An Antidote to Fear

I spent part of my twenties in Chicago’s Lakeview neighborhood, just a block or two from Wrigley Field. After a childhood in rural Wisconsin, downtown city life seemed exciting, fast-paced, and a little bit dangerous. When my iPod disappeared from the outer pocket of my backpack, I learned to keep my valuables close and my eyes open.

After a few months, the bustling city began to feel like home. I could distinguish between an ambulance’s siren and a police car’s. I knew which streetlamps were burned out and which stores were open late if I needed to duck inside for safety. I learned not to smile, rarely to make eye contact, and to move with speed and purpose even if I was just out for a stroll.

Then came Adam’s party.

Nerdy me didn’t get invited to parties in high school, unless you count the kinds with big, living room games of Mafia, snacks set out by our parents—who always remained present—and little brothers and sisters underfoot. The parties that happened out in the woods, beyond the reach of responsible adults, rumored to involve kegs and drugs, were not open to me. I practiced just saying no as part of our school’s M.A.D.D. program, but never anticipated being in the category of “Not Cool Enough to Ask.”

Sometimes dorkiness is God’s mercy.

Still, I got an Anne of Green Gables-style thrill when I was included in the, “Hey, you should all come over Friday night,” invite from Adam, definitely one of the Cool Kids™. Yes, we were all studying English literature in our mid-twenties in a graduate school program far from the top tier. Yes, this party would have more Parcheesi and less Pabst Blue Ribbon. Yes, I was still excited. I had finally made it. Courtney had arrived at Destination Cool. Or perhaps (and more likely) I had actually arrived at Destination Adam Invited Everyone in the Class and It Would Have Been Rude to Leave Me Out. Either way.

That Friday night, I put on an outfit I deemed both cool enough and understated enough that I wouldn’t look like I was trying too hard. My best Old Navy jeans. My favorite ironic t-shirt. My new sneakers. And then I got on the El train.

At Adam’s stop, I hopped off into a darkened street. I’d never been to this part of the city before, and my usual safety habits were far from my mind as I counted blocks to his apartment. I didn’t see the man crouched by the side of a brick bodega until I was nearly upon him.

“Hey!” he sprang to his feet with a shout. “You watch where you’re going, lady! You watch it!” He was a little taller than I was, with wild eyes and a deep voice. But what I noticed first was the stick. He was holding a massive, thick stick. More of a tree limb, really. He held it over his head and waved it at me.

I bolted.

“Hey you!” he yelled, jogging after me on the sidewalk. “You watch it! You watch where you’re going! Hey lady!”

I sprinted down the block, grateful for my sneakers, until I could round the corner, jump up a few stone steps, and jam a knuckle into the door buzzer sporting Adam’s last name.

“Hello?” came a voice.

“I… it’s Courtney and someone’s…” I gasped for air, “…chasing me. Please hurry!” The door buzzed and I swung inside, pulling it closed behind me. I peered through the glass. My pursuer had vanished.

I walked up the stairs to Adam’s apartment, trembling and trying to catch my breath. Adam met me at the door, his smile immediately flipping to a frown of concern.

“You OK? Couldn’t hear much through the buzzer, but you sounded freaked out.”

“Some guy chased me,” I said. “For blocks.”

“Carrying a big stick?” asked Adam.

“How did you know?”

“That’s DJ Sticky,” he said. “Neighborhood character. He’s harmless. Though he does freak people out if they don’t know he’s there.”

I don’t know if harmless is the word I’d use, I thought. Still, I pondered his words for the rest of the evening. There’s a distinct difference between being chased by an unknown man down a dark street and encountering a known neighborhood eccentric. Uncertainty is scary. Surprises aren’t always welcome. Yet sometimes what shows up most unexpectedly is an invitation to a deeper knowing. A deeper understanding. Even a deeper faith.

Time and time again, when angels show up in Scripture—which is always a surprise—they begin their messages with the same sentiment:

Do not fear.

Have no fear.

Fear not.

Um, I’m sorry, but if a divine being just showed up in my room or on my camping trip or atop the mountain where I’d gone to pray, I’d freak the heck out. The initial instruction seems unfair at best, like when a doctor putting stitches into the bottom of my foot kept sternly telling me to “just relax.” You relax, Mister, I thought to myself. And give me the needle and thread.

The angels don’t just appear, however. They bring news. Information. Presence.

“Do not be afraid,” the angel tells young Mary. “The Lord is with you” (Luke 1:30 NIV).

“Do not be afraid,” the angel tells the shepherds in the fields. “I bring you good news… a Savior has been born to you” (Luke 2:10-11 NIV).

Exiled on the island of Patmos, John receives a vision from the Lord where Jesus himself speaks.

“Do not be afraid,” Jesus tells John, appearing before him with eyes like blazing fire, “I was dead, and now look, I am alive for ever and ever!” (Rev. 1:17-18 NIV).

Fear isn’t a bad thing. I’m glad I ran away from DJ Sticky. I warn my children away from rattlesnakes on our hiking trails and black widow spiders in our garage. I wore a mask this year when I was out of the house and worshiped from home.

But in that dark alley, on that hiking trail, in that garage, and amidst a swirling pandemic, when fear threatens to overpower us, it isn’t enough to try to be brave. Our own faculties will fail us. We will fall short.

The antidote to fear isn’t courage—it’s presence. More specifically, it’s the presence of God. The Lord is with Mary. The Savior has been born. Jesus was dead and is alive again. In Mark 4, the disciples don’t stop fearing the storm; they finally remember who is with them in the boat. Their fear doesn’t vaporize, but it shifts and lifts, and they can begin to see through it.

What are you afraid of? How can you turn to the presence of God as your antidote?

Courtney Ellis is a speaker, pastor, and author of Happy Now: Let Playfulness Lift Your Load and Renew Your Spirit (releasing August 2021), Uncluttered: Free Your Space, Free Your Schedule, Free Your Soul, and Almost Holy Mama: Life-Giving Spiritual Practices for Weary Parents. A resident of California, she and her co-pastor husband have three kids. Together they hike the brush-covered hills, plant veggies, seek wisdom, and embrace hope. You can find her on Twitter, on Facebook, or at www.courtneybellis.com.

Photograph © Max Bender, used with permission