The Right Kind of Fear

When I was pastor at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville, one of the topics I most often discussed with our students were their plans for the future. Their dreams and expectations always inspired me: for example, to become a great doctor, to heal people; or to start a business, in order to build something of their own; or to be an engineer, to discover new technologies to make the future better. Often, I found that along with their dreams and hopes, these students were also motivated by a certain kind of fear: a fear of *not* reaching the goal they had. They knew that their goals were lofty and difficult to achieve, and so that fear also motivated them to work hard, to keep striving through difficulties in order to achieve what they desired.

Most of the time, we think of fear as bad, but a certain kind of fear – the right kind – can be good. Good fear motivates us; it challenges us. It spurs us onward to achieve what is difficult – what we might not do otherwise. We see the difference between these two kinds of fear in the Gospel today. Each of the three servants know that they have a demanding Master, one whom they are afraid of disappointing. The ones who receive five talents and two talents, respectively, have the right kind of fear; they intuitively understand that their Master expects a return on what he has entrusted to them, and so they get down to business. On the other hand, the servant who receives one talent is afraid in a bad way; he doesn’t know what his Master wants, and so his fear becomes crippling, leading him to do nothing. When he returns, the Master is angry with the idleness of the servant; he knew his Master was demanding, but instead he did nothing. And his inactivity is made all the worse when it is compared with the industriousness of the other two.

What the unfortunate servant lacked was a desire for greatness, and the right kind of fear that comes with it. In most areas of our lives, we want to be great. We don’t aim for mediocrity in our jobs, in our friendships, in our family relationships – we want greatness, whether we end up achieving it or not. But when it comes to our relationship with God, too often we settle for being just okay. We don’t want to be *bad*, per se, but we’re alright with not being the best. The question is why? What are we afraid of? Are we afraid of appearing foolish to others? Or perhaps the problem is something else. Perhaps we are afraid of being great – great disciples, great friends of Jesus, great servants of the Lord? Perhaps, like the servant who only received one talent, we are afraid of taking action, of being decisive in striving for greatness?

Andrei Mironov, The Parable of the Talents (2013)

The truth is that the Lord desires our greatness. He wants us to be great, but great in what really matters – in knowing and loving him, and in giving witness to him in how we live. Greatness in the earthly things of our life – our careers, our friendships, our families – are not in the end what he is truly interested in, because they don’t last beyond this world. But we were made for something beyond this earth; we have been created with an immortal soul that has the ability to know and love and serve him so that we may be with him in the next. In the end, that is the only kind of greatness that matters – the greatness of sanctity, of striving to serve the Lord at every moment and with every aspect of who we are. To do that we need a certain kind of fear – the kind that inspires us to boldness, to action, to strive through difficulties to achieve what we desire. It may be that we will make mistakes along the way; that’s okay – God offers us the chance always to begin anew. But what can’t be tolerated is inactivity, slothfulness – when we are afraid to seek his will or assuming that we have done what is necessary to satisfy him. It is then that we have to remember the warning of this parable: that the Lord expects us to be working hard until he returns because he will demand an account of what we have been given.

Friends, the Christian writer Léon Bloy once wrote: “The only real sadness, the only real failure, the only great tragedy in life, is not to become a saint.” That may seem like a high standard to strive for, but it is the same one Jesus gives us in the Gospel today. Jesus himself is ready to help us, of course – to give us the grace we need. But maybe he also is calling us to dream big ourselves and, like the students at the university, to be motivated by the fear of not achieving what he calls us to. As we prepare to celebrate the Eucharist in a few moments, let’s just make sure that what we are striving for, in the end, is not the greatness of earthly success, but the greatness of love, of sanctity, of Christian witness that will carry us to the life to come.