Not all fears are irrational.
In fact, to have no fear at all, at this point in the coronavirus crisis, would either be the side effect of thoughtless irrationality or else a chemical-induced nerve numbing.
Now, for some people, such ignorance is bliss. To not know is to not fear. But this logic runs counter to another common belief about our fears: we think it’s the unknown that we’re truly afraid of.
But I’m a skeptic.
As we deal with perpetual unknowns, unanswered questions, looking for a vaccine and lacking testing, we might miss the fact of what really scares us: we’re more afraid of what we do know.
Runaway Train
What we know is that each of us is traveling on a runaway train that is hurtling toward a bridge-less divide. We can’t stop it; we can barely hope to contain it. And this enemy is more terminal than a virus or a pandemic, an economic crisis or an all-out collapse. This last enemy is death.
For all the talk these days of flattening the curve, if we’re honest with ourselves, what we’re really concerned about isn’t a spike—it’s an unavoidable flatline.
We know that death is near. In fact, when the swelling curve of COVID-19 finally ebbs to normalcy, we’ll still have a greater epidemic to deal with on our planet. The death rate will still be 100 percent.
Which means the most important question surrounding death is not when, but if—if we’ll be ready.
When the swelling curve of COVID-19 finally ebbs to normalcy, we’ll still have a greater epidemic to deal with on our planet. The death rate will still be 100 percent.
In this case, fear can be our best friend, because fear—contrary to what you might’ve heard—doesn’t always or only make us cowards; it can also make us courageous. Fear makes you jump the train. Fear makes you run into a burning bedroom. Fear makes you fight cancer. Fear makes you take precautions, get prepared, social distance, and, apparently, panic-purchase toilet paper.
Yes, fear can make you do dumb things. But fear can also make you do the courageous things you never imagined yourself doing.
Trauma of Fear
One of the strangest responses to fear I ever saw was while living in Asia, just after a massive earthquake that killed hundreds in a matter of seconds. We were there with a team providing relief, including an engineer who was inspecting and confirming the structural integrity of homes. But despite his expertise and assurances, families preferred to remain in tents.
When someone survives an earthquake, they don’t just have a heightened fear of earthquakes. And they don’t just dread the aftershocks, haunting as they are. Perhaps worst of all horrors, they begin to fear their own homes. They fear all the buildings around them. They fear the very places they once counted as safe and secure. They fear sanctuaries. Such structures become weaponized by the potential for future suffering.
So it is now for us, though not in an earthquake, but in this global pandemic.
We don’t just fear the virus. We don’t just fear the sickness or the suffering, even the potential for death. We fear the places that we once ran to for safety. We fear homes and workplaces, restaurants and bars, even schools and houses of worship. We might even fear our friends and family. Why is this? Because we know that no place is safe. There is fear in us because there is fear all around us.
Fearfully Amusing Ourselves
But there’s also fear in us because that’s where the fear has been all along, long before a novel virus revealed it in us. Fear has been talking to us; we just haven’t been listening.
For far too long the voice of fear in our ears has been drowned out by airplanes and AirPods, political stump speeches and talk shows, sporting events, Twitter feeds, and The Voice. Our culture works very hard to entertain itself out of thinking—the very definition of a-muse-ment.
This is what makes the threat of quarantine so scary for many of us. Because in our abundance of time we might just stumble into quiet thoughts, personal reflection, self-assessment, and . . . we fear, silence.
This is what makes the threat of quarantine so scary for many of us. Because in our abundance of time we might just stumble into quiet thoughts, personal reflection, self-assessment, and . . . we fear, silence.
Silence has even become an enemy, encroaching on our thoughts and screaming to us of our greatest terrors. Our innermost musings are the mirror we’d rather not peer into, ashamed of what we—and someone else—might see. We’d much rather distract ourselves to death at the carnival of life, through the endless industry that entertains us, thrills us, and even scares us so we don’t have to think about what is to come, or what has already come. Give us the funhouse mirrors. We don’t care if they’re real.
Yet this quiet, this quarantine from sport and school, and—if we’ll allow it—from amusement and entertainment, presents us with the opportunity to look at our failings and listen to our fears. We must not suppress them.
So many would-be therapists, preachers, politicians, financial advisors, and life coaches whisper to us at this moment: It will be all right. We’re gonna get through this and come out stronger. This too will pass. You have nothing to worry about. Time heals.
But when we’re silent, when we listen to ourselves, we know those outside voices aren’t always kind.
Trusting the Great Physician
Fear wants to be our friend. Because healthy fear helps us to stop the spread of illness. Healthy fear tells us to buckle our seatbelt. Fear tells us to inspect a building or a bridge. Fear tells us to avoid disaster, get off the runaway train, leave the carnival ride while there’s still time.
Many today are doing things they never thought imaginable, taking drastic measures for the sake of flattening the curve, in the noble cause of avoiding death, either for themselves or for others. Have you ever thought about taking drastic measures to avoid death? Have you ever thought about jumping before it’s too late? Have you ever thought about running to the only safe place in a time of crisis, the only real refuge in a world going to hell?
Turn to Christ. He’s the only one who’s looked intently at the darkness of your heart and still loved you.
Turn to Christ. Do you think him too foolish, too simple, too weak? Turn to Christ. He’s the only one who’s looked intently at the darkness of your heart and still loved you. He’s the only physician who can diagnose the sickness of your soul and truly heal you. He’s the only one who’s traveled all the way to the end—to the grave—and defeated the last enemy.
Do the courageous and otherwise unthinkable. Trust in him. I think it’s the most rational thing you’ll ever do.