Transforming Fear into Love

a morning's reflection

This past Wednesday, I offered the morning of reflection for a wonderful local Baltimore organization, Well for the Journey. This is part of their Well-Being Wednesday initiative, and the theme for this quarter was “transforming fear into love.” If you’d prefer to hear me read it, you can click here. Otherwise, I hope the text below is helpful to you in this moment.

Last week, I attended a special Mass for the preservation of peace and justice. It was celebrated at the Cathedral in Baltimore, not far from where I live. Archbishop Lori was the main celebrant, and he delivered a really stirring homily that spoke both to the real and pressing needs of this moment, as well as the spirit of gratitude that is so important for any spiritual journey. The Mass itself was billed as a time to offer thanksgiving for the work of Catholic Relief Services, Catholic Charities and St. Vincent de Paul—all faith-based organizations with offices in Baltimore that are doing frontline work to help some of the most marginalized and vulnerable members of our community.

Archbishop Lori began his homily with a call to embrace both gratitude and urgency. We need a disposition that recognizes how vital these kinds of organizations are—and celebrates them. But we also need a disposition that lives in the real world, that also recognizes that these organizations and others like them are under threat. And that when these kinds of organizations are threatened, the essential work of accompanying those most in need becomes threatened.

Archbishop Lori did not pull his punches.

The Gospel that was read at Mass was the one where Jesus appears to his apostles in the upper room. You may know the story: His apostles are hiding out of fear. Jesus has just been killed, and the apostles worry they might be next. The doors are locked, but that doesn’t stop Jesus. The love of God can not be kept away. And what does Jesus say when he appears to his friends? “Peace be with you.”

Archbishop Lori noted that Jesus didn’t offer a strategic plan or a budget. Instead, he offered his peace—and a clear call to mission, to get up and be about the work as best as you were able.

This moment, this encounter, this offering of peace, I think beautifully illustrates the kind of mystical collision that can transform fear into love. We all know what it is to cower in fear, to close ourselves off, to look at the news and the world and just become enmeshed in worry and dread. I feel it. I look at myself and say, “What am I even doing? How am I responding in a useful way? How am I presenting any alternative to the world? Am I the one cowering in fear?”

I wonder what it means for you in this moment to be in that upper room behind those locked doors. I wonder if you might put yourself in that scene. What’s keeping you locked up in there? What brought you there in the first place? Do you feel tethered to the place? I wonder then what happens when that incarnational love breaks through those supposedly locked doors. What do you see? Who do you see? What do you feel when peace is offered? Does your fear begin to crack?

Pope Leo XIV, when he first emerged on that balcony all those weeks ago, had those same words to offer: “Peace be with you.” As someone who just published a book on peace, my ears really perked up. “It is the peace of the risen Christ,” Pope Leo continued. “A peace that is unarmed and disarming, humble and persevering. A peace that comes from God, the God who loves us all, unconditionally.” The pope clearly wanted us to drop ourselves in that same scene with those apostles in the locked room. He knows the world is fearful right now. But he also knows that fear can keep us from doing the work of love if we do not work to transform it.

And so, I was particularly struck by the four words he used to describe the kind of peace he was offering—the piece of that same Christ who could not be stopped by the locked doors of fear. Pope Leo said this was a peace that was: unarmed, disarming, humble and persevering. I’m going to say those words again: Unarmed. Disarming. Humble. Persevering.

These words I believe give us some actionable insight into how we might use this idea of peace to transform our fear into love. So, let’s look at each one.

Unarmed. This might seem obvious. We go to others with open arms rather than a slap to the face. We put down our proverbial swords and pick up pilgrim staffs. We avoid violence and embrace nonviolence.

And yet, as I reflect on my own life, I know that this isn’t quite as obvious and easy as we may think. How often do I feel the need to reply to a perceived slight with a sharp word or witty response? The customer service rep who can’t quite give me the answer I need. The driver who just sped past my house way too quickly. The colleague who just won’t get their work done. Do I go to them “unarmed?” Or am I quick to cut them down to size?

What about you? Where are those seemingly small conversations or encounters in your day where you might be more armed than you realize? What weapons are you carrying—and how might you put them down?

Think, too, of how you treat yourself. How often do I castigate myself for being slow, stupid, fat, ugly? How often do I look at my work and say, “Not good enough; others are better.” I’m doing violence to myself; I’m not transforming anything into love! I’m giving myself only reasons to feel shame and fear and inadequacy.

What about you? How can you lay down the arms you may inadvertently be using to crush your own spirit?

Disarming. This sounds like the same thing! But it’s not. This one requires action. Because now we’re not focused on what we’re carrying; we’re focused on easing others into a disposition of peace and comfort. We want to present ourselves as unarmed so as to encourage others to do the same.

So the question here is, how are we creating spaces—or, better said, disarming spaces—so that all people can arrive and be together in a spirit of peace? This is a transformational act, but it requires a close read of each moment. What here, now, might cause others harm? What words or images? How might we accompany one another in this spirit of disarmament? How might we mirror the kind of world we desire—one that is both unarmed and disarming?

We lay down our weapons—literal and figurative—and we invite others to do the same.

Humble—that’s our next one. But I think it might be more helpful to start with the opposite: pride. I think of pride in an overweening sense. This kind of pride has everything to lose and can’t even stomach losing the tiniest bit. This kind of pride shores up power and influence, sees other people and the natural world as raw material to be used and consumed for personal benefit, for personal advancement. This kind of pride is willing to do whatever it takes to maintain its own power and influence. This kind of pride lives in a constant state of fear: What if others are better than me? What if I fall short? What if it all comes crashing down?

So, we can see why humility has the potential to transform this fear. If we pursue a humble peace, then we pursue a disposition that clings to nothing, that doesn’t concern itself with accolades or trinkets or honors. We need not fear losing anything because we don’t cling to anything. We let go; we open our clenched fists.

I wonder: Where do you see yourself in this spectrum? Are you clinging tightly to something? Does your pride govern your decision-making? Your relationships? Your identity? How does fear factor into this clinging? What would happen if you loosened that grip? What would happen if you saw yourself not as separate or better but simple one among many? Does that begin to soften that heart of fear?

Finally, perseverance. This one feels obvious, too. And perhaps it’s the most important in this moment. Because I think we might pair with perseverance the virtue of hope. We have to, right? Why would you keep going if you thought all was lost? And so, the peace we need to transform our fear into love is one that is grounded in an unwavering sense of hope. Not a false hope that pretends everything is okay. A true hope that decides each moment of each day to look for the good—and when it can’t be found, to be the good in that moment. We keep going, we keep getting up.

Because ultimately, what the archbishop and the pope and Jesus himself point to is that our fear is transformed for a purpose. It’s not a navel-gazing exercise; we need to get up and be about the work of love. Of mission. Of encounter. That doesn’t mean we are each called to have a global impact in each and every moment. But it does mean that we can practice these principles of an unarmed, disarming, humble and persevering peace in our own way in our own context.

“Transforming” is a verb—it’s happening. Fear keeps us paralyzed. Love calls us out. But transforming means we need to make ourselves available for the Spirit to work; and, we must engage the Spirit at work in our lives and world. If we do this, even in small, halting ways, then I think we can be confident—hopeful—that fear, little by little, will give way to love. And when we all can sink into that abiding love, we will then experience a true peace.