“Even in Our Fear, We Are Called Forward” was preached at First Presbyterian Church of Allentown, PA on December 21, 2025.
You can listen to the podcast of the sermon here.
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Scripture
texts:
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Many of
us might have learned that fear is a problem that must be overcome. Or that
feeling fear is a negative emotion that we are supposed to push down. Or maybe
we feel something along the lines of if we were truly faithful, truly trusting
God; we would feel calmer, steadier, more certain, less afraid. Somewhere along
the way we’ve been taught that the answer to fear is courage, as if courage and
fear are opposites, standing on two sides of the spectrum. You’re either afraid
or you’re courageous.
But that
way of thinking doesn’t actually match how faith works or how scripture works
or even how being human works.
Because
courage is not the opposite of fear.
If
courage were the opposite of fear, then the people God calls in scripture would
have already failed before they’ve even begun. It would mean that fear
disqualifies them (or us) from faithfulness and following the call given to
anyone as a disciple of Christ.
The
people God calls are often filled with fear. Mary felt fear. Jeremiah felt
fear. John the Baptist felt fear. The prophets and the disciples felt fear.
Fear shows up again and again in the stories where God is doing something new.
So before
we go any further, we must all be on the same page about fear. Fear is not a
negative emotion.
This past
summer, many of our children spent a week learning about emotions – fear,
sadness, joy, anger, and love – at our Vacation Bible School. One of the core
messages they heard was that all of these emotions are part of being human.
God’s people throughout the Bible felt them. Jesus felt them too.
Jesus
felt fear! That was the very first message to our children on Day 1. That if
they were scared being at VBS or afraid being away from their parents, it was
okay because Jesus knows that fear too.
Very
often fear shows up because something matters to us. Fear often rises when
something we care deeply about is at risk. To say that fear is something we
shouldn’t feel actually contradicts the faith we’ve been trying to form: not
just in our children but in ourselves.
So as we
continue our Advent journey today, we’re not asking how to become fearless.
Instead we’re asking a more honest and more faithful question: what does it
look like to move forward when we are afraid?
Because
again and again, fear is often the place where calling begins.
Bcecause
of that, I want to focus on our Jeremiah passage. Jeremiah is not the prophet
we turn to in Advent because the book of Jeremiah is rooted in sadness and anger
and protest and grief. All of this is wrapped up in a deep ongoing lament to
God.
Jeremiah
is actually nicknamed “The Weeping Prophet” by some biblical scholars and
theologians. He feels deeply, and he speaks from that place of deep feeling,
even when it costs him dearly. Jeremiah‘s nickname actually inspired the name
of my own blog, The Weeping Christian, that I named when I was 22 and in
seminary. And if you think that name is bad, you should hear the name of my
first email account. But that’s a story for another time.
In
today’s reading Jeremiah responds to God’s call with doubt, excuses, and fear. Jeremiah
is not just making an excuse that he feels he is too young, he is honestly
assessing his risk. Jeremiah understands that answering this call will place
him in danger. He will be asked to speak words people do not want to hear. He
will confront kings, priests, and systems of power. He will name injustice,
violence, and betrayal at a time when denial and silence would have been far
safer.
And as
Jeremiah’s story unfolds, his fear proves well-founded. His life does not get
easier once he says yes. He is mocked and ridiculed. He is beaten and
imprisoned. At one point, he is thrown into a cistern and left to die. He
watches his beloved city of Jerusalem fall. He witnesses exile, devastation,
and loss on a scale that overwhelms him. Repeatedly Jeremiah cries out to God
in grief, sometimes wishing he had never been born.
Jeremiah
knows fear. He knows sadness. He knows anger. He knows despair. His book is
filled with lament and unresolved grief. And yet for all of that emotional
intensity, something never happens.
Jeremiah
never stops feeling.
Even when
he is exhausted, even when he is angry with God, even when his hope is barely
there, he remains deeply engaged with God, with his people, and with the world
as it actually is.
And that
distinction matters.
That
distinction matters because fear does not automatically lead us toward
faithfulness or away from it. Fear, on its own, is not the deciding factor.
What shapes us is what we do with fear once it arrives, and whether we are
willing to stay in relationship with it rather than letting it take over or
shut us down.
Earlier
this Advent, many of our small groups read an article from Psychology Today
titled “Making Friends with Fear,” written by Denise Fournier, a psychologist
who writes about emotional health and resilience. In that article, Fournier
suggests that fear becomes less destructive when we approach it intentionally
rather than instinctively. She names three postures that help keep fear from
hardening: curiosity, compassion, and courage.
These
postures offer a way of staying present to fear without being ruled by it. They
don’t remove fear, and they don’t deny its reality. Instead they create space
for fear to be understood and engaged in ways that keep us connected.
We begin
with curiosity. Curiosity slows us down enough to notice what fear is actually
pointing toward. Rather than reacting immediately or trying to silence fear,
curiosity asks why this moment feels different, what feels at risk, and what
might be asking for our attention. Being curious about our fear can also reveal
what we value most, both as individuals and as a community. We tend to fear
losing what we love.
Alongside
curiosity comes compassion. Without compassion, fear quickly turns inward and
becomes shame. Compassion reminds us that fear is a human response to
uncertainty and risk but not as a failure or a lack of faith. We are not only
called to extend compassion to others when they are afraid; we are also called
to offer ourselves compassion and grace when fear shows up in our own lives.
And then
there is courage, not as the opposite of fear, but as the willingness to remain
responsive while fear is still present. Courage is the decision to take the
next faithful step even when we are afraid. Courage does not require fear to be
resolved before we act; it refuses to let fear make all the decisions
for us.
But when
fear is not met with curiosity, compassion, and courage; it begins to harden.
Untended fear often collapses inward, becoming numbness, where we stop feeling
because feeling hurts too much. Or it spreads outward into apathy, where caring
for anything beyond ourselves begins to feel pointless. Fear does not disappear
in these moments; it changes shape. And that change is where danger
enters.
Courage
is not the opposite of fear. The opposite of fear, as seen in the stories
throughout scripture, is a hardened heart.
Scripture
understands this distinction well. One of the clearest examples appears in the
book of Exodus, in the figure we know as Pharaoh. The Pharaoh of Exodus is
never named in the text, which in itself is telling. He becomes less a
historical individual and more a symbol of hardened power. In Exodus we hear
several times that Pharaoh’s heart was hardened.
Pharaoh
witnesses suffering up close. He hears the cries of the enslaved. He sees the
consequences of his decisions. And still nothing breaks through. Pharoah’s
hardened heart causes violence and oppression to continue.
Another
example is King Saul. Or more relevant to our Advent series, King Herod. Even
the disciples become hardened as named in the Gospel of Mark, but fortunately
their hardened hearts are healed.
That is
the danger scripture warns us about. Fear becomes dangerous only when it is
left unattended; when it hardens inward into numbness or turns outward into
apathy, both cutting us off from hope.
This
brings us finally to Mary.
When the
angel Gabriel comes to Mary she asks real questions. She takes in what is being
said to her. And then her response is thoughtful, embodied, and courageous. She
says yes, but her yes does not come from certainty; it comes from trust formed
in the midst of fear.
Mary and
Jeremiah echo one another here. Both are called into something that will cost
them deeply. Both respond with fear. Both ask questions. Both move forward
anyway. It is the courage to keep responding to God’s call while fear remains
part of their story. And the worst of Mary’s fears will happen; Mary will see
her baby boy as a young man executed on the cross.
Many of
us are carrying fear about the future. Fear about our own lives and the roads
we might take. Fear about our children and the world they are inheriting. Fear
about our country and our democracy and our climate and our communities, and
the direction all of these things seem to be moving.
But here
is something important to notice. When we are afraid for the future – our
future, our country’s future, the world’s future – that fear is not empty. It
means there is still something in us that cares deeply about what could be. It
means we still carry hope, even if that hope feels fragile or exhausted. Fear
for the future often reveals longing for a better future filled with authenticity,
joy, love, and relationships. We do not fear losing what we have already given
up on. We fear losing what we believe still matters.
Friends,
the danger is not that we are afraid. The danger is that we might allow fear to
harden our hearts. The danger is allowing fear to make us give up on hope.
God’s
work does not depend on our fearlessness but on our willingness to keep
responding even though we are afraid.
So when
you find yourself afraid, let that fear tell you something true. Let it name
what you value. Let it remind you that you are still connected, still invested,
and still hoping. And then, with fear and courage walking hand-in-hand, take
the next faithful step forward.
Because
even in our fear, we are still being called. And even now, God is still at
work. Amen.
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