So Why Am I Afraid?
Yesterday I posted some thoughts about why, as Christians knowing the end of the story of our lives and God's plans, we don't need to worry or be afraid.
So why then am I often afraid?
I am afraid to speak my opinions on some controversial issues.
I am afraid to admit in some circles that I am a recovering alcoholic and addict.
I am afraid from time to time that someone will argue with me and make a fool of me because of what I say I believe.
I am afraid to step out of safe places and safety in general.
I am afraid to take risks, especially when job or prestige is on the line.
But if, as I said yesterday, God is in charge and has given me power and direction and hope....
Why am I so often afraid?
Well...
    sometimes it is because I can be a man of such little faith...
    sometimes it is because I am a follower who can't think for himself...
    sometimes my comfort and ease is more important...
    sometimes it is because I want people to like me...
    sometimes it is because life is already hard enough at times, why bring more on myself...
    sometimes it is because I don't want to start controversy...
I thought of all this when I went to one of the Christian/political blogs after writing my post last night. I thought of the strong opinions expressed on many of those blogs- whether right or left or somewhere in the middle. I realized I don't want people to attack me, or criticize me, or think less of me. So I take the safe road. Even though I know and believe that as a Christian I am to be a leaven in the world, even though I know and believe that God has strong opinions about a great deal of these political issues, I leave them aside in order to not rock the boat too much.
I am a person with strong opinions. Make no mistake about it. I enjoy discussing them face-to-face to see reactions and develop a rapport. Perhaps that is why I don't do that much of it here. But that is only an excuse. The real reason is I am afraid for all the reasons above and probably many more. It is hard to be a Christian when the world doesn't want to hear what you have to say. It is hard to be a Christian when I believe that the Christian position will always be in opposition to both sides of the political spectrum and be about transformation from beyond the political sphere.
Then, after finishing writing those words I did some leap-blogging around and came across an amazing quote from N. T. Wright (thanks to Jordon Cooper). Here is part of it:
We have connived at our own belittling. It's a natural reaction. The big dogs in the street have barked at us and we have shrunk back into our safe little worlds. The big boys in the playground have sneered at us and we have become embarrassed about our faith and hope, as if they were a sordid little secret. The god of money gets cross with us if we propose remitting Third World debt. The god of war is furious if we challenge the Iraq war. (An unknown e-mail correspondent from Alabama called me anti-American the other day, and when, perhaps foolishly, I challenged this trivialisation she snapped back that I was obviously not self-aware. Nice to be psychoanalysed from thousands of miles away on the basis of a newspaper report.) The god of sex has some interesting names to call us if we insist on maintaining the morality common to millennia of Jews, Christians, Muslims and many others.
The self-appointed cultural guardians of late modernity mock us if we challenge all three of these false gods, since to question the first two makes us look "radical" and to challenge the third today seems "conservative" - and everybody knows that our current left-right spectrum is a Law of the Medes and Persians, written in the stars, fixed and unalterable. Meanwhile the Church, like so many of its older buildings, seems to be saying to the passer-by: "Not much happening here. Just a quiet, sad little place for quiet, sad little people." A bit like the women at the tomb on the evening of Good Friday. A bit like the silent, waiting garden on Holy Saturday.
Ouch. That was what I was talking about and feeling. I, too, say, not much happening here. I'm just a Christian.
Just a Christian? Wait a minute... We know the end of the story. We live after Easter when all principalities and powers were put in notice that things can never be the same. Wright continues:
But what the sniggering Sadducees never bargained for, what the viciously efficient pagan soldiers never anticipated, what never entered the head of our barking, sneering late-modern culture, was that the God of life and love and new possibilities might do a new thing. The interpretation of Easter itself has been scrunched into the trap laid by modernity, and the Church has gone along with it. Either Easter becomes a happy little ending for an otherwise sad story, or it's about bunnies and daffodils, or it's the bald affirmation that there is after all a life after death. Modernity can cope with all those (hardly surprising, since it generated them in the first place). None of them would have made any sense to the first Christians, least of all the last: almost everyone believed in life after death, but Easter meant life after "life after death" - a new bodily existence after a period of being bodily dead.
What neither modernity nor cynical postmodernity can cope with - and hence what they, like the cultural thought police of the first century, stamp on whenever they see it - is the suggestion that the gloom of Good Friday and the lull of Holy Saturday are the prelude to a new kind of life. This sort of life bursts out and challenges all our power systems (in an electronically manipulated democracy, power follows money and the media), and declares once more the shockingly unfashionable truth that Jesus is Lord.
Now I have to do some more thinking and praying on that, but I am left shaken by this- in a good way- that afflicts the comfortable in me.