Inventory your fears this Lent
Gn 2:7-9; 3:1-7; Ps 51:3-4, 5-6, 12-13, 17; Rom 5:12-19 or 5:12, 17-19; Mt 4:1-11
The root of all evil is not money, but fear. Fear is an engine that drives many dark trains. It drives vengeance, greed and rage. It drives dishonesty, betrayal and fraud. It drives tyranny, racism and misogyny. And it lives inside every one of us, to a greater or lesser degree, at various moments over our lifetimes.
To be sure, fear can also provide a helpful warning in the presence of danger or instill in us a healthy respect in the face of legitimate authority. But we would be naive to deny that some of the most aggressive acts we inflict upon one another are grounded not in strength but in fragile fear.
Cinema often portrays this well. Remove Darth Vader’s imposing mask, or pull back the great curtain hiding the Wizard of Oz, or destroy Sauron’s one ring to rule them all, and you find a mere shell — one who is rendered impotent by being seen and fully known.
Behind many of the face masks and dark goggles prowling the streets these days, purveying violent chaos rather than disciplined control, are men and women who are afraid of claiming (and proclaiming) their own true identity.
That’s the power of fear. And we are all susceptible to it. None of us wakes up in the morning and asks: “How can I be the worst version of myself today?” We tend to slide into such behavior, often not even noticing that it’s happening.
In the face of fear, we launch into fight-or-flight mode. To protect ourselves against perceived threats, we might violently lash out or completely withdraw and relinquish responsibility.
The areas of our lives that we most fiercely want to protect are precisely those points of vulnerability that need the most healing. These are often linked to shame, embarrassment or unjust treatment. These feelings are not sinful in themselves, but they provide the fertile moral ground out of which sinful choices are born.
For example, it’s not a sin to feel insecure in a given social setting. But such a situation can lead to gossip or slander to protect our threatened egos.
This foundational reaction to fear is what makes the sin of Adam and Eve in this Sunday’s first reading “original.” It is not original simply because it happens to be the first instance of a committed sin. Rather, it “originates” out of a fear that is grounded in our human nature insofar as it is grounded in the reality that every human being is limited: We are not God.
There will always be limits on our capabilities, how much we can achieve or how much independence we can exercise. If we perceive these limitations as weak points of vulnerability that we fear may be exploited by others, then we can react in destructive ways.
If we adhere to the text of Genesis, then the only limitation on the freedom of Adam and Eve was the prohibition against eating the fruit of one particular tree. This would hardly seem to be an onerous dietary restriction, given that all the bounty of the rest of the Garden of Eden was theirs for the taking. But as we see in today’s reading, the serpent brilliantly succeeds in convincing the humans that God is unjustly restricting their freedom because he wants humanity to remain inferior to his power.
Because Adam and Eve fear the consequences of God’s seemingly unjust power play against them, they take action and disobey his command. The first sin grew out of the first fear, and every subsequent sin has basically followed the same pattern.
As we head into the first full week of Lent, you might consider taking an honest inventory of your fears. What are the situations, relationships or memories that you most dread facing? Then ask yourself whether your behaviors are unhealthy reactions to those fears and whether they are impeding your relationship with God.
Naming the fear, and the vulnerability from which it springs, is the first critical step in seeking help from God and others. It brings healing to wounds, truth to lies and hope to despair.
Fear kicked us out of Eden. Trusting the love of Christ brings us back.