Recently praying about a decision I needed to make, I kept having a strange experience. During prayer I would reach a point of seeming clarity about the best action to take. But an hour or two later, the clarity would vanish. This happened again and again, day after day. I started thinking, “Maybe I’m not hearing God right and that’s why the answer won’t stick.”
Only after weeks of moving in circles did it occur to me that I had felt this sensation a few times before. In each case it eventually became clear that the problem was not that I hadn’t been hearing from God. The problem was that my discernment kept driving into a fog of fear. The fog would lift for a moment in prayer, blown back by the breath of God speaking. But then it would settle back over the road, obscuring clarity once more.
It has often been noted that one of Jesus’ signature phrases is, “Do not be afraid.” He says it to Simon Peter, right before calling him to make a major career change (Luke 5:10). He says it to a young father who gets word that his daughter has died (Mark 5:36). He says it twice while warning his disciples about coming persecution (Luke 12:3, 7). He says it while instructing his followers to sell their possessions to invest in God’s kingdom (Luke 12:32). He says it to his friends a few hours before they will see him arrested and crucified (John 14:27). He says it to the women who are first to encounter him after his death (Matthew 28:10).
It’s so much easier said than done, of course. Nearly every time Jesus says it (with the possible exception of the night he caught his disciples screaming about ghosts), it’s in serious circumstances that seem obviously worth fearing. I mean, risking life or livelihood, facing your own impending suffering or the suffering of somebody you love—it would be inhuman NOT to feel some level of anxiety. Even Jesus himself, the night before his arrest and public death, gives every sign of experiencing fear in its both most raw and visceral form (Mark 14:33-36).
I’m no longer convinced that feeling fear is the problem. The problem is following fear.
The trouble starts when fear keeps you fishing for tuna when you’re meant to be fishing for people. The trouble starts when fear of losing your reputation or coffee allowance or getting a scratch on your car causes you to barricade inside the house instead of joining in God’s rescue mission. The trouble starts when fear of the cross keeps you from continuing down the road to Jerusalem.
When Jesus says, “Do not be afraid,” I don’t think he means, “Never feel the emotion of fear.” I think he means, “Don’t let fear make your choices or own your story. Don’t let fear define the limits of your commitment to me and my Way.”
There’s a simple, one-line prayer that in recent years I’ve found myself praying again and again: “Let me be led by love and courage, not by pride or fear.” Sometimes fear speaks loudly. Sometimes so does ego. I hope to grow in time toward greater freedom, but for now both voices still speak in my ear.
But here’s what I am coming to realize—just because they speak doesn’t mean I have to follow. Jesus has given me, and all of us, our choices back. We can be afraid and still choose love and courage. We can be afraid and follow Jesus anyway. When the fog descends, we can persist in obeying the voice we heard in that moment of grace-filled clarity when the sun briefly pierced the clouds.
