"Even in Our Fear, We Are Called Forward - (December 14, 2025 Sermon)
/I invite you to raise your hand if you’ve ever heard the following statements:
“God never gives you more than you can handle.”
“God doesn’t call the equipped; he equips the called.”
“Too blessed to be stressed.”
“Faith over fear.”
Your snarky pastor calls these phrases, and others like them, “bumper sticker theology.” Although they may be well-meaning, these phrases oversimplify complex theology into a few words slapped on a fender or embroidered on a pillow, or patched onto a t-shirt. No matter how altruistic the intent, the effect these phrases have on someone going through life can be hurtful. “Too blessed to be stressed,” probably isn’t a helpful or healing phrase when the recipient is a stressed-out mother juggling a full-time job and a side hustle, worried about skyrocketing healthcare premiums starting next month while trying to figure out if she can afford to buy her children Christmas gifts. “God never gives you more than you can handle” is a slap in the face to the man whose husband of decades dies of prostate cancer. “God doesn’t call the equipped; he equips the called” isn’t a helpful phrase to a teenager struggling with anxiety and depression, who doesn't know if it’s okay to say “no” to something to attend to their own self-care.
And finally, “faith over fear” creates an unhealthy binary, as though faith and fear are at war and we’re helplessly caught in the middle. When my five-year-old came to me a few days ago, saying she was scared to go to bed because she had a nightmare the night before, I didn’t tell her to “have more faith” or to “not be scared.” No, I got down on her level, put my arm around her, and said, “It’s OK to be scared, sweetheart. Nightmares are no fun.” Then we discussed what nightmares are and what they aren’t. We talked about how they're not real (even though they certainly feel real in the moment!). We discussed how mommy and daddy are right next door, and she can come get us if she gets scared. I hugged her and said, “It’s OK to be scared. Mommy, Daddy, and Sissy are here, and we’ll keep you safe. You are not alone.”
Though I suppose “It’s okay to be scared. I’m here” doesn’t quite have the same “ring” as “faith over fear,” it is definitely a much healthier way to talk about fear in relation to our faith. Both of the characters in today’s scripture readings, Jeremiah and Mary, had good reason to fear. Jeremiah was called to prophesy to Israelites as the Babylonians were gaining political influence and threatening the sovereignty of the Davidic monarchy. Prophets often face the tough task of telling people things they don’t want to hear, and because of that, their messages are rarely received with gratitude. “I am just a boy,” he says, “I don't know how to speak.” God replies to Jeremiah by telling him that he once knew a man named Moses who had the same excuses. “But never mind that,” God says to the young man, “I formed you, consecrated you, and appointed you. I’ve been with you since the beginning and I’m not leaving you now.”
Fast forward some 500+ years, and a different voice of reluctance is heard, “But I’m a virgin!” Mary was “perplexed,” the text tells us. I’m here to tell you today that that is an unfortunately tame rendering of a Greek word that means something far more dramatic than mere puzzlement or confusion. The Greek word is tarassō, which means troubled, agitated, or unsettled. In fact, the specific word that Luke uses is diatarassō, where the first portion (“dia”) serves as an intensifier. If tarassō means troubled, diatarassō means you’ve missed the exit for “troubled” and are barreling down the freeway of anxiety and fear.
The Rev. Dr. Boyung Lee explains it this way: “Mary is not simply puzzled - she is shaken, thrown off balance, possibly afraid for her life. And with good reason. Mary was young, unmarried, and living under the weight of imperial and patriarchal control. To be told - without warning - that she would bear a child by divine initiative wasn’t just a spiritual shock; it was a profound social and bodily risk.”
When was the last time you felt unsettled, unqualified, and overwhelmed? In those moments, we often respond with fight, flight, or freeze. In Mary’s case, it could be said she chose 'flight.' To be clear, she had said “yes.' She was not fleeing from God or the call bestowed upon her. Instead, she was perhaps running from people who might have stoned her for being an unmarried pregnant woman, which was legally permissible. Maybe her survival instinct led her to seek comfort with her much older cousin, Elizabeth. Or perhaps she was driven by a need to protect herself in a society that would have viewed her with suspicion and disdain under those extraordinary circumstances.
My suspicion is that God knew Mary would be scared, which is why I imagine God instructed the angel to tell Mary about Elizabeth. This, of course, aligns with God’s encounters with previous Biblical characters. God gave Aaron to Moses to help him confront Pharaoh (later, Moses would forget that he was not called to lead alone, and his father-in-law Jethro would lovingly say to him, “What you are doing is not good. You will surely wear yourself out… for the task is too heavy for you”). God gave Mordecai to Esther when she needed courage to confront King Ahasuerus and Haman. When Elijah was feeling overwhelmed, God gave him Elisha to help bear the burden. Saul’s son, Jonathan, became a beloved and trusted advisor for, and protector to, King David once he took the throne.
The biblical story is full of God calling people to work together, serve together, and advocate for one another and their neighbors. Ultimately, God’s people gathered in Christ’s name and called this “Church.” The Greek word for “church” is “ecclesia.” For Spanish speakers, you might recognize the Spanish word for church, “iglesia.” This word also comes from the Greek “ecclesia,” and it literally means “to be called out” or “to be sent out.” The very word “church” is therefore outwardly focused. It’s not about a group of people who stay in, but about people who are sent out. “Ecclesia” describes a group working together, linking arms, and stepping boldly into the world to share the Gospel—despite a culture that often dismisses the very idea.
But before the first “ecclesia” formed, there was another who was “called out,” and her name was Mary. On the screen, you’ll see our liturgical art for the week, created by Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity of A Sanctified Art. It’s called “Mary’s Yes.” Today’s passage makes two references to Mary’s cousin, Elizabeth, being six months pregnant with John the Baptist. Coincidentally, Rev. Garrity herself was six months pregnant with her second daughter when she created this piece. Regarding this art, she says: “Mary’s willingness to say “yes” is also fortified by the assurance that she is not stepping forward alone. Even as fears surely surround her, Mary will go to Elizabeth for protection and comfort. She won’t fulfill her calling without support. Her hope will be strengthened in solidarity.”
None of us, friends, are called to fulfill our calling without support. Our hope grows stronger through solidarity. Together, we channel our “inner Mary” and step forward into a weary world to do the blessed, messy, life-giving, and sometimes downright scary work of discipleship. I want to draw your attention to the writing on Mary’s clothing. If you look closely, you’ll notice that Mary’s headdress has the words “do not fear” written over and over and over again. Likewise, embroidered around her neckline are the words “Here I am” repeated over and over. “Do not fear” and “here I am.” We hold our fears in one hand, recognizing them without allowing them to stop us, and in the other, we hold trust, saying “here I am” to the God who promises to be with us.
It’s not faith over fear so much as it’s faith with fear. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Want to know a secret? I did the math this week and I’ve preached at least 500 sermons in the past decade. And you know what? I still get scared when I step into the pulpit. I get scared because, like all preachers, I wonder: will I say too much? Will I say too little? Will this message be received in love? What if I hurt someone? What if I say something wrong? I still get scared, and I hope I always do. Fear is a friend that’s misunderstood, John Mayer once sang. Fear makes me a better preacher because the moment I lose that fear, it’s probably the moment I forget how important this task really is.
And you certainly don’t have to be a preacher to know this truth. The surgeon with a scalpel in her hand. The professor wondering if they’ll be denied tenure for teaching the unvarnished truth of our nation’s history. The teenager who is gathering the courage to come out of the closet to their friends and family. The couple who wonder if trying again to have a child will only bring more heartbreak. The son who finally decides that it’s time to go to an AA meeting. Friends, fear can push us to do really brave things.
So let us move forward in faith and fear. I don’t think Mary left her fear behind when she went to see her cousin Elizabeth. And God doesn’t expect us to leave fear behind. Fear is what makes discipleship so beautiful. Fear is what makes courage and vulnerability the stuff of hope. Fear, perhaps, is a holy thing—if only we remember that it’s part of our story but never the end of it.
In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say: Amen.