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Erin Walter
August 17, 2014
What are you so afraid of? And what can you do about it?
READING: An excerpt from Freedom from Fear
by Rev. Forrest Church
“One indication of how prevalent a role fear plays in our lives is that there are almost as many synonyms for it as there are Aleut [uh-loot] words for snow: terror, horror, apprehension, trepidation, perturbation, foreboding, concern, angst, agitation, anxiety, consternation, dread, fright, worry, cowardice, faintheartedness, chickenheartedness, disquiet, guilt, temerity, dismay, and alarm.”
“Any fear that recurs or malingers is more likely to pose a danger than protect us from one. . . . One person can spend a year worrying about whether he has cancer before going to the doctor to find out that he doesn’t or, if he does, that it is now too late to do anything about it. Another person can worry so much about the telltale signs of aging that she fails to enjoy her youth. When fear misdirects us down long, unnecessary detours, detracting from our journey without making it any safer, the time has come to pull over and ask for directions.”
READING: An excerpt from I Don’t Know How to Talk to White People About Ferguson,
By Ali Barthwell, published 8.15.14 in the online magazine XOJane.
As a black woman in a mostly white social circle, I don’t know who to turn to and how to talk to them about Ferguson. I feel really vulnerable. I feel really scared…. I’ve noticed that white people often misinterpret my emotions about race when I express them…. I’ve noticed that my white friends don’t always understand when their words come from a place of privilege and might be a bit tone deaf considering the state of the world.
The Monday following Mike Brown’s death, I had an improv rehearsal with a team of women I regularly practice and perform with. I’m the only black woman on the team. Part of our improv form is telling personal stories. One woman took center stage to tell us a story about how she was wronged by the police and can’t trust them anymore. She was given a small ticket for riding her bike on the sidewalk that she felt she didn’t deserve and was chastised by the police for not remembering the license plate of a car that hit her.
Her story was over. That was it. That’s why she couldn’t trust the police.
It’s hard to bring up the incredible terror I feel when I’m stopped by the police. Or the white hot shame and violation I felt as an eight-year-old when a security guard grabbed my arm when I snuck a gummi bear from a bulk candy bin. Or that I began to cry so hard at the George Zimmerman acquittal that I had to leave work early.
It’s hard to bring up these feelings with my white friends as black people march in Ferguson against a white police force because I’m scared I’ll be let down again.
I was let down by my white boyfriend who wouldn’t tell off his roommate when his roommate told me I was an angry uneducated black woman.
I was let down by my online alumnae community when I was accused of censoring white people when I said it was “uncool” to treat black men and women as lustful and that’s why everyone should date one at least once.
I’m so afraid that I’ll be let down by white people when I speak up about how I see myself in the faces of the black people on the news in Ferguson, MO that I would rather suffer in silence.
Because I don’t know how to tell people that I’d rather be let down by white society than be let down by white individuals.
How do I begin that dialogue?
SERMON:
If you had told me years ago that I would someday consider “facing fear” to be one of my personal spiritual practices, I’m not sure I would have believed you. After all, I am a classic white-knuckle flier and I didn’t learn to ride a bike until my 19th birthday because I was afraid to fall over. I’ve been afraid to exit the ski lift, to get bangs, and just generally to go backwards — backdive, backwards roll, backing into a parking space? I won’t do it.
But I’ve also always been a little fascinated by fear. As a kid, I tore out an article of a women’s magazine with a list of fears I couldn’t believe other people had — fear of sitting down, fear of antique furniture, fear of string. I kept the list on my bulletin board for years.
So let me assure you, as we get started, that whatever your fears are, you’re not alone. Everyone is afraid– or as Forrest Church described in his list, chickenhearted– about something. Some fears are more pressing than others, and we’ll get to that.
In recent years, I’ve faced off with some of my deepest fears and anxieties Ð either by accident, by choice, or through loss, and in doing so, I’ve seen how fear can help us answer questions like:
What do I want most in life? What is my purpose here? If we listen to what’s behind our fears, there is much we can learn.
—–
Fear is a big topic, so we’re gonna start very small. With grapes.
All my life, I ate green grapes but would not be caught dead near red ones. I was a green grape person. Like being a Beatles person vs Stones person. Until one day, about 10 years ago, I was on an airplane (keeping it in the air with the power of my mind, as usual. I hear the Dalai Lama does this too). When my meal came, I offered the stranger next to me my red grapes.
“You don’t want them?” he said.
“No, I only eat the green ones.” I said, as if this were a sane thing.
“Why? … They taste the same.”
“WHAT?”
“Yeah… they’re all the same.”
“Are you serious? Why didn’t anybody tell me?!”
I paused–for the first time–and asked myself what I had against red grapes. The answer was: I had no idea. Zero. Maybe my mom usually bought green ones when I was kid, so that was what I was used to. But somehow what I was “used to” evolved into “Oh no! I hate that! Get it away from me! Ew!”
And that’s a lot like how other fears work. The unknown becomes the feared, and ugly habits develop.
So I looked at the airplane grapes. Really looked at them. I plopped one in my mouth and let it squish around. And you know what? It did taste just like a green one. It still blows my mind.
By this time in our lives, how often do our senses experience something totally new? What a gift. What a spiritual experience. That one stranger, that one grape, changed my life. If I was wrong about red grapes, what else had I been wrong about all those years? I started trying new things, one at a time–avocados, creme brule, writing a song something in Nicaragua called the Monster Swing. I got bangs.
And suddenly I was living out my Unitarian Universalist values in a way I never expected. I joined a Community Supported Agriculture organization with other members of my Chicago church. Every Friday I opened my box of local veggies and found at least one I’ve never seen, let alone tasted. Cooking became a thrill, and I found myself a part of the ethical eating movement in my own small way.
We have a lot of bigger fears to talk about than food, but it is clear to me that in facing fears as an spiritual practice, it is just fine to start small. Whatever is holding you back, you have to start somewhere. Thanks to the grapes, whenever I run up against a case of my own fear or stubbornness or prejudice, I know what to do now. You can do it to. Ask yourself: Why do I think this? How did I get here? Do I really have to say no this? What would happen if I said yes? What if I did something differently? These are very UU questions.
And in fact, church is a great place to tackle some fears that are as common as they are debilitating: the fear of intimacy, fear of asking for help, fear of change. From saying hi in coffee hour to seeking out the care team to getting involved with the Capitol Campaign, we have a way for you to conquer some interpersonal fears. And with the Standing of the Side of Love campaign, UUs are committed to getting our nation past its fear of marriage equality, immigration reform, and more.
—-
Now on behalf of the contrarians among us, before we go any further, I’ll pose another question: what is so wrong with being afraid? Well, nothing, in some cases. I’m petrified of my kids running into traffic or falling out a window, and that fear makes me a more diligent parent. But many fears are doing us no favors. Research from Stanford suggests that prolonged worry and anxiety may lead to memory loss and brain damage. It can also raise blood pressure and stress levels, shortening life expectancy. So, basically, fear causes the thing many of us fear most: death.
—-
For the longest time, my greatest fear was dying. I just didn’t want to do it. I don’t want my family members to go that route either. There is a scene in the mystery-comedy Clue where Professor Plum asks, “What are you afraid of, a fate worse than death?” And Mrs. Peacock responds, “No, just death, isn’t that enough?” That was me.
The thing about the fear of death though, is that sooner or later, we all have to face it. When I was 7 and my parents split up, I began worrying that something would happen to my dad when we were apart. When either of my parents was late to pick me up from school or a playdate, I panicked.
18 years later it did happen. This hilarious cowboy, in seemingly perfect health, suffered a sudden heart attack, was in a coma for five days, and died at age 55. Friend after friend stood up at my dad’s funeral and said, “David Walter was supposed to give my eulogy.”
My world ended, just like I had long feared it would. It will be 11 years this month.
But you learn something huge when you face your worst fear Ð the kind of fear that makes red grapes seem like, well, grapes. You learn you can live through it. That life goes on. Life can still be good.
—-
So, have you ever noticed how the very things that terrify some of us are the same things that thrill others? Bungee jumping, sushi, dancing, diversity, traveling, being alone, being in a crowd, falling in love, saying hi in coffee hour Ð this dichotomy tells us something. I’m not asking you to skydive if you don’t want to Ð I do NOT want to be that person on the front of your order of service and I’m cool with that Ð but I’m asking you to think of something you fear that secretly calls to you. Or a fear that speaks to a deeper need or concern.
You might start by digging around for fears that stand between you and your values. I’d argue fear is an obstacle to all of the UU principles, but there’s especially no question that fear stands in the way of the second: justice, equity and compassion in human relations; and the sixth: the goal of world community with peace, liberty and justice for all.
So give your own fears some thought this week. I’d love to know what you come up with.
—-
Now, another key thing about facing our fears is that it’s not a one-shot deal. You have to do it over and over again. That’s part of how it becomes a spiritual practice. Like prayer or meditation or loving kindness, you have to decide (and keep deciding) that you will choose courage over avoidance whenever you can.
One holiday break, I had to face my dad’s death again by going through his things in storage with my stepmom Ð his cowboy hats and boots, military medals, photographs and the corny stuff like a singing mounted fish.
I was afraid. Could I handle being in a cold storage room with all my father’s special things, things that didn’t even smell like him anymore, things I hated to admit he would never touch again? And what if my sisters Ð apparently braver, more dedicated daughters who had long since gone through all the boxes Ð what if they’d taken all the special things? What if I had waited too long, as Rev. Church described, and there was nothing left for me to treasure? Those fears ate at me.
As is usually the case, they were unfounded. The experience was almost entirely a joyful one. I felt close to my dad and to my stepmom, proud of all he accomplished, even if his life had been too short. And those nagging thoughts that had been in my mind for so long Ð “Donna is waiting for you! Everyone else has gone but you!” Ð have been replaced with the knowledge that I did my part, eventually, and tangible parts of my father are with me now.
For the many who share my fear of death, I should give the most important news wittoh you: that in the end, the moment of my father’s passing was peaceful and beautiful. And he is not gone. He is her. Always. With me. Love is so much stronger than fear.
—-
Now, I said some fears are more pressing than others. So, I want to talk to you about the role fear is playing in current events and what you can do about it. Because the sad fact is: not all deaths are peaceful and beautiful. And for many people, here and abroad, my dad’s “short” life of 55 years would be very long indeed.
I always come back to this quote from poet Robert Bly: “Wherever the wound appears in our psyche, that is precisely the place from which we will give our major gift to the community.” Please think about that. “Wherever the wound appears in our psyche, that is precisely the place from which we will give our major gift to the community.”
Do you feel wounded this week?
I do.
How can we make a gift of it?
I think about Robin Williams’ suicide and the need to better treat depression and mental illness. I think about the refugee children coming across U.S. borders, desperate for help. Mass incarceration. Conflicts abroad. Discrimination and abuse of transgender men and women. The needs in each community around the country.
The roots of the problems are deep and tangled. My greatest fear is no longer death, but that we will not make enough change in my lifetime.
To fulfill our mission–to transform lives and do justice– we have to look our fears in the eye — fear that we are too small, that the problems are too big, fear that there is nothing we can do, scientifically unfounded fears that refugee children are sicker than our own children and nonsense like that. Then summon our courage and get to work.
Get people registered to vote. VOTE. Volunteer with justice organizations in this church. Give money to organizations providing aid and working on legal challenges. Pressure your elected officials to change laws. There are easy forms and email addresses and good old-fashioned phone numbers on the internet. I urge you to start this week– and how about every week?– with half an hour of pestering people in power about the things that matter to you.
We cannot be too paralyzed by fear to take real actions.
We also cannot let fear stop us from talking, face to face, about Ferguson. About America. About Austin. About racism and injustice.
Ferguson, Missouri, United States of America,–where an unarmed black teenager, Mike Brown, was shot and killed by police and left in the street, bloody, uncovered, for hours for his family and neighbors to see. Where police met protesters with equipment far beyond that of even military infantry. Tear gas. Rubber bullets. Fear tactics. Terror.
Greg Howard wrote a powerful piece for the online magazine Deadspin this week, titled “America is Not for Black People.” I couldn’t bring myself to read this piece for a couple days. The headline alone was so painful. But I knew the fear of reading it meant I needed to read it. In the piece, Howard describes quote “a very real, very American fear” of black men.
“They-we-” he writes, “are inexplicably seen as a millions-strong army of potential killers, capable and cold enough that any single one could be a threat to a trained police officer in a bulletproof vest. There are reasons why white gun rights activists can walk into a Chipotle restaurant with assault rifles and be seen as gauche nuisances while unarmed black men are killed for reaching for their wallets or cell phones, or carrying children’s toys.”
Mike Brown’s death is a part of a very big, heartbreaking picture. How can we improve that picture — law, attitudes, accountability — if we are too scared to talk to each other about it? If we are scared of each other, period?
There is a fear of failure–a fear that we will say the wrong thing. A fear that everything will come out wrong and we will make it worse. I have this fear standing before you now. I can’t and I don’t pretend to have all the answers.
But the only way we can make racism and abuse of power and gross inequality worse right now is by giving up, by not caring, by putting a happy face on it, by looking away.
Earlier this year I attended Bahai Racial Unity Day at the San Marcos UU Fellowship. There, the lay leader read this unforgettable quote from Rev. Dr. Rebecca Parker, former president of Starr King School for the Ministry: “The inner journey of anti-racism for whites involves learning to withdraw our negative and positive projections from people of color. Whites must become relationally committed to meeting people of color as themselves, not as symbolic extensions of ourselves.”
Friends and church members of color, it is not your job to educate those of us who are white. But as a member of this congregation who wants it to be as welcoming and diverse and true to our mission as possible, I very much want to listen to what you have to say.
Those of us who are white — we must rise above the tendency to take things personally. We mus be present to hear and feel the individual experiences of people of color. When so many say, as Ali Barthwell wrote in XOJane, that they are terrified of police, we mustn’t try to debate those feelings. We must not equate loss of life and lifetimes of oppression to property damage.
It’s about understanding that current events do not happen in a vacuum. It’s about recognizing, as we say in the UU church, the inherent worth and dignity of our fellow Americans, so we can make very real change– in the systems, in ourselves, in our relationships.
—-
The tasks ahead for us– all of us — are daunting. They are scary. But my experience with the spiritual practice of facing fear, from now seemingly petty fears like foods and hairstyles to something as personal and profound as losing a loved one, is that we can tackle this. We can overcome our fears, even the biggest ones. We don’t have to be perfect, and we have what it takes.
When your own fear about saying the wrong thing is about to halt a conversation that needs to be had, be brave. Remember that there are others in this country who fear for their children walking down the street–who fear the dangers of a drug war they did not start, who live in unsafe conditions in part due to unjust laws and a lack of living wage. And there are even those with an equally tragic, but far more modern fear–that if I, for example, as a white mother, do not teach my son well–and maybe even if I do–he could end up as the shooter in a school or a movie theater or in SWAT gear in a racially charged tragedy like Ferguson.
I acknowledge those fears today so that we may know they are real AND so that we may start to overcome them. Let us not be downtrodden. Let us not borrow sorrow, as the saying goes, from the people of Ferguson. Instead, let’s be the ones who use our privileges — one of which is witnessing Ferguson’s plight from a physical distance — to do the work of racial reconciliation, social justice, and human rights. We must rest and work, pray and work, meditate and work, dance for joy and work. Let’s overcome our fears, shine our lights brightly, and be the change we want to see, for us all.
—
I invite you to a big, important anti-racism workshop hosted and led by this church, coming up on Sept 5-6. Please talk to Rev. Mari Caballero and Chris Jimmerson. I will be there. It is open to our youth, to our adults, to the public, to people of all backgrounds.
Thank you for listening with loving hearts. We will close today with the responsive reading that is an insert to your order of service. The Samuel DeWitt Proctor Conference, which represents a cross section of progressive African American faith leaders and their congregations, has asked churches like ours to join them in this litany today.
A Litany For Children Slain By Violence and Traumatized By Those Called to “Serve and Protect”
August 17, 2014 ©2014
by Samuel DeWitt Proctor Conference, adapted by Erin Walter
Leader: A sound is heard in Ramah, the sound of bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children. She refuses to be comforted, for they are dead.
Congregation: We pray for the families of children who have been slain by gun violence, left to die on streets with less dignity than is given to animals.
Leader: A sound is heard in every city. Communities are weeping generationally for their children. Our sons, like Emmett Till, Trayvon Martin, Ezell Ford, Michael Brown and John Crawford. Our daughters, like Ayanna Jones, Miriam Carey, Malisa Williams and Tarika Wilson.
Congregation: As people of this loving community, we weep for the lives of all children who, instead of enjoying the sweetness of innocence, become victims of hate, victims of war, and victims of violence.
Leader: Now, let us rise up and interrupt these rushing waters of violence that leave children and communities wounded and paralyzed, traumatized by internal disintegration and state terror. Let us rise up and demand this nation abandon its affair with beliefs, practices and laws that are rooted in militarism, justified by racism and propped up by systemic inequities.
Congregation: We will rise up against laws that have no concern for life, nor any concern for love. We will rise up until justice rolls on like a river and righteousness like a never failing stream.
Leader: Spirit of life and love and all that is holy, we commit ourselves to seeing all children, no matter their age or race, as precious gifts, created with transformative purpose and unlimited promise.
Congregation: And for that cause, we pledge to be hedges of protection for their lives, we pledge to stand against anything that threatens their potential or promise.
All: We embody the universal spirit of Ubuntu, “I am because we are and because we are, I am.” We are all Rachel crying for the children! Therefore, we pledge to lock arms in solidarity with the families of the slain. We pledge to let our voices be heard all over this nation and the world, for we know we are called to do what is just and right.
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