Cepeda Anthology

United by Fear

Last Updated (Tuesday, 14 February 2012 17:32) Written by John Walter Sunday, 20 February 2011 18:52

Unity by Fear
Reflection presented in the IPR Church Luyano,
Havana, Sunday, June 2, 1968.
Festival of Pentecost

Published by the Christian Herald
Havana XXII (9-12) : 20-23
February-May, 1969

Translated by John Walter
2.13.2012

…and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked in fear for the Jews.  
   John 20: 19

 Today when the Christian calendar points to Pentecost Sunday, that is, the commemoration
of the Holy Spirit being  poured out upon the nascent church, we do not pause to read the
classical passage from the second chapter of Acts of the Apostles, rather we tend to let our
minds soar upon that which we suppose may have occurred before, in a more intimate and
less spectacular way, although not less effective.


This is a typical case of frustrations and despair. The same men, who had been selected by
Jesus to reshape the world’s thinking, now find themselves terrified, hysterical, and paralyzed
by fear. With faded dreams, and undone by illusions, they feel abandoned and insecure. Their
Lord has left them by death on a cross. How will the Sanhedrin react?  Will they also be accused
and condemned?  How can they liberate themselves from such anguish?


“The closed doors” (John 20: 19) of that dwelling were like prison bars; even worse, like the
tombstone of a grave. There they were, the disciples, the apostles, the evangelists, the believers,
all insensible to the disagreeable noises of the present, blind to the new vision, but feeling replete
with dangers. Fear was the sole galvanizing element. “They met in fear” (John 20: 19), which
would likely lead to dispersion if fear of the unknown hadn’t paralyzed them.

Perhaps they didn’t know or realize it, but that which made them uneasy and crestfallen was
not only the terrible reality that their Lord, Jesus Christ, had left them forever, but rather that
He had left them with a mission, the completion of a singular task. Until that time they had been
fed by the hope of a great adventure with Christ; but the closed doors of that dwelling came to be
the symbol of a broken perspective, an instantaneous, painful and bitter blinding, and they began
to “feel oppressed by the uselessness of their lives […].”


But Jesus returns; so we acknowledge him as the Lord who always returns. It’s impossible not
to remember the outpouring testament found in the poem found in Isaiah, 54: 7-8: 

For a brief moment I have abandoned you,
but with great compassion I will gather you;
for a brief moment I have parted from you,
but with everlasting love
I will have I will have compassion on you…

Jesus returns, and places himself at the middle of his church and says, “Peace to you” (John 20: 19)
Jesus always returns to his church when his sons permit themselves to be dominated by fear, when
hopelessness proliferates and vision is lost.  This scene has been repeated over the centuries: The
moment comes when the church not only loses the Lord, but also loses the mission that the Lord
has entrusted to his sons, and as a consequence finds itself with insufficient strength to confront
the present conflict.  And another consequence: The church begins to live in its memories, contenting
itself with the pleasant memories of a commodious past…It’s then when the church will have to cry
out, “Come Lord Jesus, come Creating Spirit.” (1)

In the early church no one cried out for him because they thought him definitely as dead.
Nonetheless, he returned and said, ”Peace”. In those times we know this was a common
greeting, but here in his vibrant presence, and in the manly inflection of his voice, the word
“peace” was no longer a simple social conventionalism, but instead took on a definite sensibility
in the church’s life. Because now “peace” is not the sweet and syrupy term, such as a caramel
one gives to a crying child; nor does it invite a passive calm; nor does it imply the cessation
of inevitable conflicts. This “Peace”, “my peace” is, on Jesus’ lips, synonymous with certainty,
trust and hope. In a word: Courage.  

“Peace be with you”  is the translation of the Popular Version of the New Testament. “After
having said this he showed them his hands and side”. (John 20:20). Only he who, in a given
moment, fixes his gaze towards Jerusalem lives and radiates peace. (Luke 9: 51), “and in
obedience confronts death” (Philippians 2: 8). His death was precisely that: The victory of
courage over fear. Jesus appears unexpectedly to all who are “gathered in fear”, and says
to them, “peace” and shows them his pierced hands and the wound in his side.

“Peace be with you”, he says a second time; and completes his thought with these words. “As the
Father has sent me, so I send you”. (John 20: 21) What a strange manner to impart peace! It’s
nothing less than consigning them to suffer affliction! But there’s nothing rare about this thought
which had been preconceived much earlier: “You will have affliction in the world; but trust,
I have conquered the world” (John 16: 33). His mission completed, he who was sent by God
commissions his church to go out to the world; and those who he sends are from that point on
“apostles”, people who have been charged with a saving mission: for through them others
can achieve redemption. In this task, persecution, hate, suffering and death will befall them.
Nevertheless, peace and power will not abandon them, because immediately – narrates the
evangelist – Jesus “exhales” upon them. What kind of exhalation is this?

Doubtlessly, it reminds us of another exhalation: that of which is spoken of in the first parables
of Genesis: The breath of God, he breathes his pneuma and spirit upon Adam, in whom all
 humanity is typified. (Genesis 2: 7) The “second Adam” (I Corinthians 15: 45) is He who exactly
completes man, who “breathes upon them and says, “Receive Holy Spirit.” (John 20: 22) It’s
very interesting to note that the definite article doesn’t appear in many primitive versions of the
original language. William Temple, the great man of God in our era, dares to propose this
adventurous thought:


“He imparts to them his own breath. The exterior sign, (supported by the word game), suggests
that thereafter his own spiritual energy will be within them. Receive holy spirit. The gift is offered
liberally, but can be rejected […] Thus the Lord completes the promise of the Baptist in relation
with him (John 1: 33) In this way He baptizes his disciples, not by water which washes away stains,
rather in the holy spirit, the energy of a saintly life of obedience to God.  Receive holy spirit, not
 “the Holy Spirit” That which is bestowed is not the divine person, rather the power and energy
that pours from his source […] Now that glorification has been completed and it’s possible that
the new  divine energy -which operates through the response man gives to the manifested love
of God- can begin its action.” (2)

Therefore, what this passage is trying to tell us is that Jesus endows his spirit – as a step
previous to the formal reception of the Holy Spirit – to all who are without spirit, encouragement,
or vital life. The Pentecostal experience is not possible without Jesus. Notice the tremendous
difference between being “joined in fear” and being “all together” (Acts 2: 1), that is, together
in the same spirit. We could perfectly declare to Jesus these words: “Wherever two or three are
joined in my spirit, there am I also.” (paraphrase of Matthew 18:20), because the invoking of
Jesus’ “name” may be nothing more than a simple ritual, completely ineffectual. That which
we must be sure of is that his spirit governs with valiant and victorious peace among those
who are joined with him.


Therefore, it’s not enough to be “joined together” if we are joined in fear. I’ve already said –
years ago -  that our churches are riddled with people who repeat the “I believe in God, all
powerful Father”, but who constantly genuflect before the idol of a god called Fear. Fear
officiates our meetings, not the spirit of Christ, and much less the Holy Spirit. Fear of the
conditions in the world, fear of the future, fear of external pressures, fear of taking transcendental
decisions, fear of changing our structures, fear of contact (of contagion) with the world, fear of
being valiant, fear of living in peace.  For these reasons our weekly gatherings are invalidated
in and of their own motivation. We will only be saved when Jesus places himself “in the center
” of his church and gives us his word. We will only be “those sent” in mission to the world if we
do not permit fear, our myopic cast and trembling voices, to seal shut the doors of understanding
and will.  Let’s be honest with ourselves and admit that this is our woeful condition. We are still
in the phase of the night of our fear, even after the morning of resurrection has come.

 

But this occurs not only during the Sunday meetings in our local parishes. Lately - praise be to
God! – unity of the church in Cuba has been insisted upon, and for the first time I believe I’ve
noted a growing interest in such a transcendental question. I want to believe that this movement
towards unity is produced in the spirit of obedience and humility; in the spirit of testimony, service,
and message; because I don’t want to believe that there may be another malevolent spirit that is
inciting us to be united and gathered together. I don’t want to believe that fear is the incentive for
us being together now, we who heretofore have been so scandalously separated. If what is now
driving us to come together is fear of  “that which may come” the fear of not being of sufficient
number nor strength, the fear of being unable to resist the battering forces of dispersion, then
our unity will make us as fragile as we actually are in our disunity. Someone would say, “but this
is the most natural way”. Yes, but it also happens that when Jesus Christ is “of the middle” and
 “in the middle”, the most natural things are not precisely those which occur; because he who
appears unexpectedly is the One who [we have] considered dead, quite dead. He who interrupts
does so when the doors are shut, without asking permission to enter and without the door being
opened from the inside. He who penetrates even the core of his fearful and cowardly brings an
inaudible greeting: “Peace be with you”. The real unity of the church will never be produced by
the fear of something that might strike, rather for the conviction that Jesus calls us to be united -
despite all the internal and external consequences – for the execution of a heroic task.


What I want to say in conclusion is that, in our gatherings as well as in our associations, we cannot
give free passage to the satanic spirit of fear; rather we should detain and choke it with the
courageous and creative Christian spirit of peace. Only thus will Pentecost be reproduced among us.

Let us pray:

Lord Jesus Christ, whom we confess to be the Lord of the church, give us “the peace that is beyond
all human understanding”, so that we decisively desist from gathering in fear. Give us your holy spirit.
Give us the commission of love and service to the world so that we may be apostles of a new day.
We ask this of you in humility and contrition.  Amen

Footnotes:


1. Eucharistic formulation used by some churches during the Pentecostal liturgy.
2. William Temple (1881-1944) Anglican cleric, prominent ecumenical, and Archbishop of Canterbury.