Now would be a good moment to start telling ourselves the truth.
I can no more make myself acceptable to God by right living or good choices than I can learn to levitate, fly unaided through the solar system, or pick strawberries on the moon.
The myth of legalism fools us into assuming that there are just a few steps left between our holiness and the holiness of God. It grossly underestimates both God’s essential goodness and our essential lostness. Oddly, legalism teaches us to lie to ourselves and God about the real picture of our lives.
Grace, on the other, nail-pierced hand, can tell the awful truth about how far we fall short of heaven’s ideal. Jesus’ holiness covers all our lostness and our wretchedness. And for a change, we need not cringe, for we are loved no less for being sinners, nor ever held at arm’s length.
No, we are pulled into a grace embrace so kind and so forgiving that fear and willfulness begin to disappear. We start becoming like the love that saves us.
The act of giving thanks—whispered at each common meal, or once a year at family dinners on big holidays—is an early, hopeful flag that grace has come to live with us.
For a moment—for one long, exhaling moment—we acknowledge the truth of what the apostle wrote 2000 years ago: “You are not your own: you have been bought with a price” (I Cor 6:19-20).
For an instant, the guard is down, the drawbridge open, and we admit that we aren’t self-made or even self-sustained. The castle of our lives has always had a Guardian, a Protector. All that we are, and all we have, and every structure that secures us has been given, not deserved. Even what we say we’ve “earned” is undeniably built on gifts too numerous to count.
When I say “thanks,” I confess that there is something—Someone—wider, bigger, and more gracious than any defense I muster or every good I do. So we learn grace through gratitude. And even as we teach our children to “Say thank-you,” the Spirit prompts us each to murmur private “Hallelujahs.”
Throw wide the gates, and cross the moat. Release yourself.
How then can we manage fear? In his last letter before death Paul gave Timothy, his protégé, a powerful fear-managing tool: “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind” (2 Tim. 1:7, NKJV).4 From this passage we derive five practices that will strengthen your fear management.
1. Christ Companionship: A vital prerequisite to fear management is to enter a genuine relationship with Christ as Lord. In said relationship Jesus gives us the gift of salvation and the promise of protection and guiding providence. Fear mastery starts here.
2. Can-do Choice: We may choose to exercise our God-given power to say “No” to fear, exercising trust instead, with resolve and resilience.
3. Composed Confession: The presence of fear creates the opportunity to trust and speak about, to confess our dependence on God regardless of circumstances. Composure is the fruit of Christ’s peace.
4. Conquering Counsel: Fortification of the mind with spiritual wisdom and diligent follow-through increases as we pray, study, and receive seasoned counsel. In this way we’re strengthened through the Holy Spirit’s power.
5. Conquering Confidence: The sine qua non of spiritual conquest is the unswerving commitment to be stalwart regardless of the outcome. This is both a gift from God and the result of experience. It’s Job-like confidence based on the belief that God will ultimately resolve all things: “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him” (Job 13:15).
Our challenge is unavoidable. We’re living in a time when conditions are unstable and unpredictable. If we don’t manage our fears, they’ll manage us. Fear mismanagement can lead to stress, trauma, poor health, toxic relations, and regretful decisions.
What is society feeling fearful about? The 2021 American Fear Index reveals the top 10 fears:1
Loved ones dying Loved ones becoming seriously ill Mass shootings Not having enough money for retirement Terrorism Government corruption Becoming terminally ill Hate crimes High medical bills Widespread civil, political, and racial unrest Everyone can relate to one or more of these items, plus many more.
Dimensions of Fear
Depending on your version, Bible references to “fear not,” occur in various iterations some 365 times.2 Fear is one of the Scriptures’ most addressed human dilemmas.
Admittedly, it’s easier to say “Fear not” than to actually not fear. Therefore, it’s essential that believers understand the sequela of fear and how to harness it.
A natural emotional response for humans, fear is not necessarily good nor bad. Fear indicates a threat of potential harm, whether real or perceived. It can be physical, psychological, or spiritual. Popularly, fear is referred to as false evidence appearing real.
While fear, however, is often considered a negative emotion, if managed properly it can serve an important function in keeping us situationally aware, spiritually minded, and socially conscious. Practically speaking, in dangerous situations fear can cause us to be appropriately cautious or to take wise safeguards. Paradoxically, fear is like the surgeon’s knife—it can help or hurt us.
Whether we face fear occasionally or live in a constant state of fear, our response to fear is our choice. We can choose to resist our fears and resolutely select a mindset of faith, hope, and possibility. This choice can be made before the feared event happens or during the fear-causing event. Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face.”3
Undoubtedly, some fear challenges may require external spiritual or professional assistance. But don’t be thrown off by the apparent simplicity of these principles. Through the combination of the human with the divine, these fear-management practices will successfully equip us, if we utilize them.
To God be the glory.
Delbert W. Baker, Ph.D., is the director of Research and Development for the Office of Regional Conference
Good news is only good because the other news isn’t good. It’s the contrast between light and darkness that makes us glad for everything that’s lit and bright and warm.
And the Bible is unsparingly honest about our real condition—about the bad news—of our lostness and our darkness. We got what we deserved: we reaped what we sowed. The news couldn’t get any worse. We were the people sitting in darkness.
But then a great light dawned.
The gospel of the Father’s unending, untiring affection for us is seen in everything Jesus did to bring us healing, joy, and abundance. “He who did not spare His own Son but gave Him up for us all, will He not also give us all things with Him?” (Rom 8:32).
Jesus is the proof of heaven’s favor, the certainty that we are still loved—have always been loved, will always be loved. In Him, we learn the news we didn’t know: that our lives can be free, and fun, and filled with meaning. “He is able to save completelythose who come to God through Him, because He always lives to intercede for them” (Heb 7:25). Grace headlines every day’s edition.
“Now there is nocondemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus” (Rom 8:1). “His life brought light to everyone” (John 1:4).
Of all the sins to which we fall, none makes us feel so smug as vengeance. When we’re the injured ones, the hurting ones—acknowledged victims of some sin—we live a perilously long moment of unexpected power. The voices of our culture ring too loudly in our ears: “Retaliate. Require groveling. Make certain that they’ll never hurt you—or anyone—like that again.”
And sometimes in our weakness, we savor the imagination of how much pain we could inflict—all righteously, of course. We picture those who hurt us getting stings that we’ve endured. It’s grimly satisfying on some scale of “eye-for-eye.”
But then the gospel pierces through our fog of pain, and we hear again the words that once changed everything for us: “While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom 5:8). “In Christ, God was reconciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them” (2 Cor 5:19).
Only people who have been forgiven every truly forgive. The memory of our undeserved redemption pushes through our injury, and we recall how we were once where our abusers are. The grace we give is built on memory of how we’ve been released, and how our hearts have been renewed.
So we lay down the lance; give up the sword. We offer others peace and healing Jesus is still giving us.
What Christians call the “fruit of the Spirit”—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control—is food the world needs. It’s not a banquet to which only believers are invited.
These are all relational graces: each is only meaningful when there’s a lack of it. We’re never called to dine alone—to only private holiness.
We learn these graces at the table from those who have themselves learned patience, peace and self-control in other times, at other tables. In community, in time we spend together, we practice the kindness the world needs.
Your gentleness will teach me to be gentle: my faithfulness in staying with you may be the prompt to loyalty you need. In grace, we build each other up—and all for those who hunger to experience the goodness shown to us.
This is no private dinner club: Grace always sets the table for great sharing.
Come to the meal at which all hungry souls are filled.
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