Fear gets a bad rap, but should it?

In recent years, it seems I am seeing the word “fear” everywhere. During peak Covid months, you couldn’t walk a mile in my neighborhood without seeing half a dozen yard signs from local churches boldly displaying “Faith > Fear”. Keyboard warriors on topics from second amendment rights to masking in public to environmental issues love to tell us that “we can’t live in fear.” Then of course, entering an election year, candidates are playing to our emotions by using one of their most effective strategies; you guessed it, fear mongering.

Let’s talk about it.

To understand what fear is, let’s first decide what it is not.

Fear is not a moral failure. When we assign morality to fear, we give it a shadow of shame. If I’m hearing everywhere that I shouldn’t feel afraid, yet I do, what does that say about me? Am I a coward? Ungrateful? Simply a bad person? Of course not, but that is the implication, intentional or not. Whether we admit it to ourselves and each other or not, everyone experiences fear, and I think it’s time we’re honest about that.

Fear is not a safe place from which to make decisions. I tell my closest friends not infrequently, “you are not the best person to talk to about yourself right now,” when I can sense they are nearing the all too familiar to me downward spiral marked by worst case scenarios and what-ifs. When we are operating from a place of fear, the amygdala is online and running the show which means the pre-frontal cortex, the part of our brain in charge of logical decision making, is not. I will generously, if not somewhat reluctantly assume this is what people mean when they say not to live in fear. And in that sense, they have a strong point. We need to make decisions from a sound mind, not from a spirit of fear (2 Timothy 1:7).

Fear is not always irrational. Thanks to my mother, I have a fear of a snake hiding in the toilet, waiting to bite me when it is too dark for me to see. That is an irrational fear. I have a fear of my kids experiencing harsh cruelties when they get to elementary school. Although not irrational, it is better characterized as an unpleasant, heartbreaking likelihood. I have a fear that my youngest son will end up admitted to the hospital on a significant amount of oxygen support for days or even weeks when he gets a cold that lasts more than 24 hours. This is a rational fear. I have deeper, darker fears of which I will spare you the details. They are rational fears. I suppose if the bulk of the fears one experiences are more aligned with my snake in the toilet phobia, it can be difficult to sympathize with those of us who only share glimpses of our own deep, painful, rational fears. To that I sincerely say, you are so blessed, and I am so glad for you that you do not and cannot understand.

Fear is not an absence of faith. This one is sticky. I have wrestled with it for years and ultimately landed somewhere around here: I can experience rational, legitimate fear AND trust that the Lord is working in all things for His glory and my ultimate good. I can be afraid and simultaneously trust that he is sovereign and Holy. It’s why I cringe when I see the overly simplistic “Faith > Fear” signs I mentioned earlier. Yes, my faith is greater than my fear, but I have unfortunately (fortunately?) learned that they both exist in my heart, sometimes in more tension with each other than I would care to admit.

Fear can be a gift. Proverbs 1:5 tells us, “The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge“. Of course, this kind of fear is best understood as awe, admiration, reverence, and honor. But fear, nonetheless. On a more primitive level, fear has served humankind well for centuries. Imagine our ancestors for a moment. What would happen if they didn’t fear the lion prowling? Fear has been essential to the survival of the human race. The Holy Spirit can also gift us a fear in the interest of our protection.

In my experience, what matters is what we do with our fear. I do not claim to be an expert in psychology, but I know a thing or two about fear. Here are a few things that have worked for me.

Go ahead, imagine the worst possible outcome. I know it sounds crazy and counterintuitive, but I have found that it can stop rumination in it’s tracks. I can say to myself, okay, let’s not spiral. Let’s think clearly, what really is the worst thing that could happen here? If that happens, then what? God is still God. He is still with me. He is still for me. Sometimes, imagining the worst possible outcome can right size our fear. If the actual worst case scenario is a friend becomes angry with me, or I lose out on a promotion, or my kids do not get accepted to the schools we want, those are legitimate disappointments. They are also part of life. If the worst case scenario is a deep tragedy, let’s work backward from there. Any other outcome will feel more manageable, and it is likely a more probable outcome anyway.

Tell somebody. Fear, especially when wrapped in shame, thrives in isolation. It loves darkness. It loves to whisper that you’re the only one. Nobody could understand. You’re stupid to feel this way. Friends, there is a real enemy who wants you to live here. Tell someone your fears. Saying them out loud can take away some of the weight. I told a friend this week something I am deeply fearful of, then I told her I did not want to discuss it further. Sharing that with her, even without elaboration or conversation, removed some of the pressure in my chest. And from her perspective? Man, if someone shared that with me I would feel so honored. So trusted. So loved. It’s a win-win.

Give it to Jesus. Babe, he already knows. Let Him carry it with you. Heck, let him carry it FOR you. Just lay. it. down. Surrender is the most vulnerable, yet often most loving thing, we can do.

Hear my heart: I do not wish for you to have fear. I am not advocating we walk around like Chicken Little, assuming the sky is falling. I am saying, if you find yourself in a state of fear, I hope you will give yourself more grace than I have given myself. I hope you will tell someone. I hope you don’t live there forever. I hope you will claim Jesus’ victory and cling to it.

I love you.

-SB