All Saints’, Dorval
February 9, 2025
“Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.”
This phrase – “do not be afraid” – is a very common one in Scripture, often uttered by angels, such as the one inviting Mary to become the mother of God’s son. But in today’s reading, it’s Jesus who speaks these words, reassuring Simon and his companions after they are flabbergasted by the enormous number of fish they have just pulled from a sea of Galilee where there didn’t seem to be any before.
It’s one of only three places in Luke where Jesus says “Do not be afraid.” The other two are both in chapter 12, during the long discourse that includes the famous line about “the lilies of the field,” in which Jesus encourages his followers to worry less about the future. Do not be afraid, he says, for you are of more value than many sparrows. Do not be afraid, because it is your father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.
When Jesus tells people not to be afraid, it’s because he’s trying to invite them into his work of teaching, healing, feeding, and recreating the world, and for whatever reason, they’re balking and reluctant.
Fear is one of the most pernicious things that prevents us from hearing God’s call and following it.
Another one is guilt, and that’s what we see in the reading from Isaiah. The prophet’s first reaction to the staggering vision of the Holy is not to rejoice and give thanks, but to fixate on his perceived guilt: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.”
Luckily the seraphs know how to cope with the situation, and one of them flies to Isaiah and touches his lips with a burning coal, blotting out his sin and freeing him to hear God say “whom shall I send?” and to reply, “Here I am; send me!”
Fear and guilt both get in the way when we need to hear God speaking to us and calling us to the work that God has for us to do.
We are fearful and guilty because we are human, fallible, and mortal. We are afraid of death and the suffering that accompanies it, and we are guilty because we know we have done wrong and will do wrong again, and we are afraid – there’s that word again – that we may not be able to set everything right before we die
And thus when Jesus delivered us from death by becoming human and going through death and out the other side on our behalf, Jesus also delivered us from fear and guilt. There is nothing to fear because Jesus has conquered death, and Jesus has also freed us from the unbearable burden of the wrongs that we have done and cannot set right on our own.
That is what Paul is stating – restating – in the reading from Corinthians. “For I handed on to you as of first importance what I in turn had received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures, and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve.”
This is what everything comes back to – the basic statement about what Jesus has done for us, the world-changing event when God took human flesh and nothing was ever the same again.
It’s good to get back to basics every once in a while. It’s good to remind ourselves that while fear and guilt are normal and understandable human emotions, they have no power over us because of what God has done for us in Jesus.
And on this Annual Vestry Sunday, it’s good to remind ourselves to do this not just as individuals, but as a community. Again, it’s understandable that we might be feeling fearful or guilty. This is an age of tremendous upheaval for the church. We don’t know what it will look like in five years, let alone 15 or 50. We may be afraid of parishes closing, beloved traditions being lost, and faith being a less visible or influential part of society. And we may feel guilt that we can’t do as much as we’d like, or that somehow the problems are our fault.
And again, that’s when we turn to Jesus and remember what God has done for us, and the overflowing grace that Paul mentions repeatedly in his letter. We are literally here because of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. Celebrating and living out Jesus’ mission is what we do, in bad times and in good. And when we least expect it, God will take our empty nets and fill them with fish.
God says, “Do not be afraid,” but eliminating all fear from our experience is probably not realistic. What we can do is learn to live, and even thrive, alongside the fear.
Yesterday, five youth from All Saints’ drove up to Rawdon to go tobogganing on the spectacular snow pile that’s built on their public beach in winter, and skating on the track that’s made out on the lake. We met up with 20-odd kids from Christ Church and spent a happy couple of hours flinging ourselves down the steep slope and sliding out onto the ice. I only made two trips down the sledding hill, one on an inner tube by myself and one on an old-fashioned wooden toboggan along with Rodney Clark, the priest at Christ Church.
The thing about sledding on a groomed track of that height is that it’s an exercise in pure physical terror – and also one of the most exhilarating things possible. My brain knew that I was actually going to be perfectly fine, but my gut was, to put it mildly, freaking out.
On the first slide, the one I did alone on the inner tube, I did a bit of excited shrieking but I mostly focused on going limp. The sides of the track were built up; I didn’t need to steer; the sled could spin around as much as it liked and I would still end up in the same place; my only job was to laugh maniacally and enjoy the ride.
The second time, I did need to steer, and to pay attention to where my legs were because if I put a foot wrong at the speed that we were going, things could get unpleasant fast. And on that trip, I had a remarkable experience that I don’t recall ever having before: I could feel the fear in my chest, as a distinct and identifiable physical sensation, like a fireball getting hotter and hotter, and I knew that the only way to relieve that sensation was to scream. So I did. And that’s what got me down the hill without exploding.
So, based on Grace’s Sledding Shenanigans 2025, here are two constructive ways to deal with fear: (1) Relax; and (2) Yell really loud. The first one is kind of self-explanatory. But in a community context, we probably don’t all want to be walking around shrieking all the time, so perhaps the principle is best expressed as “Make some noise”.
When you’re scared, sing. Or just tell people the story! Go back to that story, of what Jesus has done for us to take away all our fear and guilt forever, and shout it from the rooftops.
The track has been built by someone who knows what they’re doing and wants you to have a great adventure. All you have to do is relax – and when the fear threatens to explode, make noise!
It’ll feel great, and you’ll make it to the bottom of the hill safe and sound.
Amen.
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