fear

These Gospel stories can seem so familiar. But sit with the disciples in the little wooden boat, and Jesus' power will render you speechless.

Our brains are wired to allow us to read each other's minds, to feel each other's person.

Until now I never appreciated the beautiful message of this week’s Old Testament passage. God’s promises to Israel—to not be drowned by water or burned by fire—make this text almost as comforting to its readers as the 23rd psalm.

As I grow older, I'm increasingly scared of heights. But there I was with my four-year-old in front of a three-story water slide.

I am not squeamish about most animals or insects. But snakes are a different story.

As wildfires raged nearby, the lectionary readings spoke to the uncertainty and fear of being displaced.

Anxiety has a way of turning otherwise faithful Christians into foxhole atheists. I'm too busy worrying to pray.

I was at a class reunion with several former classmates when one of them, a professor of philosophy, asked an unusual question: “What fears have you conquered over the years and what new ones have you acquired?” Not eager to make our private fears public, each of us waited for someone else to open up the discourse. One person finally listed some familiar fears, including “mice,” “being left out or abandoned” and “the dark.”

Have our security measures cast out our fears? Or have they only diminished our capacity for love?