love – Southwest Conference Blog

The Sacred Journey from Shame to Pride

by Christopher Schouten, pre-MID

Introduction

Happy Pride Month! Pride evokes different emotions and memories for each of us. For some, it conjures up joyous celebrations in the streets, parks, and bars with friends and loved ones, feeling a sense of community and safety. My first big pride parade in Chicago during my early 20s was transformative. For the first time, I felt like part of the majority, not a marginalized minority. It was both safe and surreal.

Others might question the purpose of Pride, wondering if such marches are still necessary or if Pride itself is a sin in a Christian context. These are valid questions. Let’s explore them together, starting with a biblical perspective.

Sinful Pride vs. Righteous Pride

The Bible contains numerous statements about sinful pride, such as Proverbs 16:18, which warns, “Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.” C.S. Lewis described pride as the “anti-God” state, severing the spirit from God’s life-giving presence.

However, there is also mention of “righteous pride.” Paul the Apostle, for example, speaks of a healthy kind of pride in Galatians 6:4, “Each one should test their own actions. Then they can take pride in themselves alone, without comparing themselves to someone else.” He also expresses pride in the Corinthians in 2 Corinthians 7:4, “I have great confidence in you; I take great pride in you. I am greatly encouraged; in all our troubles my joy knows no bounds.”

Righteous pride encourages us to recognize and celebrate our God-given talents and achievements while remaining humble and grateful. It fosters healthy self-esteem and motivates us to use our gifts in service to others and to glorify God.

The Impact of Shame on LGBTQIA+ Individuals

For the LGBTQIA+ community, developing a sense of righteous pride can be particularly challenging. Growing up in a society that often condemns or marginalizes our identities can lead to a pervasive sense of shame and invalidation. This shame teaches us to hide our true selves and diminish our light, stifling our personal growth and depriving the world of our unique contributions.

The cost of this shame is significant. According to the Trevor Project, LGBTQIA+ youth are more than twice as likely to feel suicidal and over four times as likely to attempt suicide compared to their heterosexual peers.

Personal Experience

My journey from shame to pride has been long and arduous. I knew I was gay at 12, but the lack of positive representation and support made me hide my true self. In high school, I stayed in the closet, living in secrecy and shame, finding solace only in the acceptance of a few friends in my UCC church choir.

College brought newfound freedom and acceptance, but the damage was done. The shame I internalized in my youth continued to drive me, leading to overachievement as a coping mechanism. I sought validation through academic excellence, career success, and various accomplishments, hoping to prove my worth and avoid confronting my shame.

Overachievement and Addiction

Author Alan Downs, in “The Velvet Rage,” explains that shame often leads to overachievement and addiction in LGBTQIA+ individuals. I excelled in academics and career, learned multiple languages, and held leadership positions, all to avoid shame. Despite my successes, a deep sense of unworthiness lingered, manifesting in disproportionate anger and rage when triggered.

Addiction is another common coping mechanism. LGBTQIA+ individuals are more likely to struggle with substance abuse and process addictions like sex, gambling, or eating disorders. These addictions are often driven by the need to numb the pain of shame and seek solace.

The Role of God’s Grace

Healing from deep-seated shame and reclaiming our true selves involves embracing the transformative power of a higher power. Isaiah 43:1-4 reminds us that we are not defined by shame or judgment but are precious and honored in God’s sight. God’s unconditional love provides a foundation upon which we can rebuild our sense of self-worth.

Personal Growth Work

While God’s love is central to our journey from shame to pride, we also have personal responsibilities:

Self-Reflect: Spend time in prayer and meditation, asking God to reveal your true passions and callings.
Embrace Vulnerability: Share your authentic self with others to build supportive connections.
Find Your Passion: Identify and pursue activities that bring you joy and are true expressions of your God-given essence.
Be Your Authentic Self: Work to be your true self in all situations, rejecting the urge to hide your light.
Choose Love: Embrace God’s love and extend it to your inner child, fostering healing and self-acceptance.

Conclusion

If you are brave enough to begin this journey of healing from shame, you deserve to live in pride every day. The journey from shame to pride is a testament to the power of God’s healing love and a unique work of art that will be your legacy to the world. Be blessed and reassured that your Creator and this community of love will be with you on your journey.

You started out as dirt

by Rev. Deb Beloved Church

“You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” (Genesis 3:19b)

Some version of that verse is typically said as the sign of the cross is being made with ashes on someone’s forehead on Ash Wednesday.

For example, as I was “ashing” folks who came to White Rock Presbyterian Church last Wednesday, I said this: “Remember–you came from dust, and to dust you will return…”

[Each year I think maybe I’ll use the late Rev. Eugene Peterson’s interpretation as found in The Message: “You started out as dirt, you’ll end up dirt.” That strikes me as even more powerful! It is, in fact, what I said when I blessed the horses of a friend the next day, using actual dirt from the ground on which we were standing… Maybe next year I’ll use it with the two-legged creatures, and see how it lands for us all…]

“Tempranillo, remember that you came from dirt,

and to dirt you will return…”

And since this year Ash Wednesday happened to also be Valentine’s Day, here’s another way to think about it:

At first glance, it seemed strange to have those two holidays (or more better, perhaps, holy days) fall on the same date, but looking back, I can’t help but reflect that perhaps it was truly a gift…

Might the occurrence of our cultural celebration of loving and being loved on the same day that we who are people of faith intentionally acknowledge our mortality, somehow enhance both of those central aspects of our humanity–the relational albeit finite nature of our existence?

None of our human loves—whether of a child, parent, partner, sibling, cousin, friend, etc., or a non-human companion—will last forever. We will all someday die, and those loves in their present form will come to an end. All living things are mortal and finite.

And while that truth can be heartbreakingly painful to acknowledge, might it also make our loving more sweet? Might it make our time together more cherished? Might it make our conflicts more critical to resolve? Might it generate more urgency for us to show up more fully and more authentically? Might it make us more grateful for the opportunities we have to love and be loved?

Hmmm…

We are approaching the second Sunday of Lent already; Ash Wednesday feels like a distant memory. Perhaps as we move further into this holy season, we can not only consider our mortality, not only allow greater recognition of our sin, not only attempt to see with greater clarity the ways we hide our true selves, not only make more deliberate efforts to turn back to God… But we can also hold on to and celebrate that in the midst of our flawed, finite, and finicky humanity, we love and are loved by the humans and non-humans in our lives, and by God.

Yes, we are dust and to dust we will return. Yes, we started out as dirt and we’ll end up dirt. Yes, we were born and we will die. We. will. die.

And…in the midst of that—and before that, and after that, and beyond that—we are loved. We are loved absolutely, and unconditionally, and unceasingly, by the God who created us out of dust, and who created the dust.

Thanks be to God!

“Seen by [the James] Webb [Space Telescope] in unprecedented detail, Sagittarius C is a star-forming region about 300 light-years away from the supermassive black hole at the Milky Way’s center. (https://www.flickr.com/photos/nasawebbtelescope/53344798019/in/gallery-zexonaz-72157720865766128/)

Oh The Humanity

by Davin Franklin-Hicks

I met Auntie Rose when I was four or five. She had to be 184 years old, give or take 100 years. Old was ancient to me, like the pyramids, dinosaurs, and God. Auntie Rose lived next door to my mom and my mom’s three kids of which I was firmly in the center. My older brother and my baby brother were my orbit. My dad was a satellite across town while my mom was the moon, sleeping during the day and shining somewhere far from me at night. It wasn’t a world with cohesion, just one with intense gravity.

We lived in apartments with too many kids and too few awake adults so anyone who took an interest in me became family. That was how a stranger named Rose became Auntie Rose and her husband (by association, not at all earned) became Uncle John. And I loved her. She was sweet to me and had a soft lap. She made me eggs some mornings when my mom wasn’t all that aware of my grumbling tummy. She asked me about things like hopscotch and fights with my brothers and my wishes to be the President and a country music singer, dual careers that felt realistic and achievable.

There was another ancient woman on the premises that everyone called Granny. Now Granny really was the oldest person alive, of that I am certain. I don’t have the Guinness Book of Records to prove it, but my memory filed her away as the oldest person ever and I still hold every centenarian up against her. Granny played solitaire, smoked cigarettes, watched daytime television, prayed the rosary, and made cookies. Auntie Rose visited with her several times a week for many years and I would trail over after her. Granny had one of those little plaques with wooden blocks that spelled out JESUS if your eyes adjusted to it in just the right way. I thought that was brilliant. I would let my eyes go in and out of focus while tracing the lines, amazed that blank space could become something else if you saw it the right way. Auntie Rose’s words and Granny’s cigarette smoke would waft around me as they talked about nothing that actually interested me, but held me just the same. I thought Auntie Rose and Granny were actually related. My mom let me know years later that they were not. I guess I was making chosen family for as long as I had the ability.

Auntie Rose wasn’t my neighbor for long, but while she was, she likely heard a lot through the thin wall that separated her home from mine. My mom’s boyfriend, my future step-father, wasn’t a kind man and expressed that loudly in all sorts of ways. She didn’t like him which made me like her more. She also didn’t like her own husband much. I could tell that right away. I could give or take him. He was silent and sullen. She did something that no ancient person ever did in the 1980s: she divorced him. And then she moved away.

Auntie Rose kept coming back to visit Granny, though, so I didn’t lose her. It was one of those visits when something shifted that never shifted back. It was a moment I remember so vividly and so clearly you would think something traumatic happened. It wasn’t traumatic, though. I had been in the living room, talking to Granny. Granny asked me to go give Auntie Rose a vase as she was in the back room doing some kind of rearranging of a closet for Granny. I walked down the hall to the bedroom and there was no Auntie Rose. Then I heard her call from the darkened bathroom that had the door wide open. “Need something?” I walked toward her and then froze when I heard the unmistakable sound of urine hitting the water of a toilet.

She was talking to me. While peeing. And can you even? I could not. I froze and felt my stomach hurt. I said, “Uh, no. Nothing.” I set the vase on the bed and hightailed it out of the apartment, confused and disoriented by the whole experience.

There is such a fragility in early childhood, a constant reckoning with the stimulus all around. A sense of awe or mortification seem equally in reach at any given moment. I had been awed so much by Auntie Rose’s unfailing kindness and love that mortification had an easy entry. She had seemed above need, above doing anything so base as having to use the bathroom. I never forgave her for being so very human when I had cast her as Love.

That memory was created when I was eight-years old and I must think of it at least once a month with a very specific trigger: embarrassment on behalf of another’s humanity. I feel the burn of embarrassment the most intensely when it’s my own humanity revealed at the most inopportune time.

There’s a great scene from a mediocre show that also occurs to me frequently alongside this memory. The show was Nurse Jackie and the scene depicts a conversation between one of my favorite fictional TV characters Gloria Akalitus and a second character named Dr. O’Hara. Gloria Akalitus is the head of an overtaxed ER. She is every medical administrator I have ever met with a wonderful, lovable, terrifying personality. Dr. O’Hara comes upon Gloria eating and says, “I don’t think I have ever seen you eat before.” Gloria’s response is, “I like to hide my humanity. Or at least keep it to a minimum.”

Why is admitting we are human the hardest thing we do all day? Feels like it has something to do with the red rover game between capability and vulnerability that plays throughout the entirety of our living.

So what didn’t match up for the eight-year old me that day? Was it that she was in the bathroom with the light off? Was it that the door was open? Was it that it was unexpected? Or was it just too human?

It was being confronted with base need where strength and comfort had been the only resident prior. It made everything feel a bit more fragile in a world that already wasn’t sturdy. I am thankful for that moment now. I know it’s a weird thing to be thankful for – someone using the bathroom with the door open. I am, though, because it serves me. It pops up when I want to run like my young self did. It presents itself when another’s humanity feels far too real or when my own feels far too ugly. I pause now instead of run. I remind myself that we are all just humans working out our needs the best we can. I remind myself of my own capability and of yours. And, most of the time, I stay.

I imagine if I hadn’t run that day then Auntie Rose would have likely finished her business, washed her hands, and come out of the bathroom to take the vase from me. She likely would have had a kind word for me as she often peppered mundane moments with affirmation. I would have likely returned to Granny while she played her millionth game of solitaire and smoked her millionth-and-one cigarette. My stomach would have settled and cookies would have been consumed. Life would have simply continued.

I don’t know what it is about being human that sometimes makes the stomach hurt and causes us to flee, but I do know that most of us have moments that feel too naked and real. May we not change them or run from them. May we wait them out and see what happens. May we accept our need as fully human. May we close the door when we go potty.

“Red rover, red rover, send acceptance right over.”

The Contents of a Heart

by Rev. Lynne Hinton

He is red-hot angry. “When Mama dies, I’m going after him with everything I have. I’m going to make him pay.”

“You’re seventy years old.” I tell him this because I like him and because I adore his mother, my patient.

Her son, this man, furious because he believes his brother has stolen from the family, has told me how splendid his life is, how he’s been married for forty-nine years to a woman he loves completely, how he has a successful business, a wonderful family, how they’ve traveled the world enjoying great adventures. “So,” he snaps, “what does my age have to do with anything?”

“Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned working as a hospice chaplain it’s that life is short. Do you really want to spend your time consumed by this anger? Do you really want your life to be about that?”

In his book, The Exquisite Risk, Mark Nepo writes about an Egyptian myth that explains an end of life ritual. The Trial of Heart is a ceremony in which the heart of every deceased person is weighed on a scale, balanced against one ostrich feather, the symbol of truth. If the heart is lighter than the feather, it is believed that the person did not recognize and honor truth, that it demonstrated a life not fully experienced. If the heart weighs more than the feather then it has carried too much. It has held onto the painful truths, giving them too much weight. The ceremony reveals the contents of one’s heart and unless the heart is balanced, the soul is unable to enter into eternal peace.

We cannot dictate all of the circumstances of our lives. We cannot control all of the things that enter and exit. People we love harm and help us and sometimes we are left flattened by the choices they make that deeply affect us. We cannot orchestrate all of this. We can, however, choose what we hold and what we let go. And we make those choices every day of our lives, from ages seven to seventy and beyond.

I’m not sure I believe there is a court of the dead waiting to measure the contents of our hearts; but I do believe that no heart can fully experience peace unless there is true balance, unless there is equality in what is gained and in what is surrendered. I do believe that if a person picks up and hangs onto anger, the heart has no room for love.

I have no idea what this troubled brother will choose, where he will ultimately land. I can only hope that when the day of death comes for him, as it will come for us all, that his last breath is taken with ease because he knows his heart is at peace, because he has chosen forgiveness, because he has surrendered to love. And I hope when we face our own days of death, it may be so for us all.

You are the light of the world!

When We Go Away

by Davin Franklin-Hicks

I have long thought that the strength of family and friend relationships rely solely on exchanges we all have when we are in the same space, hanging out, talking, being together.

I have come to realize, though, this is only part of sustaining connection. The other large, essential part of relationship happens when we are away from each other.

Loving relationship starts in the most tender parts of our being. Our ability to be authentic and present in relationship is quite reliant on the vulnerability we are brave enough to hold inside of ourselves. Vulnerability often calls on fear as a bodyguard. Fear is such a powerful barrier that locks us in and does nothing to help our precious selves find one another.

What we choose to think about, the offenses we sometimes pick up, the conversations we overthink, the way we perceive our own value to those we love, all determines so much of whether a relationship thrives or suffers. The stories we tell ourselves in the in-between times is what determines if love is cultivated or ruptured.

We rely on connection. We long to be with one another. That homesick ache is that very longing and has been with us from day one. It is the motivating part of our living. The plot twist, though, is that deep connection is not fortified with an “I love you” face to face. The deep, sustaining connection happens later when we are apart. It happens when I replay that “I love you” and choose to believe you meant it.

I Think You Are Lovable (Most of the Time)

by Davin Franklin-Hicks

I am a loving and caring man.
I look for the good in people.
I love it when others succeed.
I celebrate the successes of other folks.
I desperately want all people to have the best emotional, spiritual and physical life possible.
I want people to laugh.
I want people to have a sense of security in their living.
I am a pretty decent and kind guy.
Then I have to go outside.

At least a solid 85% of the time I totally dig others and am thoughtful and loving. Ok, maybe like 80% of the time. (“76% of the time”, my conscience whispers…
To which I say “No one likes a know it all, Conscience!”)

If there was technology that would map the route my brain takes when traveling from loving-kindness and compassion to baffled frustration and judgment, it would be a surprisingly quick trip.

Start at loving kindness and compassion.
Take three steps.
Step in dog poop.
You have arrived at “Everyone Is Stupid and Annoying And Dumb, Except Me”.

My deep kindness and loving ways fall apart when other actual living and breathing humans are around. I am so good at caring for all people, until people show up. People ruin my unconditional love for people.

I had a tremendous reprieve from this pattern recently. The reprieve lasted a full two weeks. The path I often take was re-routed. The route was full of wonder and love the whole way through.

The world became far more vibrant.
It all felt new and novel.
The journey was the entire focus.
I had people around me and not once did I get to that place of exasperation and harsh, judgment.
I was with people and I still operated in loving kindness and compassion.

The two weeks happened when my wife and I had the honor of hosting my youngest brother and his family.

My brother is nine years younger than me. I have called him Bear since the day he was born. I brought him in for show and tell in my fourth grade class. I have long been smitten. And remain that way still.

The trip afforded the opportunity to have my baby brother, sister-in-law and our soon-to-be three-years-old nephew in the sanctuary of our home and in our daily lives.

They met a few of the people we adore.
They watched shows with us that we love.
They ate with us, cooked with us, and lived with us.
It was the single best two weeks we have had since our living became riddled with loss and illness.

The difference that made this trip so special was rather basic, yet very powerful:

We wanted them here and they wanted to be here.
That’s the first step that led us to authentic connection.
Choice to be present. Choice to be loving. Choice for authenticity.

We removed the appearance of being perfect that we so readily hide behind in living. We ate outside whenever possible.
We enjoyed each other.
We laughed.
We played.
We shared deeply.
We even sang together, our joined voices gloriously out of key.
Nan and I rested a lot. I slept better than I had in two years.

This two week period was full of wonderful, loving moments.
Those moments, though, would not have led to the experience of love we all had. Love emerged when we chose to be open.
It beamed when we chose the risk of vulnerability.
It flourished when we chose to see each other.

Then they had to go. We said our goodbyes and my heart started to ache.

What will I do with the silence that has replaced the sounds of my sweet nephew‘s voice and movements?
What will I do with the ache that has replaced the joy of shared laughter?
What will I do with the feeling of fear that attempts to overshadow the feeling of love I joyously basked in?

That familiar route started creeping back in. The world started feeling less great. I started feeling a bit more cynical, a bit more easily frustrated, a bit less loving.

I want to live a loving life. It’s my aim, my core value. It informs so much of my everyday. I think about love a lot.

I have learned some things that I don’t always remember in times of ache. I do, though, remember it fully when I return to my practices that cultivate a loving heart. From that place I can see so much more clearly.

I tend to confuse the presence of Love with the feeling-of-love. When I confuse this, I end up in a place of pain and loneliness because states of being change.
My access to the feeling of love sometimes teeters.
My awareness of love as it relates to my worth often shifts.

Circumstances do not change the reality of love.

Love remains.
Steady.
Sturdy.
Stable.

My capacity to give love is in direct correlation with the love I am capable of cultivating within. I do not feel loving toward others if I have not created space for love.

The reality then is this: At least a solid 80% of the time I am willing to do the work within that allows me to see you and hear you and love you. The other 20% of me distorts.

I had such an easy access to Love over those two weeks that the feeling of love was constant and was easy to come by. It made the world seem alive in a way that I didn’t have access to in such a concentrated way.

Then the lens of fear arrived again. That lens distorts life. It changes what I see in the mirror. I become ugly and worthless. It changes how I see others. It changes how I see you.

The lens of loving-kindness and compassion allows me to see you far more clearly.

You are beautiful.
You are seeking.
You are adjusting.
You are healing.
You are breaking.
You are grieving.
You are aging.
You are trying.
You are fearful.
You are hopeful.
You are resting.
You are exhausted.
You are forgetting.
You are remembering.
You are being.

I can see you again.
I see your light and I see your struggle.
I can see how much we look alike.
I can see it so very clearly now.
You, my dear one, are loveable.

100% of the time.

What a trip Love turns out to be.

The Womb of the Night

by Karen MacDonald

Morning meditation, chanting/singing “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” on my Hindu prayer beads. A phrase in the sixth stanza struck a chord:

“Love stir within the womb of night….”

The dark nights of winter can seem depressing. These long nights can also be a time of renewing, resting, of taking care of our selves. Like bears hibernating.

These times seem dark and frightening, with such deep polarization, self-centeredness, greed, hatred, fear. We have lost our selves.

In the womb of this social night, what love might stir? What love might we nourish to birth in this night? How may we, individually and collectively, take care in this night and come to our selves? Like a baby in a woman’s womb.

“Love stir within the womb of night….”

Love being born in us, even in the night. Feel it stirring?

Guns and God: A Progressive Christian View

by Tony Minear

I own a hand gun. It is a 22 Ruger revolver single action with a 6-inch barrel. I received it from my dad on my 18th birthday. I even bought a genuine leather western-style holster in Tijuana to go with it. The next two summers I played cowboy while working at a church summer camp. I haven’t shot that gun for over twenty years. I go back and forth between selling it or some day giving it to one of my grandchildren. However, the possibility of one of my grandchildren or any individual doing harm to themselves or someone else, intentional or unintentional, frightens me. Occasionally, I contemplate literally carrying out the Hebrew scripture, “Hammer your swords into plowshares and your spears into pruning hooks.” I could have my pistol melted down to a pile of metal. Maybe even molded into a miniature plow. Not sure how the grandchild would like receiving a plow as an heirloom.

With the recent church shooting in Vegas and now Texas, the topic of gun control is once more front and center in our conversations. What can Progressive Christianity bring to the table in this arena? I offer an entrée, food for thought, for your culinary pleasure. What one believes about God can inform one’s stance on gun control.

Would Jesus under any circumstance condone a human being taking the life of another? No. Would one human being inflicting violence upon another ever be present in the realm of God’s will, which Jesus envisioned, either now or in a future “heaven?” No.

My understanding of Jesus’ view of the Kingdom of God, or God’s will for humanity, is centered around God’s love and value of life. Yet some stories in the Bible seem to contradict this. God is said to have ordered the genocide of groups of non-Hebrews. Justification? They are evil. Yet God admits to using a wicked people (The Hebrews), who are slightly less evil, as executioners. This doesn’t compute. Perhaps our willingness, and at times, desire, to use violence influences how we interpret God’s will and imagine God. For me this does compute. If God is inclined to acts of violence, no wonder we are too.

Wasn’t it God who established and decreed that the results of sin are death? Wasn’t it God who desired daily sacrifices for enjoyment and appeasement? Isn’t it God who continues to use the threat of death as a means to shape our beliefs and control our behavior? If God constructed a system of justice based upon death and violence, is it any wonder that some Christians and nations are comfortable turning to violence to resolve their problems or punish evildoers? Is it any wonder that some Christians carry a gun and are willing to use it to protect themselves or their family? Is it any wonder that efforts to legislate laws to limit certain guns in our communities, to decrease the chances of such weapons ending up in the hands of unstable individuals, or to take steps promoting gun safety in homes, are opposed by some Christians?

What if this picture and understanding of God as violent and using violence is incorrect? What if what the historical Jesus taught about God and God’s kingdom being encapsulated in one word, “love,” is right? I choose to believe it is. For this reason, I read all of scripture through the filter of love. It is my bias. It is the presupposition I bring to my study of the Bible. It is the reason why I choose not to have ammunition for my gun in the house. It is the reason I continue to ponder the validity of a pacifist life for myself and what that might look like. It is the reason why I’m googling metal artists who can take a gun and turn it into a plow.

Fear: An Invitation to Risk

by Rev. Dr. William M. Lyons

“Fear is good,” says Peter Bolland. “It keeps us alive. It keeps us from falling off cliffs, touching fire and kissing rattlesnakes.”

“If [humans] were to lose his capacity to fear, he would be deprived of his capacity to grow, invent, and create. So in a sense fear is normal, necessary, and creative. Normal fear protects us; motivates us to improve our individual and collective welfare.”

SO why does the Bible consistently encourage us to ‘fear not?’

Do not be afraid – 70 times in 67 verses
Do not fear – 58 times in 57 verses

Because “there is another kind of fear, abnormal fear,” wrote Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. “Abnormal fear paralyzes us, constantly poisons and distorts our inner lives.”

Fear can be “our greatest liability,” according to Bolland. “It keeps us from taking the risks necessary to develop our unrealized potential. If we let it, fear has the power to keep us from becoming who we really are. Fear is a thief that steals our joy.”

“FEAR is one of the persistent hounds of hell that dog the footsteps of the poor, the dispossessed, the disinherited,” wrote Howard Thurman. “There is nothing new or recent about fear—it is doubtless as old as the life of man on the planet.

“when the power and the tools of violence are on one side, the fact that there is no available and recognized protection from violence makes the resulting fear deeply terrifying.

“Fear…becomes the safety device with which the oppressed surround themselves in order to give [themselves] some measure of protection…”

Certainly I resonant with Dr. King’s observation, “In these days of catastrophic change and calamitous uncertainty, is there any [one] who does not experience the depression and bewilderment of crippling fear, which, like a nagging hound of hell, pursues our every footstep?”

Dr. King was right when he preached, “Our problem is not to be rid of fear but rather to harness and master it.”

But how? Our texts, and scores like them in both Jewish and Christian sacred texts, help us know how.

Whom shall I fear? Of whom shall I be afraid?
I’ve learned your ways, Sovereign One.
I believe that I shall see [your] goodness, Gracious One,
in the land of the living.
Self, be patient. Self, be strong. Self, take courage in the Lord!

“I tell you, my friends,” said Jesus. Friends! “Do not fear those who kill the body, and after that can do nothing more.” Recognize that the threat of violence, with the possibility of death that it carries, “for what it is—merely the threat of violence with a death potential.” With that perspective “death cannot possibly be the worst thing in the world. There are some things that are worse than death.”

Verse 5 of our Gospel reading we must hold for another discussion this week because the prospect of hell or God casting someone into it can’t possibly be handled by a sermon in a UCC context. For this morning we are invited to remember that five sparrows were sold for two pennies, yet not one of them is forgotten in God’s sight!

God counts even the hairs of your head. Do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows. “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your [Heavenly Parent’s] good pleasure to give you her whole realm, his entire dominion!

“In the absence of all hope, ambition dies.” But to know that Creator God, cares for us – cares for me – to know that nothing can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus “renders us unconquerable within and without!”

When the time comes to speak truth to power do not be afraid of them. Just remember what the Lord your God did to Pharaoh and to all Egypt,

When the time comes to speak difficult words to the people of God 6 And you, O mortal, do not be afraid of them, and do not be afraid of their words, though briers and thorns surround you and you live among scorpions; do not be afraid of their words, and do not be dismayed at their looks, for they are a rebellious house. 7 You shall speak my words to them, whether they hear or refuse to hear; for they are a rebellious house.

When the time comes to do something that you’ve always been taught was contrary to God’s Law, remember how an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.

When you’ve poured out your fears to God in prayer, know assuredly that like Haggar and Zechariah God has heard your prayer, and that you are living the fulfillment of the plan of God.

I wish that we had time this morning to consider every one of the 128 times we hear the admonition to lay aside our fears. Aren’t you glad we have a whole week to consider them together?! Know this morning that taken together, those 128 passages invite us to:

Learn to live beyond the war of nerves, keeping perspective on our priorities and values as people of faith
Live apart from conditions imposed by an oppressor.
Find ways to love while under the threat of violence when the power and the tools of violence are all on one side.
Create ways to live outside of the artificial limitations that offer the illusion of safety-restricting freedom of movement, of employment, or speech, and of participation in the common life.
Ferreting out even the smallest glimmer of hope fanning those embers into the flames of ambition.

Fear is neither good nor evil; it is [an invitation to risk] that must be read with great care. Cultivating the skill to interpret fear accurately is an essential task in the creation of the well-lived and fully-realized life.

If I do this frightening thing, will it bring real quality and beauty into my life?
If I do this frightening thing, will it move me further toward the fullest expression of my innate potentialities?
Am I respecting my health and life, and the health and life of others?
Is this fear really just a misguided attempt to protect my fragile and limiting self-image?
Is this apprehension and anxiety simply the death-throes of my outmoded ways of acting, thinking and being in the world?
If I took these risks and let go of my old ways of acting, thinking and being in the world, would I be closer to my highest good?
Is the larger purpose of my life the realization of my highest good as opposed to being comfortable?

“If the answer to any of these questions is no, your fear is telling you something important. You should probably listen,” writes Peter Bolland. “But if you can answer yes to even one of these questions, then” remember the words of David to his son, Solomon: “Be strong and of good courage, and act. Do not be afraid or dismayed; for the Lord God, my God, is with you. [God] will not fail you or forsake you, until all the work for the service of the house of the Lord is finished.

I Can Do That With My Eyes Closed

by Davin Franklin-Hicks

I learned a neat trick.

A lifehack… actually, a lovehack.

I learned it in these dark moments.

There is a concept of “total pain” that is fitting. Total pain means being consumed by physical, emotional and spiritual pain to a degree that is unbearable. I experience total pain at times. I experienced it about four hours ago, actually.

My head is in a lot of pain which means I spend a whole heckuva lot of time in dark rooms with my eyes closed.

For some, that’s not a safe place to be considering the role fear can play in those dark places. I experience that at times as well.

In the moments outside of total pain, I do a lot of preparation for the hard moments that will come back.

I do a whole lot of prayer and meditation, affirmations and reminders. I intentionally take in the world around me, noting, close attention to the details of those I love. How they look when they laugh. How they do basic day to day stuff. How they live.

Here’s some things I noticed about some of the people I love:

My mom hums a lot and sings a lot. She often has a bubbling joy and it shines in her eyes.

My wife says “Ok” to herself a lot, right before she is going to move her hurting body over to the next task she is starting. She has the sweetest smile for me when I come in the room.

My son smiles in a very specific way right before he is going to say something funny. And he says I love you in a present, kind, authentic tone. My favorite sound.

Logan laughs, heartedly and fully. It fills the room in a very welcomed manner. It’s contagious and whoever is in the room laughs with him.

My long-time best friend Heather leans in when she is enjoying humor and looks up when she is going to drop some amazing wordplay.

My dear friend Jen does a sideways glance when she is about to drop the funny and she gets tears in her eyes from laughing hard.

Tylar breathes deep as they hear a hard truth. A centering breath and presence. They have the most amazing eye contact.

These are great attributes in and of themselves.

The payoff of being intentional in this way is rather amazing when put to use. It mitigates and eases the internal world I often must exist within. With my eyes closed and in the midst of total pain, the suffering can be shifted into an endless combination of peace, kindness, humor, strength, life.

That’s not the trick I was going to tell you about, though.

I know! Right?

You’re like “What else is he going to say?!?!”

I clearly deal in pins and needles.

My careful study and presence of mind helps me endure during times of total pain, but it does something else as well.

Loving people allows me to experience love when the people I love are not able to be with me.

Let’s take that again: My love for others creates space for me to receive love and live in it.

One more time for the people in the back: loving begets being LOVED!

In this moment right now, are you alert and aware enough to do a favor for the future you?

If so, give this next part a try before you return to the tasks and business of life.

Spend some time picturing the faces you love. Imagine them. Think about what you love about them. Get as detailed as you can. Sit with it. Remember best moments. Make a playlist of nurture and love that can hold you and be there when life gets dark and small.

When we actively love, it fills within us, it permeates our lives. It’s that “runneth over” thing…

Like a five-year old pouring his own red Kool-aid to the very tippity – toppity of his glass, sure to spill everywhere, love acts in the same way.

Love is messy.

Love gets clumsy.

Love splashes out to all aspects of our lives.

And just like that red Kool-aid, love imprints on everything that it reaches.

Imagine that.