'Fear of the Lord' not about being afraid

Fire and brimstone.

When I was a boy, the words were often linked to describe a preacher or a congregation. As in, "He's a real fire-and-brimstone pulpit pounder."

Interestingly, despite its nearly universal recognition among English speakers, the phrase appears fewer than a dozen times in the King James Version of the Bible, most of those in the book of Revelation.

But where it does appear is memorable. For instance:

"Then the Lord rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the Lord out of heaven..." Genesis 19:24.

But I think it is the passages in Revelation that were of most use to those preachers. Such as: "But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death." (Revelation 21:8)

That painful prospect provided the meat for many a sermon prodding listeners to accept salvation right now. Otherwise, there was a chance you could die before getting home and surely you didn't want to burn for all eternity in the pits of hell just because you passed on this opportunity to come forward and make your profession of faith today.

While lots of churches and preachers continue to remind people about the consequences of dying in an "unsaved" condition, few of them make it the cornerstone of their ministries, as many once did.

Instead, they have recognized that coming to a "fear of the Lord" isn't about being scared - at least not in a Halloween sort of way. They are far more likely to emphasize an understanding such as that championed by theologian Karl Barth:

"When the right fear of the Lord takes possession of our hearts, we are both lost in amazement and struck by awe, even terror. For we discover that God, since the beginning of time, has not hated or threatened you and me, but has loved and chosen us, has made a covenant with us, has been our helper long before we knew it and will continue this relationship."

The Rev. Michael Lyle, pastor of Greene Memorial United Methodist Church in downtown Roanoke, recalled Barth's words in his church's newsletter last week. The subject was fear and elections.

"If one theme has permeated the political process, at least as defined by the political parties, it is fear," Lyle wrote. "Both sides agree that we should be very afraid of the consequences if we vote for the other guy."

That situation distresses Lyle, who worries that fearfulness can overwhelm us. He quotes Barth at length, including the theologian's view that God "urges us to wake up, to arise and to begin to live as children of God."

This election season, mercifully, is now almost over.

It's been a tough one in large part because all Americans now must face a fear we didn't have the last time we voted for a president.

Lyle didn't try to tell his congregation there is nothing to fear. We all know that would have been a lie. We all recognize that it's possible for Americans - for me - to die on the sword of a somehow impersonal hatred. It's a confusing, distressing, frustrating realization.

We still hurt from the wounds of 9/11. We are a nation seemingly divided as at few times in our history over the right course for the future.

I think what Lyle was telling his flock was that we need not, indeed cannot, enter that future making our decisions only out of our fears.

He offered them the comfort of a prayer from the English mystic and Benedictine nun Julian of Norwich, who died in 1413. Julian lived in a world "surrounded by plague, superstition and the omnipresence of death." Still, she could write this prayer:

"Author of the world's joy, bearer of the world's pain, at the heart of our distress let the inescapable gladness dwell. Holder of the heavy heart, healer of the grief of change, help us to turn to you, O God, and know that all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."