LIVING WITH FEAR An Election Sermon During Hard Times
James Ishmael Ford
31 October 2004

Spiritual work is possible in one place alone:
in exactly what you are experiencing right now.
Ezra Bayda

Today is All Hallows Eve the time in our western tradition when the membrane between the living and the dead is as thin as thin can be. Today ghosts and goblins are not uncommon. Nor are the other hidden monsters of our minds and hearts. Today the world is raw and much is revealed. Or can be if we’re willing to pay a little attention. So, I hope you won’t mind an exploration of fear as one of the most powerful and dangerous of our human emotions.

Fear takes many shapes. It can be that which must be overcome. It can be a spur to action. And sometimes it can be truly overwhelming. Fear weaves in and out of our lives, and if we aren’t aware of it and come to engage it in healthy ways; it is more than likely fear will dictate not only how we act but who we are. It’s that powerful. So, let’s explore fear.

First that overcoming thing. A merchant ship was about to be boarded by pirates. The crew was terrified and in danger of losing their discipline when the captain loudly ordered his first mate, “Bring me my red shirt!” The mate did, the captain changed shirts, and then led the battle which was victorious. Later that day the merchant ship was set upon by two pirate ships. When seeing the danger, the captain again called for his red shirt. And once again they won.

Later that evening at officer’s mess a young ensign asked the captain why he always wore that red shirt into battle. The captain replied “If I’m wounded, the red shirt won’t show my blood, and our men will keep their courage.” The officers were duly impressed. As dawn broke the next day the crew could see they were now being pursued by ten pirate ships. The officers and men all looked up to the helm for their captain’s instructions. Calm as ever he yelled to his first mate, “Bring me my brown pants!”

Second, fear as a spur. I often mention when writing sermons fear is my great motivator. I fret and think and read at least throughout the week; but it is very hard for me to put word to paper until the end of that week. I’m of the “there’s nothing to focus the mind like knowing you’re to be hung within the fortnight” school of sermon writing. Except not two weeks; more like two days to really get the juices flowing. The sweet tremor of anxiety and the lightning clarity of feeling the clock ticking toward the witching hour births a lot of my sermons.

And third, overwhelming fear. Say watching helplessly as a car fishtails toward you. Or, say, sitting in the doctor’s office waiting for the results. Or, for me of late, watching the hours tick toward Tuesday’s election, and feeling uncertainty and, really, fear washing through me.

Our longtime members and friends Joan and Peter Witt now live in North Carolina. Peter wrote in an email to me this week about how surprised he was at the vehement election sermon he heard last Sunday. I gather it was an unmitigated and forceful condemnation of the president and a plea for members of the congregation to get out and support Senator Kerry. Peter is used to, how can I say this, a rather more nuanced presentation of political issues from the pulpit.

But I have to admit how I resonated with the preacher and her call to remove the president from office. While I really do respect a reasoned conservative argument and admire a good number of Republicans, several treasured members of our Society; I am horrified at the current state of affairs in our country and am terrified the president will prevail Tuesday. I feel deep and real fear about this election.

I fear for the Supreme Court. That precarious five-four, and with it Roe v Wade among many other issues, is slipping away. And I fear for our children carrying the heavy burden of occupying Iraq. When I watch the names and see the faces posted at the end of the Jim Lehrer News Hour; I don’t see pictures of men and women, I see pictures of children. And I blame the president for this situation. I blame the president, not for addressing what were legitimate dangers centered in Baghdad; but for a headlong misadventure, ill-timed, and arrogantly pursued. I watch a president who has opened the treasury to the rich and who would destroy social security in the name of an ideology that thinks the poor should be investing in the stock market rather than having a guaranteed annuity to prevent hunger in their old age. I believe George Bush is unfit to lead our nation. And I fear for the Republic. I fear for the Republic. There’s fear for you.

But just at the edge, almost carried over the waterfall of fear and anger, and out of that hatred, I’ve managed to pull back. If just a little. But this little, I suggest, is the great hope of our human condition. Like pain, fear is a warning, rooted in our biology and which pulls our attention to a matter at hand that needs addressing. But like all our deeply rooted biological responses, fear is a two-edged sword. It warns. But also it cuts.

Let me suggest any analysis which is so firmly rooted in fear or anger that one can no longer see the humanity of one’s opponent is to take one to the edge of becoming what one hates. And to do this is to miss the call of our spiritual heritage. As the great Universalist John Murray preached, "You may possess only a small light but uncover it. Let it shine, use it in order to bring more light and understanding to the hearts and minds of men and women - give them, not hell - but hope and courage - do not push them deeper into their theological despair, but preach the kindness and everlasting love of God."

These are perilous times. No doubt. Choices we make on Tuesday will indeed mark the flow of events for years and decades. But there is only one way through. All of us in this room; the larger majority who are supporting Senator Kerry’s campaign and the minority who believe the president is doing the right things to protect us and the Republic – we must not allow fear and anger to control us or to cut us off from one another.

We here are about something deeper than our partisan politics. What I am called upon to do, what we, each of us in this room, are called upon by our liberal faith is to act not from fear, not from anger, not from hatred, but from love. Let me remind you. We are one family. That is as true a statement as can flow from human lips. We, all of us, are one. And how we deal with one another needs to be informed by that truth. I’m by no means calling for us to pull back from action. I am calling us to pull back from fear and anger and hatred. Let’s not fall into hell; but into hope and courage.

Right now it can be hard to do this. So, in the remaining minutes of this sermon, I’d like to share just a few thoughts on how we can and what it might look like. My friend and colleague Tom Roisello once wrote how “it seems that if you go on one of these white water rafting excursions on some of the powerful rivers in the northwestern part of our country, some guides require you to memorize four rules before they will let you go on the raft.”

As we rush down the whitewaters to Tuesday, perhaps we can remember these rules, as well. They are. 1). Rest in the calm spots because there are always more rapids ahead. 2). When you are heading for a rock, lean into the rock rather than away from it. 3). Never stop paddling. 4). If you fall into the water let go of everything but your life jacket. Kind of interesting? Let’s unpack this a little.

First, rest in the calm spots because there are always more rapids ahead. Take time to breathe. Here our continuing spiritual practices are so important. I try to make sure I sit down, shut up, and just pay attention for a little while every day. Others here in this room take up similar disciplines of choiceless awareness; awareness that doesn’t focus on any particular point, but simply opens us to whatever presents. Like, say, fear. Of course we have any number of other ways we might take up to accomplish this same goal of open heart and open mind. Most notable within our congregation is the disciplined art of conversation within our Small Group Ministries. However we do this, remember to rest in the calm spots, allowing them to penetrate who and what we are. They open our hearts and allow us to either avoid being trapped by our raging emotions or when we do get caught up, to get out from under them more quickly.

Second, when you’re heading for a rock, lean into that rock rather than away from it. This is perhaps counter intuitive. But when we’re dealing with issues like overwhelming emotions pretending they aren’t there or simply suppressing them as inappropriate are in fact not helpful.

The other day I was given a copy of the galleys for a new book by Ezra Bayda with Josh Bartok, Saying Yes to Life (Even the Hard Parts). Ezra to my mind is one of the more interesting of our contemporary western spiritual teachers. Josh is an old friend. Anyway they note “Giving in to fear and anger makes life the enemy.” A true statement. But they carry it a bit further and observe how “confronting the objects of fear, though useful, is not as liberating as changing your relationship to fear itself.”

We need to attend to the objects of fear, whether pirate ships, writing sermons or obsessing about the upcoming election. Gotta do it. But our most important work, the meta-work as it were, the bigger picture that should be informing how we engage those specific fears should be our engagement with fear itself. As Ezra and Josh point out, “as painful as it may be to face your deepest fears, realize it’s more painful to hide from them. Until you become intimate with your fears, they will always limit your ability to love.” Love. We’ll come back to that.

Three, never stop paddling. There are rhythms to our lives. Sometimes we need to be more reflective. Other times we need to be more action oriented. Circumstances dictate when. But always we are responsible. You and I are responsible for what we think, what we feel and what we do. Watching, being aware, not allowing ourselves to be dominated by some reptilian part of our brain, not suppressing, but not allowing it more space than appropriate is our work. Never stop paddling. Have hope, have courage, and keep paddling.

And last, when you do fall into the water let go of everything but your lifejacket. As Ezra and Josh say, “liberation from fear is not about becoming fearless; it’s about seeing that fear is not the deepest truth about who we are.” So, what is our lifejacket? Let me suggest it is this. We are precious individuals. And we are one. You and I arise and fall within the same mystery. And that mystery which births us, sustains us, and to which we return, every precious one of us; is love. The life jacket for us when tossed into the waters, when in danger of being overwhelmed by something like say the specter of losing this election, is to recall the great hope of our world. There is a love that abides. Not a soggy or sentimental love. Rather the love that bursts forth from knowing how we are so deeply connected, each of us with the other.

This love is the way through.
Remember our first principle is this love.
Remember love. It is our compass. It is our touchstone. And it is true.
Remember your lifejacket. In these rough waters remember love.

Amen.