Live in peace
in spite of your fears
I’m currently reading through the New Testament, trying to finish before my church starts the 8-27 challenge on August 1—that’s when we read the whole New Testament in one month. I’d better hurry.
In 2 Corinthians 7:5, Paul says,
For, when we were come into Macedonia, our flesh had no rest, but we were troubled on every side; without were fightings, within were fears.
Note that their flesh—their physical bodies—had no rest. Why? Because they were troubled on every side, both outside and inside. On the outside of their bodies—in their environment, somewhere near them—were fightings. People were not happy. There were anger and harsh words, maybe even physical violence or the threat of it. On the inside of their bodies—in their hearts and minds—were fears. I think it’s safe to say that since these two things are put together in one sentence, the internal fears were a result of the external fightings, and the whole thing resulted in no rest for their bodies.
I understand this well, having spent my entire life being fearful. When I look back as far in my childhood as I can remember, I am aware that I was full of fears. I’ve always been easily startled. I was afraid of moths (nastly little flappy things) and anything that moved quickly. I was afraid to let a lightning bug land on my hand like my cousins did. I was afraid of my grandfather’s chickens (big flappy things). I was afraid when my parents argued and there were raised voices. I was terrified once when my older brothers were seconds from duking it out and I ran in the house screaming, “Mommy! Jimmy and Stevie are killing each other!” I literally thought someone was going to die because of the anger.
When we went out west and Daddy decided I should learn how to fish, he made my brothers catch grasshoppers for me and put them on my hook because I would literally starve to death before I would touch one. That I gutted my own fish when Daddy taught me how is no less than a miracle, but maybe it was okay because at that point the fish wasn’t moving.
I was afraid to eat watermelon. Remember, those were the day before seedless ones were invented. I don’t know what I thought would happen if I accidentally swallowed one of those big black seeds, but I wasn’t taking any chances. No watermelon for me.
I was afraid of Mrs. Johnstone, a woman who babysat my brothers and me after school for a time, but I feel like this was justified. Mrs. Johnstone, as I remember her, was a hateful, cruel woman. I could not understand why my parents made us go there. She yelled in a loud, shrill voice and threatened all kinds of terrible things that this girl could not even fathom being done to us.
She once said she was going to whip one of my brothers and sent me—a 7-year-old child—out into the neighborhood to gather as many people as I could find to watch (I am not making this up). What kind of sick human does that to children, either the public whipping or the forcing a little girl to invite people to watch her brother be whipped? Unfortunately, 9-1-1 wasn’t a thing back then and I did not know where to turn for help. That I remember this so vividly and can still feel the terror in my body is evidence that it was traumatic to me. (The whipping never actually happened.)
I’ve always hated scary movies and wouldn’t go in haunted houses. I was afraid of most dogs.
Yes, I had fears. And all my life I have felt guilt and shame because of them, particularly since I’ve been a Christian. After all, the Bible tells us in 2 Timothy,
For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
So maybe my childhood fears could be excused because I didn’t know God then. But now that I’m an adult and I know the spirit of fear is not from God, why do I still have fears? Why did Paul? Is the “spirit of fear” different from “fears”? I’m asking serious questions because as I always say, I am no Bible scholar. I only know what I read and what I feel.
God did not give us the spirit of fear. Paul felt fears. I’ll leave that hanging because while my experience with fear and with writing tells me they are different (because they’re spelled differently), I don’t really know how to explain the difference that I think exists.
In verse 6, Paul continues,
Nevertheless God, that comforteth those that are cast down, comforted us by the coming of Titus;
Just like David did multiple times in the Psalms, Paul admits the fact that he is cast down by all the fightings and fears, and then he immediately points to God. The first thing he reminds us of is that God comforteth those that are cast down. God comforts those who are low in spirit, dejected. He knew we might feel cast down at some point and he has a plan to comfort us. Why?
For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust. (Ps 103:14)
He knows us. He knows what we’re made of. After all, he’s the one that made us, and our fears are no surprise to him. He’s ready for them and he provides comfort that can come from any number of sources. In Paul’s case, the comfort came through a person, Titus. Maybe your comfort comes through a spouse or a friend. Maybe it comes through God’s words.
Maybe it comes through a therapist.
Is that hard for you to swallow? It used to be hard for me. I spent a lot of years rolling my eyes and thinking people who went to therapy should just get a grip. Obviously they were lacking something spiritually: the Word, prayer, faith. Oh, how naïve of me.
Sometimes we need help seeing the truth of our situation. Sometimes we are in it so deep that we can’t see the forest for the trees and we need someone to help us back up and get a bird’s-eye view so we can see more clearly. Maybe that someone can help us get a better understanding of the root of our fears and what we can do to work through them.
That’s therapy. It is not a replacement for the Word of God or Jesus or fellowship with the saints. It is in addition to those things. We don’t go to therapy because suddenly God’s words don’t work anymore. We go because we need someone to help us see the whole situation—not just the current circumstance but all the events of our life that led up to it—more clearly so we can accurately fit ourselves into what God says. We don’t make his words fit our circumstance; we learn to view our circumstance in light of his words.
This is why it is crucial, if you are a Christian, to find a therapist who is also a Christian. He (or she) needs to be able to help you see the way God sees, and he must know God himself to do that.
But let’s keep going; we’re almost done.
At the end of chapter 13, Paul is winding up this second letter to the Corinthians. In verse 11 he says,
Finally, brethren, farewell. Be perfect, be of good comfort, be of one mind, live in peace; and the God of love and peace shall be with you.
Of all the things Paul tells us in this closing, the one that jumps out at me is live in peace.
Friend, God did not give us a spirit of fear, but we may still have fears as Paul and his buddies did. But he also tells us to live in peace.
How do you do that when you have fears?
You be of good comfort. Grammatically, that phrase is a command. Paul is telling us to be of good comfort. It’s what we should be doing. So find someone who can be God’s comfort to you: a spouse, a friend, a pastor, a therapist. Don’t just sit and dwell on your fears. Share them with someone who will point you to God and remind you that he comforteth those that are cast down.
God did not intend for us to live defeated, in shame and full of fears. He bought us victory through what Jesus did on the cross, but it was more than just a one-time event. He continually sends us comfort and help. It’s there if we’ll just look for it.
That’s how you live in peace.