“Be afraid. Be very
afraid!”
That line came into my head
as I read our readings for today, but I couldn’t remember where it came from.
It turns out it’s from David Croenenburg’s 1986 film The Fly, which is based
on a short story by George Langelaan about a man who is half turned into a fly
in a botched scientific experiment. At which point it all came back to me…I’ve
never seen the film, but I did read the story, many years ago, and have always
wished I hadn’t… I was, indeed afraid,
very afraid.
Fear is a strange thing.
Logically you’d think we’d all want to avoid it, and yet we seem to be drawn to
scary experiences whether it’s reading or watching a horror story or going on a
scary ride in a theme park. Of course, in those situations, the fear is tamed
by the knowledge that the story is made up and the scary ride has – we hope –
been thoroughly inspected by the Health and Safety officials. Perhaps we need
to play-act our fears so we are ready for the real thing, but perhaps also we
know that sometimes frightening experiences can be important, a gateway to
something new, a moment of growth.
In our readings today we meet
two frightened men who discover exactly that. The prophet Isaiah stands in the
Temple in Jerusalem, where God was believed to be symbolically present in the
heart of Israel. It was a very familiar place to Isaiah, but on this day,
something very strange was happening there. Isaiah had a vision of God “high
and lofty, and the hem of his robe filled the temple.” Around him were
mysterious beings, seraphim, flying with their six wings and singing to one
another “Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of Hosts”. It wasn’t just a cry of
worship, it was also a warning. The Israelites believed that getting too close
to real holiness was dangerous, not because God meant anyone evil, but simply
because encountering him was lifechanging. Isaiah was rightly terrified,
realising how small he was in comparison to this mighty God. What business had
he to even be there, in this place where heaven seemed to have invaded earth? But
as he wonderfully discovered, not only does God want him there, God even seems
to need him. “Whom shall I send and who will go for us?” cries God, and
Isaiah answers “Here I am, send me!”
The Hebrew scriptures said
that no one could see God and live, and although there were those like Isaiah
and Moses who did, they were never the same again. They found themselves on
pathways they could never have imagined, so maybe there was death of a sort
going on.
The fear in the Gospel
reading is less obvious, but I think it’s just as real. Nicodemus is afraid of
what others will think of him, a respected, senior religious leader, who’s
supposed to know what’s what. That’s why he comes ‘by night’ as the story tells
us. Why would he want to talk to this radical preacher, just a carpenter from
Nazareth whose been upsetting the traditional order? But I think he’s even more
afraid of himself and his own feelings. He senses that there is something about
Jesus that feels like the presence of God, something of the holiness which so frightened
Isaiah. Nicodemus can’t understand or explain it; Jesus has no training, no
background, no standing in society. But he can’t deny it either, and he knows
that if Jesus really is from God, of God, maybe even the Messiah, it will have
huge consequences for him, upending his life.
We’re not told what happens
at the end of his conversation with Jesus, but it’s clear that he doesn’t drop
everything and follow Jesus, not yet at any rate. He seems just to slip back
into the darkness he arrived in. It’s all too scary. He isn’t mentioned again
until after the crucifixion when he finally steps out of the shadows and helps
to bury Jesus’ body. But I think we can assume that he must then have become a
disciple, and part of the early church, otherwise his name and his story
wouldn’t ever have been known or recorded.
Fear, as I said earlier, is a
strange thing. It can be a horrible experience, something dark and destructive,
which crushes our spirits and makes us shrink from life, but there are also
times when we feel the kind of holy fear which Isaiah and Nicodemus felt, times
when our fear is a sign that something is happening that really matters, when
we realise we are encountering something bigger and more mysterious than we are,
when we discover that we are standing on holy ground, being drawn into the life
of God, into his holy work.
I recall coming home from
hospital with my first child, and finding myself entirely alone with this tiny,
fragile, brand new human being, knowing that his safety and happiness lay in my
hands. And he didn’t even seem to have come with a manual… A small child, but a
huge responsibility and a huge privilege, which I knew I didn’t have the
resources to handle, because none of us does. I was, rightly, afraid but
looking back I can see that it was a holy fear, a good fear, and I’m glad to
have felt it.
I recall the time when I
battled with the sense that I was being called to ordained ministry, something which
felt impossible to walk away from. I knew that saying yes to God would have
consequences for me and for those around me, and I knew that I couldn’t
possibly do it in my own strength. In the ordination service, priests are told
that “the treasure now to be entrusted to you is Christ’s own flock, bought
by the shedding of his blood on the cross”. There was no way that I felt I
was up to such a precious job, and that’s still the case. It is only by the
grace of God that I’m here. The day I stop being aware of that holy fear, the
privilege that has been entrusted to me, is the day I need to give up.
I’m sure there have been
moments in all our lives like that, when we quake, knowing that we are doing
something, making some decision that really matters.
I’ve often stood at the top
of the chancel steps and watched couples tremble as they say their marriage
vows, as the nerves about the practicalities of the day give way to the proper,
holy fear at the scale of the promises they are making, to love and to
cherish, till death us do part. If they weren’t at least a bit frightened at
that point, I think I’d be worried for them.
Chronic anxiety is a terrible
thing and needs professional help to address, but a life in which there is no
fear is no life at all, because it means there is no growth, no challenge, no
point at which we are called out beyond our comfort zone, knowing that we are
doing something that really matters simply by being ourselves. What those
callings look like will be different for each of us, and they will change
through our lives. Our fears will be different too, but if we can face them and
acknowledge them to God, we too can find ourself in the Holy of Holies, as God
the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit, weave themselves into our
lives and lead us into true joy.
Amen
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