How can we find truth in a world of confusion?
By / Aug 5

This week a hurricane came through the eastern part of North Carolina where my family was staying. As the storm raged around us, the house we were in lost power. Though the damage in our area was minimal, the power outage was deeply disturbing to my 6-year-old son. He didn’t understand that the power could soon come back on. Nor did he understand why some things continued to work (like our cars and cell phones), while other things did not (like our lights and plumbing). The wild guesses he took as he attempted to understand the situation were almost comical, but they reminded me a lot about our current situation in this time of plague.

Related to this, I’ve been thinking about the idea of truth a lot over the past several weeks. For different reasons, the pandemic has fueled the spread of conspiracy theories and misinformation especially through social media. Particularly alarming to me was a recent article in The Atlantic about the QAnon conspiracy gaining significant traction among many evangelicals (about which, thankfully, Joe Carter has written a very helpful explainer for The Gospel Coalition).

Truth and plague

In a sense, it is understandable that the pandemic exacerbated this problem. Pandemics, by their nature, are frightening things. They not only threaten our well-being and the well-being of those we love, but they also upend our normal rhythms of life. None of us have been through an epidemic on this scale before. And unlike major events that have occurred in recent decades, the COVID-19 outbreak has affected each of us personally, from coast to coast. No one knows when it will end. And we can only guess about its long-term impact. 

What we do know, however, is that the fear and uncertainty created by this moment has generated a lot of anxiety and confusion. And it doesn’t help at all that our collective response to the pandemic has become so politicized, as though the virus were somehow partisan or ideological. But partly because of the politicization, many people are reluctant to embrace information coming through government channels or major media outlets. This has opened up a considerable trust gap. And with the seeming absence of reliable information, it is no wonder that some have turned toward conspiracy theories or embraced false information that aligns with their thinking or suspicions.

Truth is a person

The subject of truth is something Christians should be deeply concerned about. If you open your Bible and turn to the New Testament, the first four books you encounter are the Gospels. They capture something of a theological biography of the life of Jesus. And meeting Jesus of Nazareth in those pages holds the kinds of discoveries that can change your life forever. There is more to absorb in the Bible’s witness of Christ than we could hope to take in across the course of multiple lifetimes. 

But one of the most surprising things we learn about Jesus is that in addition to being the Son of God and promised Messiah who took on flesh to redeem humanity and turn back the curse of sin, he is also truth itself. In a famous passage from the Gospel of John, Jesus tells us that he is “the way, and the truth, and the life” (John 14:6). This means that Jesus not only tells us what is true, but he is truth. Professor John Lennox of Oxford explained this idea with these words:

When it comes to truth, my Christian worldview raises perhaps the most startling claim of all that Jesus made. He said, “I am the truth.” He didn’t just say “I speak true things.” Although I believe that was true. He said, “I am the truth.” So ultimately ladies and gentlemen, for me there is of course truth beyond science because ultimately truth is a person who created the world in which science is done.

When we think we’ve lost sight of what is true, the first thing we must do is look to Jesus.

As Lennox suggests, all other truth is predicated upon Jesus. He is the truth because he makes visible what is ultimate and invisible. He is the fullest revelation of the living God who created, ordered, and rules the world. And in his words, his teaching, his life, his miracles, Jesus reveals to us what God is like and is the living embodiment of truth . This means that when we think we’ve lost sight of what is true, the first thing we must do is look to Jesus.

Looking for Truth

I know that in the confusing and difficult days we are living in there are rarely easy answers. But I am likewise convinced that too often Christians find themselves looking in a thousand different places for direction before they turn their eyes toward Jesus. This doesn’t mean that reading your Bible will reveal some kind of hidden code or answer key for the serious questions surrounding the pandemic or other important issues. But it does mean that if we look to Jesus, we will be the kind of people who see truth first and foremost in our Savior instead of in conspiracy theories floating around on social media.

In another famous passage from the Gospel of John, Jesus is speaking to Pilate hours ahead of his crucifixion and says, “For this purpose I was born and for this purpose I have come into the world—to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth listens to my voice” (John 18:37). A.W. Tozer said that truth “is not hard to find” because the truth is “seeking us.” And he was exactly right. 

Jesus is the truth. He is the only source of knowledge that is absolutely reliable. And he is not only available, but he is seeking us out (Luke 19:10). Christians should remember that as we make our way through these uncertain times. Just like my 6-year-old, we don’t have all of the answers. But Jesus does. And we may not know when this will end or how long it may last, but we can look to Jesus and listen for his voice. 

Grieving in a Time of Plague
By / Jul 9

Many people talked about “cabin fever” during the social distancing necessary due to the COVID-19 pandemic, often musing about the places they wish they could go—the beach or a restaurant or a baseball game. But the one place I found myself longing to visit was not one I might have guessed originally: a funeral home. 

During the months of quarantine, my 92-year-old grandmother died peacefully in her sleep. Neither I, nor most of our family, could attend her funeral, since public health guidelines and prudence meant that fewer than 10 people could gather. Our family, scattered across the country, grieved alone, all remembering the life of a woman who loved, and was loved, intensely by her children, grandchildren, friends, and church. We knew we would have to wait until this crisis is over (whenever that is) to have a “normal” memorial service for her. 

I noticed as I grieved that, without a funeral, it did not seem quite real. And I wondered how many other people—with thousands dead from the coronavirus, not to mention those who, like my grandmother, died from other causes—were in the same situation. Maybe that’s why I was drawn to an article in The Atlantic by funeral director/essayist Thomas Lynch about how we are meant to mark life and death. 

“The fear of death, of ceasing to be, includes the fear that our stories will die with us, and won’t be told or will be told incorrectly,” Lynch writes. He goes on to say: “If death steals everything except our stories, pandemics—like famines and holocausts—do their best not to grant us the time it takes to pay respects, to get our story right, to get our story told, to share the story with family and friends, to tell them that what took us in the end may have been COVID-19, but that fact is only a footnote, not our story.”

There’s some truth to that. A funeral is the way of getting our stories straight. That’s why one of the most important aspects of grieving is not just the rituals of the funeral but all the telling of stories about the deceased—especially those that make us laugh. That’s what reminds us that we still remember not just the facts of this person, but the story. 

For Christians, this sort of “keeping of a story” should remind us that we don’t have to keep it. The Pharaohs built the pyramids as their gravestones. But there’s a Burger King in view of the pyramids, and few taking selfies in front of them know the name of Amenhotep or Ramses. 

Remembrance is important. That’s an essential part of the sign Jesus has given us in communion (“Do this in remembrance of me”). But even more important is, well, communion. The truth that Jesus is alive, and he breaks the bread, and fills the cup. We know that, for those in Christ, our stories are “hidden in Christ,” waiting to be unveiled in glory with him (Col. 3:3-4). That means that no part of that story is lost, but all of it is redeemed, and merged with the Story that took on flesh and dwelled among us (Jn. 1:14). 

Not all of us have lost family members. But all of us are grieving. We grieve the deaths of people we love. We grieve the loss of our ability to gather each week in worship. And we grieve the threat of the “Valley of the Shadow of Death” that seems especially close right now. The pandemic can prompt us, wrongly, to think of deaths as statistics, but Lynch is right to remind us that it is just a footnote to all those stories. And, for Christians, death itself is just a footnote. And I use that term in more ways that one—since the Bible tells us death will soon be under the feet of the triumphant Christ (1 Cor. 15:25-26). 

The pandemic could stop us from saying “goodbye” to my grandmother right now. But it, nor anything else, can stop us from saying “hello” to her later. 

Russell Moore
President, ERLC

Learning to doubt our fears
By / Oct 9

What is the one thing you don’t doubt when you are afraid? When we are afraid, we will doubt just about everything except our fear. We will doubt things we know to be true (i.e., whether we locked our door or paid a bill, the faithfulness of our spouse, our preparedness for an exam, God’s care, etc), rather than that which scares us.

Fear as a “close friend”

Our fears are close. When we are afraid, nothing feels closer. This means that whatever information we receive gets filtered through our fears. Whatever truth we hear feels like it is “out there,” while our fears are “in here.” This adds to our unwillingness to doubt them.

Beside, it feels like a risk if we doubt our fears. Believing our fears feels like we are “playing it safe.” If we doubt our fears, it feels like we’d never forgive ourselves for knowing better and not bracing against being hurt or let down. When we’re afraid, the world gets twisted; fear becomes wise, and peace becomes folly.

Our fears are like the bad friend we hope our children don’t have in middle school. Everything the parent says to point out the bad influence only increases the child’s allegiance. Because we believe our fear is keeping us safe, every counterpoint we hear (even when we’re arguing with ourselves) sounds “unfriendly.” We buy the lie that our fears are “for” us and courage is “against us.

Fear as a form of trust

Obeying the command to take “every thought captive” begins with our ability to doubt our fears.

What is the point? We must see that fear is a form of trust. We trust our pessimistic predictions of the future and worse-case-scenario imagination. We trust whatever comes after “what if?” Fear is a fierce allegiance to negative messages.

Often in our battle with fear and trust, we try to learn to feel peace without doubting our fears. But doubting our fears is an important step that prevents trusting God from feeling like “blind faith.” Ask yourself these questions, “What would be different if I truly believed that my fears lied more than they told the truth? What if I was as skeptical of my fears as I was of an infomercial?”

Obeying the command to take “every thought captive” begins with our ability to doubt our fears. And taking your thoughts captive begins with changing the primary question from, “What if my fears are true?” to, “What if my fears are false?” This is an important bridge to honestly considering, “What if God’s promises are true and his care is secure?”

Furthermore, obeying the command to “fear not,” the most repeated command in Scripture (occurring over 300 times in the Bible), begins with the willingness to doubt our fears. When we doubt fear, it becomes less real so that other things can become more real.

How do we learn to doubt our fears? Once we’re open to and understand the significance of the question, we need to ask ourselves, “How reliable is my fear?” What percentage of the time are our fears accurate? How many of our fear’s predictions come true? Would we trust any other person or emotion with that track record?

Does this mean that we should never listen to our fears? No. Fear is a gift from God meant to alert us to what is really important and dangerous. We should simply begin by being appropriately skeptical of our fears. We need to resist the urge to treat our fears as if they are the divinely inspired, inerrant Word of God to interpret our circumstances. We should understand them to be the mere temporal assessment of an individual wired for self-preservation.

What do we do after we doubt our fears? What do we do after we get troubling information from any other liar or unreliable source? We talk to someone trustworthy—God, in prayer, and trusted Christian friends, in conversation—about the matter and consult something authoritative (Scripture). As we do this, we give weight to the reliable, authoritative sources.

In light of this reflection, consider Proverbs 9:10, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” We need to realize that fear is a form of fierce, instinctual trust that feels closer and more reliable than anything else. When we fear the Lord, though, that allegiance creates a natural doubt in anything or anyone that would speak negatively about our best, most-trusted Friend/Father (Exo. 33:11; I John 3:1-3).

This article originally appeared here.

Terror and trust: Responding to fear with faith
By / Jan 11

On January 6, travelers gathered around the baggage claim of the Fort Lauderdale airport awaiting their luggage and not knowing that their lives were to be taken or changed forever. Esteban Santiago had a sinister plan, one that callously ignored the value of the lives of those people. A security guard and Iraq veteran, he opened gunfire, killing five individuals and injuring many others.

It’s yet another event of unimaginable carnage at the hands of one of our own. Families have been destroyed, and the rest of us are left to pray and fight against fear. Flying leaves many in fear, but I imagine it never once crossed their minds that entering the baggage claim area might mean they would never exit.

I don’t know the type of terror they experienced. I’ve never experienced someone ambushing me or been in close proximity to the sudden loss of life by the hands of another. I imagine those who survived this tragedy must struggle with something like post traumatic shock. It would be difficult not to fear public places. They are also grieving the loss of loved ones, friends, and—in one case—grandparents. Many were affected by one man’s evil act. Tragic events like this one make us aware of our need for faith in these troubling days.

The Bible says there’s nothing new under the sun. Although this particular case has yet to be officially named “an act of terror,” I will use the term “terror,” not as a political or distinction of the law, but rather because Santiago’s actions indeed caused terror. Terror has been a part of our world since Genesis 3. But what’s new is our nearly instantaneous awareness of such events due to breaking news and information from the Internet.

Awareness can be a gift and a curse. If we dwell on the evil of this world, we run into the danger of mourning as a people without hope. But because we have the hope of the gospel and the hope of a new heaven and earth, we can instead learn about these hard stories in order to comfort the mourning or fearful around us, prepare our own hearts for the possibility of terror and also to pray. Each year brings with it stories of terror and destruction. There’s never been a year that has been perfect since that dreadful day sin came into the world. So, how are we to respond to these facts?

Know truth

When faced with the reality of the terror in this world, we need to remind ourselves of the hope revealed to us through God’s Word. We know that one day death will be swallowed up, and terror will no longer exist. There will be a new heaven and a new earth, and the old will pass away (Rev. 21:1). God is making all things new, in time. Even now, we have a living hope (1 Pet. 1:3). We don’t live in the reality of the resurrection just on Easter—Jesus has risen and lives now to intercede for his own. We should cling to this truth in our uncertain days and set our minds on the God who gives us perfect peace (Isa. 26:3). This is how we mourn as those with hope.

Lament

And what if we turned our fears and anxieties into prayer? What if we took our sorrow and sadness before the Lord, rather than keep it bottled up inside?

We can join the Psalmist and pray prayers of lament, grieving at the pain of this broken world. We can plead with the Lord for mercy and pray for our own hearts to trust and rest in the ever-present arms of Christ. We can ask for justice. And we can know that God wants us to ask these things in faith, knowing that he, and he alone, can do the impossible (Matt. 21:22).  

I long for the day when we no longer see terror and dreadful pain. But until that day, I’m going to cling to truth, lament before our Father and pray for his help. Let’s all run to him—our hope and our redeemer. This tragedy happened at the beginning of 2017, and more terrible things will happen this year. I don’t share that hopelessly—we want to be ready in our hearts for what’s to come, but we need not worry about tomorrow (Matt. 6:34). I want to set my heart and mind on God, who has promised: “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you” (Isa. 26:3).

Race, fear and God with us
By / Jul 25

The news stories continue to pour in and all of us—red and yellow, black and white—look on in disbelief. Could this really be happening in 2016? Police officers being shot down; cops using what appears to be excessive force resulting in the death of black men. We sense the divide, hear the divide and feel the divide. It is real, palatable, and for many, downright frightening. Because of all that’s happened (even in just the last couple weeks), the citizens of our nation are struggling with fear and are worried about the future.

I remember when I first realized that so many of these stories were beginning to affect me. I was walking out of a store when a policeman was walking in, and I froze. I halted and smiled and then began walking briskly to my car. I was surprised by my response. And I was ashamed that I stereotyped that officer. I’m thankful to God for our law-enforcement. There are honest men and women who are working hard to keep our cities safe and secure. And, yet, there’s no denying that there’s a new fight in my heart and in the hearts of many.

We—myself included—are fighting against fear. And others are fighting against being feared and misunderstood. We are fighting to learn to love, and many others are fighting to be known by their love. My prayer is that we’ll fight together and learn to fight the right fights. I pray the American church would be filled with people from all nations fighting to love one another and proclaim the unity of Jesus to the world—together.

I’ve written a book on the topic of fear and pray the excerpt below, reminding us who is in control, would encourage you as you fight against fear and for faith in the midst of trying times.

Because we know God and because we fear God, we can trust God. There is only one God, and He is our Father. He most clearly reveals Himself in His Word, so it is there that we must turn to learn more about Him and grow in fearing Him. We see His words written on everything from bumper stickers to Hallmark cards, but we can’t miss that they are the words of life and that they are trustworthy.

In Taking God At His Word, Kevin DeYoung lays out why we can trust and believe God’s Word. He says that God’s Word says what is true. God’s Word demands what is right. But it is his third point that is most relevant to me. I think we can believe His Word and even believe that we need to obey it. But do we believe it provides what is good? He writes:

According to Psalm 119, the word of God is the way of happiness (vv. 1–2), the way to avoid shame (v. 6), the way of safety (v. 9), and the way of good counsel (v. 24). The word gives us strength (v. 28) and hope (v. 43). It provides wisdom (vv. 98–100, 130) and shows us the way we should go (v. 105). . . . As the people of God, we believe the word of God can be trusted in every way to speak what is true, command what is right, and provide us with what is good.

God’s Word is good and provides what is good for us. God’s Word is sufficient for us to fight temptation and to know Him. He has given us all we need for life and godliness (2 Peter 1:3). We gain wisdom from the Word, and, as DeYoung writes, “The word of the world is not like the word of God. One is new and now. The other is ancient and everlasting. . . . If we want—and if we need—a wisdom that is beyond us, that is outside of us, that will never fail us, we must look into the things that ‘God has revealed to us through the Spirit’ [1 Corinthians 2:10].” Because of these things we can trust Him and take Him at His word.

So we can rest and remember these and many more promises:

  • Oh, how abundant is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you and worked for those who take refuge in you, in the sight of the children of mankind! (Psalm 31:19)
  • The Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him, in those who hope in his steadfast love. (Psalm 147:11)
  • He fulfills the desire of those who fear him; he also hears their cry and saves them. (Psalm 145:19)
  • Behold, the eye of the Lord is on those who fear him, on those who hope in his steadfast love. (Psalm 33:18)

Why all this talk about the Word of God? Because at the root of our fear, at the root of all our sin, is unbelief. In order to combat our unbelief, you and I must believe, and so we turn to God to ask Him to help our unbelief.

Depending on your Bible translation, there could be well over three hundred verses that contain the phrase “fear not.” One of the most popular occurrences is found in Isaiah 41:10: “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

All of Isaiah 41 points to God’s sovereign hand. And then in the middle of it, He reminds us that He is not only sovereign but also loving, good, and for us, and because of this we do not need to fear. God is with us.

So when our fear of man seems louder than our trust in Him, or our fear for the future overwhelms our thoughts, or our fear and comparison strip us of our joy, the Lord proclaims to us, “Fear not, I am with you.” He reminds us that He is our God. He is a personal and intimate God. He knew us before the foundation of the earth, and He knit us together in the womb of our mother.

When your fears tell you that you are alone, God whispers, “I am your God.” He will uphold you. He has adopted us as His children. He sent His Son to die for us. He loves us with an everlasting love. He has covenanted with us.

Your fears tell you that you have to be strong. God tells you, “I will strengthen you.”

Your fears will tell you that you will fall and fail. Your fears will tell you that you have to muster up the strength to be all that you think the Lord desires you to be, and that you must do it on your own. Your fears will tell you that you don’t measure up and never will. God tells you, “I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

Your fears will tell you to fear. God tells you, “Be not dismayed.

Adapted from a previous post. Excerpt from "Fear and Faith: Finding the Peace Your Heart Craves."

For more information on thinking and engaging biblically with our current cultural climate, attend the 2016 ERLC National Conference in Nashville, Tenn.

Driving back the cloud of fear: A Christmas meditation
By / Dec 24

If there is anything we Americans hold in common this Christmas, it is fear.

I felt it creeping up my neck four weeks ago when my dad called me on the way to work. “Did you hear about San Bernardino?” I confessed I was behind on the news. “The Islamic State is here.”  

That same day my wife stopped in to buy jeans at the Gap. A Muslim man was buying a jacket for his wife who was draped in an all-black hijab, showing only her eyes. My wife felt guilty for saying it, but she said what so many of us feel: “Jeff, I was a afraid.”

As Christmas approaches, the thorns of fear quietly infest American soil.

Yet my wife and I hold something in common with many Muslims today. They are afraid, too. Since San Bernardino, many American Muslims have feared a backlash. And should they not be afraid? Donald Trump vows to expel Muslims from America, and has even hinted at creating internment camps. Ted Cruz has threatened to carpet bomb Raqqa, an ISIS stronghold in Syria, with little regard for innocent life.

Such indiscriminate fury shows that Pulitzer Prize winner author Marilynne Robinson is right: “Contemporary America is full of fear.”

Yet American fear is not just directed toward Islamic jihadists.

I remember the day last year when Mozilla CEO Brandon Eich was forced to resign when news was published about his support of California’s Proposition 8, which sought to define marriage as between a man and a woman. The social media firestorm culminated in a message from OKCupid: “Those who seek to deny love and instead enforce misery, shame, and frustration are our enemies.”

I hold a traditional view of marriage. When I read those words, I remember thinking, “Could I, too, be sacked for my views of marriage?” I shut my office door. For the first time in my adult life, I felt fear living in America as a person of faith.

Fear has even seeped into race relations. Ta-Nehisi’s heart-breaking letter to his son laments America’s heritage of violence toward African-Americans. Hopelessness among many blacks flows from Ferguson to Fergus Falls.

Conversely, many police officers in racially diverse neighborhoods fear increasing public criticism, wondering if they, too, are now becoming targets.

The ghost of Jacob Marley is roaming through American cities this Christmas, binding us with the chains of suspicion

But we can do something, right? We can be compassionate and show love. We can be different, right?

Recently, I sent an impassioned plea to my congressman, begging him—for the love of God—to allow more refugees to enter the United States. The next day I received an official email reply: “I voted yes on H.R. 4038, the American Security Against Foreign Enemies (SAFE) Act.” Translation: Keep out your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. We want safety. We are…afraid.

In the past month, I’ve felt a sense of desperation, perhaps best expressed by the atheist philosopher Bertrand Russell: “Children in famine, victims tortured by oppressors, helpless old people a burden to their sons, and the whole world of loneliness, poverty, and pain make a mockery of what human life should be. I long to alleviate this evil, but I cannot, and I too suffer.”

As the fog of fear clouds American life, I’m reminded of a 12th century carol of longing: “O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel.” Who of us haven’t felt this captivity? Who of us haven’t longed for someone to “disperse the gloomy clouds of night, and put death’s dark shadows to flight?”

Many Americans will wander into Christmas eve services this year and hear the familiar story of a pregnant Jewish teenager, a nervous father, a baby lying in a feeding trough. And at the center of the story is an angelic announcement: “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people (Luke 2:10).”

Do not be afraid? Great joy? How could shepherds – working class and socially marginalized – embrace such a pronouncement? How could Jews, living under Roman oppression, dance again?

The Christmas story suggests there’s only one to antidote to fear: an unexpected gift.

The only way to cut through the uncertainty and anxiety of fear is to meet your enemy not with plans to defend ourselves, but with a particular sign of generous love.

Can we drive back the cloud of American fear? Yes. But not through higher walls, larger defense budgets, or by “taking back America” from them—whoever they are. The path forward is to move from hostility to hospitality. The path forward is to welcome the stranger into our homes, neighborhoods and workplaces.

Fear in American life is real. But grace drives out fear. Fear is crushed through generosity; it is dissolved through fellowship.

Thorns may infest the ground from New York to Los Angeles, but “he comes to make his blessings flow, as far as the curse is found.”

To be a Christian in a time of dread means to direct all our hope toward a baby lying in a manger, of whom John the apostle would one day write, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

Driving Back the Cloud of Fear: A Christmas Meditation
By / Dec 24

If there is anything we Americans hold in common this Christmas, it is fear.

I felt it creeping up my neck four weeks ago when my dad called me on the way to work. “Did you hear about San Bernardino?” I confessed I was behind on the news. “The Islamic State is here.”  

That same day my wife stopped in to buy jeans at the Gap. A Muslim man was buying a jacket for his wife who was draped in an all-black hijab, showing only her eyes. My wife felt guilty for saying it, but she said what so many of us feel: “Jeff, I was a afraid.”

As Christmas approaches, the thorns of fear quietly infest American soil.

Yet my wife and I hold something in common with many Muslims today. They too are afraid. Since San Bernardino, many American Muslims have feared a backlash. And should they not be afraid? Donald Trump vows to expel Muslims from America, and has even hinted at creating internment camps. Ted Cruz has threatened to carpet bomb Raqqa, an ISIS stronghold in Syria, with little regard for innocent life.

Such indiscriminate fury shows that Pulitzer Prize winner author Marilynne Robinson is right: “Contemporary America is full of fear.”

Yet American fear is not just directed toward Islamic jihadists.

I remember the day last year when Mozilla CEO Brandon Eich was forced to resign when news was published about his support of California’s Proposition 8, which sought to define marriage as between a man and a woman. The social media firestorm culminated in a message from OKCupid: “Those who seek to deny love and instead enforce misery, shame, and frustration are our enemies.”

I hold a traditional view of marriage. When I read those words, I remember thinking, “Could I, too, be sacked for my views of marriage?” I shut my office door. For the first time in my adult life, I felt fear living in America as a person of faith.

Fear has even seeped into race relations. Ta-Nehisi’s heart-breaking letter to his son laments America’s heritage of violence toward African-Americans. Hopelessness among many African Americans flows from Ferguson to Fergus Falls.

Conversely, many police officers in racially diverse neighborhoods fear increasing public criticism, wondering if they, too, are now becoming targets.

The ghost of Jacob Marley is roaming through American cities this Christmas, binding us with the chains of suspicion

But we can do something, right? We can be compassionate and show love. We can be different, right?

Over a month ago, I sent an impassioned plea to my congressman, begging him—for the love of God—to allow more refugees to enter the United States. The next day I received an official email reply: “I voted yes on H.R. 4038, the American Security Against Foreign Enemies (SAFE) Act.” Translation: keep out your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. We want safety. We are…afraid.

In the past month, I’ve felt a sense of desperation, perhaps best expressed by the atheist philosopher Bertrand Russell: “Children in famine, victims tortured by oppressors, helpless old people a burden to their sons, and the whole world of loneliness, poverty, and pain make a mockery of what human life should be. I long to alleviate this evil, but I cannot, and I too suffer.”

As the fog of fear clouds American life, I’m reminded of a 12th century carol of longing: “O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel.” Who of us haven’t felt this captivity? Who of us haven’t longed for someone to “disperse the gloomy clouds of night, and put death’s dark shadows to flight?”

Many Americans will wander into Christmas eve services this year and hear the familiar story of a pregnant Jewish teenager, a nervous father, a baby lying in a feeding trough. And at the center of the story is an angelic announcement: “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people (Luke 2:10).”

Do not be afraid? Great joy? How could shepherds – working class and socially marginalized – embrace such a pronouncement? How could Jews, living under Roman oppression, dance again?

The Christmas story suggests there’s only one to antidote to fear: an unexpected gift.

The only way to cut through the uncertainty and anxiety of fear is to meet your enemy not with plans to defend ourselves, but with a particular sign of generous love.

Can we drive back the cloud of American fear? Yes. But not through higher walls, larger defense budgets, or by “taking back America” from them—whoever they are. The path forward is to move from hostility to hospitality. The path forward is to welcome the stranger into our homes, neighborhoods and workplaces.

Fear in American life is real. But grace drives out fear. Fear is crushed through generosity; it is dissolved through fellowship.

Thorns may infest the ground from New York to Los Angeles, but “he comes to make his blessings flow, as far as the curse is found.”

To be a Christian in a time of dread means to direct all our hope toward a baby lying in a manger, of whom John the apostle would one day write, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

What Are You Afraid Of?
By / Sep 23

The Worst Thing That Can Ever Happen to You
By / Sep 15

Becoming Women who Fight our Fear with Faith
By / Aug 18

Lindsay Swartz interviews Jani Ortlund about becoming women who fight our fear with faith.