God's infiniteness, to put myself in proper perspective within the rest of the world. Hunger pangs could then be a prayer tool, something to center myself with, and even be able to focus better on that part of my soul that needs to heal.

And..........time's up. I still don't have it all ironed out. Happy Lent everybody! I'll be thinking about you around breakfast time :)