Escaping Fortresses of Fear
Twenty-Second Sunday Scripture Readings
I’ll bet you never realized that fences are a sign of fear. I’m talking about all kinds of fences, including stockades, ramparts, and big, beautiful walls. Put together they make up a fortress. Nobody erects a fortress without being afraid—afraid of what might get in, or afraid of what might get out. Did you ever notice that native Americans were never known for their fences? In fact, even in our own Western mythology, there’s something quasi-mystical about the open prairie. It’s special because it’s not enclosed in fences. It’s not a fortress. I made up a funny little saying about this that goes, “Fortresses of fear foster a false sense of security.” I’ll take that even one step further: “Fortresses of fear foster a false sense of superiority.”
Not all fortresses are physical. We also build virtual fortresses around things we fear or fear losing. We tell children, “Don’t go near the stove,” not because the stove in itself is threatening, but because its burners may be hot. Thus, we put up a virtual fortress around the burners by keeping them away from the stove.
The authors of Genesis knew this human strategy well. They wrote that “The Lord God gave the man this order: ‘You are free to eat from any of the trees of the garden except the tree of knowledge of good and evil. From that tree you shall not eat; when you eat from it you shall die.’” [Genesis 2:16-17] Now watch what happens when the snake comes along. He asks the woman, “Did God really say ‘You shall not eat from any of the trees in the garden?’” [Genesis 3:1] Isn’t it true that when something is denied us, it becomes the one thing we most want? If we can’t have the fruit of that tree, we might as well not have any fruit at all. Listen now to the woman. “We may eat of any fruit of the trees in the garden; it is only about the fruit of the tree in the middle of the garden that God said, ‘You shall not et it or even touch it, or else you will die.’” [Genesis 3:2-3] In the text, when did God say anything about touching the fruit? Can you see the virtual fortress of fear that the woman erected? That’s the sort of thing we all do.
And that’s what Jesus is confronting in today’s gospel. Because the experience of the presence of God is so profound, so esoteric, and special, people build fortresses of fear around it to ensure access. Only those of a certain spiritual mindset gain that access, so it’s natural to establish rules of thought and behavior—commandments—to safeguard that spiritual mindset. Once we have commandments, then, out of fear of breaking them, we establish customs and traditions and rituals as a further safeguard. Before we’re even aware of it, we’ve erected fortresses of fear to protect our fortresses. These protective defenses take on a life and importance of their own, above and beyond the treasure they’re created to defend.
We might think of it this way: through over five thousand years of spiritual experience, the Judeo-Christian approach to establishing and maintaining an intimate relationship with God has developed precious avenues and pathways that lead to that connection and that guide us away from those factors and forces that would damage or destroy it. These avenues and pathways strengthen our spiritual connections. In a sense, our relationship with God depends on them. At the same time, our traditions are dangerous in the hands of those who no longer take them as a means to an end but who begin to see and teach them as ends in themselves. The handwashing in our gospel reading began as an expression of self-purification—a symbol of one’s preparing oneself for intimacy with God. However, it became, in the hands of the fearful fortress-builders an unbreakable rule and a sign of religious orthodoxy … that is, conformity.
How many of our religious practices are no longer conduits of grace, connecting us with God, but mere fortresses of fear that now dictate what we’re supposed to do or not do … or else. I ask you, where’s the “or else” in our intimate relationship with our Heavenly Father? Across the religious spectrum, from Catholic and Orthodox Christians and Jews to contemporary Evangelicals, the fortresses of fear define a clear distinction between the “good” people, the observant people, and the “bad” people, the radicals; between the “in” group whom God will certainly reward, and the “out” group who are deserving of contempt and punishment. This may seem to them to be a clear distinction, but it’s a false and artificial one. As Jesus points out in the gospel, there is no such distinction.
I mentioned earlier in my comments that fortresses of fear foster a false sense of superiority. It’s a tiny step from “I’m special because I follow all the rules and regulations, the traditions and rituals—and even make up some of my own” to “I’m so special that I’ve arrived, and I’m saved. I have no need of metanoia, that radical change of mind and heart that Jesus preached.” Outer conformity—the embracing of the fortresses of fear as our salvation—most often hides corruption on the inside. Tragically, the fortresses of fear almost always surround and protect a worthless “treasure.”
Real spirituality requires risk-taking. It means using the fortresses built by generations past as guides and encouragements to go beyond them. Like in the gospel, it especially means stepping outside them when they get in the way. GPS-defined routes on travel maps can be remarkably helpful. However, mindlessly following them can—and does—get people lost. Paradoxically, as we saw on January 6, 2021, slavish commitment to the fortresses of fear may lead to defilement from within: “evil thoughts, unchastity, theft, murder, adultery, greed, malice, deceit, licentiousness, envy, blasphemy, arrogance, folly.” We mustn’t let ourselves be trapped by fortresses of fear. Saint John of the Cross, in his book, Ascent of Mount Carmel, writes to the seekers of a deeper spiritual life, “Beyond this point, there is no path.” We’re invited today to take spiritual risks. God is good. Break free of fear.
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