Lord Jesus Christ, Savior and Deliverer, I bless and thank you for your readiness and willingness to undergo your Passion. After you had offered your thrice-repeated petition to God, your cruel enemies arrived amid the night's darkness, with your betrayer the evil Judas - a large crowd with staves and swords, arms and torches, as if to apprehend a thieve. At that moment you went out to meet them saying: Whom do you seek? ... I am he. If you seek me, let these others go.1
At your first word, so filled with power, their proud defiance was discomfitted and brought to utter confusion, and immediately they all fell backward, collapsing to the ground. What would have happened if you had summoned twelve legions of angels? Since you had come among us to suffer, you chose not to use your divine power but to make known your benign patience. By a single word you showed what power is actually yours, and for a time you permitted the impious to have the upper hand in grievously insulting you. Thus you made it clear that you were willingly entering upon your Passion to bring about our redemption and, thereby, to fulfill the writings of the prophets.
I praise and glorify you, Jesus Christ, most innocent Lamb of God, for your unspeakable meekness and overwhelming kindness in not being aroused with wrath against your deceitful betrayer or angrily turning away from him. Rather you kindly deigned to engage him in friendly conversation calling him, in your usual gentle manner, Friend, and you gave him, though unworthy, a tender kiss with your lips and lovingly said: Friend, why have you come?2
With such words as these, you admonished his rashness, his iniquity, and his disloyalty: Judas, do you betray the Son of Man with a kiss?3 Even more sadly, he who once was numbered among the apostles - neither fearing the divine justice nor swayed by your friendship - did not refrain from extending his hands to the most heinous of crimes, and now, as head of this band of ruffians, he gave them as the signal: Whomever I shall kiss, it is he. Take hold of him.4 O most wicked disciple and most loving Master! O base servant and most faithful Lord!
How admirable your behavior, how wonderful your patience, most gentle and kind Jesus! In the very act of his carrying out this shameful betrayal, you did not forget your old friendship and affection, but in return for so great an injury done to you, you exercised your healing power, for when a disciple cut off the ear of one of the high priest's servants, you restored it by the touch of your sacred hand. You restrained Peter, then defending you from those attacking you, saying: Put back your sword where it belongs. Am I not to drink the cup which the Father has given me to drink? Thus it is to be.5
I now ask you, my God, grant me, since I am but a frail reed, greater patience amid my trials, and may sudden anger never overwhelm me, nor the spirit of revenge inflame me, when my enemies utter insults against me, or when accusations are made of which I know I am innocent. Grant me not to fear my accuser but to receive his allegations in good spirit and to look upon him, who so discourteously blames and slanders me, as a friend.
Let no indignation arise in me for any harshness shown me, nor let any remembrance of unjust offenses remain in me. May your most benign bearing of such evil treatment strengthen my will by granting it patience, as well as the desire to endure even greater trials for love of you.
1 Jn 18.7-8; 2 Mt 26.50; 3 Lk 22.48; 4 Mk 14.44; 5 Jn 18.
(From Thomas of Kempen’s On the Passion of Christ According to the Four Evangelists. Ignatius. 2004).
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
On our Lord's triple prayer, his prostration before the Father and his resignation of will
Lord Jesus Christ, Sustainer of angels and Refuge of the desolate, I bless and thank you for your anguished prayer and humble prostrations. On bended knees you thrice prayed, earnestly and devoutly, to your heavenly Father that, if it be possible, the chalice of you Passion be taken from you, however, always adding: Nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.1
I praise and glorify you for your strenuous combat against the horror of death and the most bitter sorrows of your Passion. But when the divine love that burned so ardently within you prevailed, it wiped out all human fear.
I praise and thank you for the abundant flow of your bloody sweat, when in your agony you prayed the more fervently - drops of which, contrary to nature, poured profusely from your body.
I adore and glorify you, Creator and Ruler of the heavenly spirits, for your humble acceptance of the angelic comfort, which you did not disdain to receive from the ministering angel. In this way you teach us that, in our weakness, we should not seek comfort in transitory things but strive for that which is heavenly.
Good Jesus, with how great an ardent love did you love me! Your prayer was so fervent in my behalf that together with your desire to suffer for me, your warm blood, instead of natural sweat, flowed down upon the ground.
I praise and reverence you with endless honor, Creator of my soul and Exemplar of my life, for your complete resignation, the total abnegation of your will, and your body's natural instincts that made you abhor pain and death. When the hour of your suffering arrived, you spontaneously and willingly resigned yourself to your Father, saying: Father, not my will, but yours be done.2
By these very words you offered greater glory to your Father and you merited abundantly for us. You thoroughly conquered the devil and clearly demonstrated to all of us faithful that you are our model of perfection, the sign of our salvation, and our way to perfect virtue.
Jesus, may I ever remember and adore you. With great affection of heart, I ask you to grant that I may gain the fruit of your thrice-repeated prayer and with a generous heart to imitate, in the religious state that I have chosen, your example of self-abnegation.
Also grant me the grace courageously to overcome my defiant flesh for the benefit of my soul, to cast out all carnal fear, to pray more frequently and attentively, to enjoy your assistance, to leave every outcome in your hands, to renounce my will thoroughly, and to be ready to suffer whatever comes.
1 Luke 22.42
2 Mark 14.36
(From Thomas of Kempen’s On the Passion of Christ According to the Four Evangelists. Ignatius. 2004).
I praise and glorify you for your strenuous combat against the horror of death and the most bitter sorrows of your Passion. But when the divine love that burned so ardently within you prevailed, it wiped out all human fear.
I praise and thank you for the abundant flow of your bloody sweat, when in your agony you prayed the more fervently - drops of which, contrary to nature, poured profusely from your body.
I adore and glorify you, Creator and Ruler of the heavenly spirits, for your humble acceptance of the angelic comfort, which you did not disdain to receive from the ministering angel. In this way you teach us that, in our weakness, we should not seek comfort in transitory things but strive for that which is heavenly.
Good Jesus, with how great an ardent love did you love me! Your prayer was so fervent in my behalf that together with your desire to suffer for me, your warm blood, instead of natural sweat, flowed down upon the ground.
I praise and reverence you with endless honor, Creator of my soul and Exemplar of my life, for your complete resignation, the total abnegation of your will, and your body's natural instincts that made you abhor pain and death. When the hour of your suffering arrived, you spontaneously and willingly resigned yourself to your Father, saying: Father, not my will, but yours be done.2
By these very words you offered greater glory to your Father and you merited abundantly for us. You thoroughly conquered the devil and clearly demonstrated to all of us faithful that you are our model of perfection, the sign of our salvation, and our way to perfect virtue.
Jesus, may I ever remember and adore you. With great affection of heart, I ask you to grant that I may gain the fruit of your thrice-repeated prayer and with a generous heart to imitate, in the religious state that I have chosen, your example of self-abnegation.
Also grant me the grace courageously to overcome my defiant flesh for the benefit of my soul, to cast out all carnal fear, to pray more frequently and attentively, to enjoy your assistance, to leave every outcome in your hands, to renounce my will thoroughly, and to be ready to suffer whatever comes.
1 Luke 22.42
2 Mark 14.36
(From Thomas of Kempen’s On the Passion of Christ According to the Four Evangelists. Ignatius. 2004).
Saturday, July 4, 2009
On the sorrow and fear that Jesus experienced
Lord Jesus Christ, Creator and Redeemer of all the faithful, I bless and thank you for the sorrowful beginning of your most bitter Passion, for your extreme sadness of soul, and for the anguish and dread you felt in your weak human nature, which you willingly assumed for our sake. When the hour of your betrayal was at hand you were filled with sadness and fear.
You were not ashamed to express that sadness openly in the presence of the apostles, saying: My soul is sorrowful unto death.1 O wondrous dispensation of God! Lord of power, who shortly before had fortified your disciples for the combat, now you appear as one enfeebled, totally devoid of strength and courage.
You generously uttered that statement in order to comfort us, who are weak and cowardly, lest one of us, being severely tempted, despair of forgiveness and salvation. For if someone were to feel less than cheerful in bearing his suffering or in experiencing certain weaknesses of his flesh, then he can repeat in his fear and sadness what we read that you yourself had said: Nevertheless, not as I will but as you will.2
I ask you, most loving Jesus, my only hope in every difficulty and trial, to permit me to enter with a compassionate heart into the sorrowful beginnings of your most blessed Passion, and from there to rise little by little to the contemplation of its more bitter elements, so that in following you in every step of your sorrows I may find a healing remedy for my soul.
Grant me, for the glory of your name, the patience to suffer whatever trials may come my way, and that, when faced with many afflictions, I may never yield to despair but wholly resign myself to the good pleasure of your eternal will.
1 Mark 14.34
2 Luke 22.42
(From Thomas of Kempen's On the Passion of Christ According to the Four Evangelists. Ignatius. 2004).
You were not ashamed to express that sadness openly in the presence of the apostles, saying: My soul is sorrowful unto death.1 O wondrous dispensation of God! Lord of power, who shortly before had fortified your disciples for the combat, now you appear as one enfeebled, totally devoid of strength and courage.
You generously uttered that statement in order to comfort us, who are weak and cowardly, lest one of us, being severely tempted, despair of forgiveness and salvation. For if someone were to feel less than cheerful in bearing his suffering or in experiencing certain weaknesses of his flesh, then he can repeat in his fear and sadness what we read that you yourself had said: Nevertheless, not as I will but as you will.2
I ask you, most loving Jesus, my only hope in every difficulty and trial, to permit me to enter with a compassionate heart into the sorrowful beginnings of your most blessed Passion, and from there to rise little by little to the contemplation of its more bitter elements, so that in following you in every step of your sorrows I may find a healing remedy for my soul.
Grant me, for the glory of your name, the patience to suffer whatever trials may come my way, and that, when faced with many afflictions, I may never yield to despair but wholly resign myself to the good pleasure of your eternal will.
1 Mark 14.34
2 Luke 22.42
(From Thomas of Kempen's On the Passion of Christ According to the Four Evangelists. Ignatius. 2004).
Thursday, July 2, 2009
A perfect memory
We sin. And even when we confess it - both to God and to "confessors," it remains that we have sinned. There are sins that we commit that we grieve and mourn for the rest of our lives. Some of the most grievous are well in the past, according to human standards of temporality. But they will never be far enough away in time from the here and now to satisfy our conscience or make us think them somehow less significant than they are.
Ten, twenty, fifty years from now - how will we think of them then? Will the pain of reflection be so sharp then as it is now? Will our memory and mourning of them ever fade? Perhaps not. But, our memories do fail.
But God's doesn't.
And that sobers. God remembers all of our lives perfectly - every moment, every sin. He doesn't just remember them because they are written down in His book. He remembers them because His memory's perfect. His memory is so perfect, that He knows them as if they happened but a moment ago. Understanding the nature of His memory - its perfection and permanence - actually helps us to grieve our sins properly.
But we cannot forget God's perfect memory of something even further back in "time." God's memory of this something is so precise and clear that it, too, is ever-present before Him. And that Passion impresses God more than our sins. In a very important sense, He cannot even "see" our sins because of the stark image in His mind of those streaming, bloody lines running down that Man's flesh - so much so that He doesn't even "remember" our sins - or at least doesn't remember them "against us." And that is our great comfort. Still, this saving image is often not so stark in our minds as our own sin. You see, our memory often fails in exactly the place it shouldn't.
But God's doesn't.
Ten, twenty, fifty years from now - how will we think of them then? Will the pain of reflection be so sharp then as it is now? Will our memory and mourning of them ever fade? Perhaps not. But, our memories do fail.
But God's doesn't.
And that sobers. God remembers all of our lives perfectly - every moment, every sin. He doesn't just remember them because they are written down in His book. He remembers them because His memory's perfect. His memory is so perfect, that He knows them as if they happened but a moment ago. Understanding the nature of His memory - its perfection and permanence - actually helps us to grieve our sins properly.
But we cannot forget God's perfect memory of something even further back in "time." God's memory of this something is so precise and clear that it, too, is ever-present before Him. And that Passion impresses God more than our sins. In a very important sense, He cannot even "see" our sins because of the stark image in His mind of those streaming, bloody lines running down that Man's flesh - so much so that He doesn't even "remember" our sins - or at least doesn't remember them "against us." And that is our great comfort. Still, this saving image is often not so stark in our minds as our own sin. You see, our memory often fails in exactly the place it shouldn't.
But God's doesn't.
On the sale of Jesus by the traitor Judas
Lord Jesus Christ, Supreme Goodness and Eternal Majesty, I bless and thank you for being unjustly sold by your own disciple for so ignoble and meager a price as thirty pieces of silver.
I praise and glorify you for your patient sufferance of that disloyal disciple, for though you foresaw that he was hastening to betray you, nevertheless, you did not manifest any anger toward him, nor did you speak any harsh words to him. You did not make his evil intentions known to others, nor after so villainous a deed did you remove him from his office or refuse him Holy Communion.
How great is your patience, most gentle Jesus, and how great my impatience!
Alas! How poorly I tolerate a brother when he as said or done something against me. But you, for so long a time and without complaint, have endured your disciple Judas, who would soon sell and betray you, while I, for a paltry insult, quickly yield to anger and think of various ways of vindicating myself or of offering excuses. Where then is my patience, where is my meekness?
Help me, good Jesus, and instill the virtue of your meekness in my heart in greater abundance, for without your inspiration and special grace I cannot enjoy peace of soul amid this life's many vexations.
(From Thomas of Kempen's On the Passion of Christ According to the Four Evangelists. Ignatius. 2004).
I praise and glorify you for your patient sufferance of that disloyal disciple, for though you foresaw that he was hastening to betray you, nevertheless, you did not manifest any anger toward him, nor did you speak any harsh words to him. You did not make his evil intentions known to others, nor after so villainous a deed did you remove him from his office or refuse him Holy Communion.
How great is your patience, most gentle Jesus, and how great my impatience!
Alas! How poorly I tolerate a brother when he as said or done something against me. But you, for so long a time and without complaint, have endured your disciple Judas, who would soon sell and betray you, while I, for a paltry insult, quickly yield to anger and think of various ways of vindicating myself or of offering excuses. Where then is my patience, where is my meekness?
Help me, good Jesus, and instill the virtue of your meekness in my heart in greater abundance, for without your inspiration and special grace I cannot enjoy peace of soul amid this life's many vexations.
(From Thomas of Kempen's On the Passion of Christ According to the Four Evangelists. Ignatius. 2004).
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Gideon's trumpet
This morning, the lectionary reading for Morning Prayer was from Judges 6 – the familiar story of Gideon. As I was reading it for my time of personal devotion, I could not but think of how there might be parallels for my own life – at least, that’s what I prayed and wished.
In the passage, the angel of Jehovah appears to Gideon, who was busy threshing wheat. He said to Gideon, "The LORD is with you, you mighty man of valor!... Go in this might of yours, and you shall save Israel from the Midianites.” However, Gideon’s own feelings about himself are in stark contrast to the angel’s assessment. "O my Lord, how can I save Israel? Indeed my clan is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the least in my father's house.”
You see, I am weak and small, like Gideon. I suppose we all feel this way most of the time. And perhaps the larger a person’s vision, the smaller he feels. Certainly Gideon’s task seemed overwhelming to him. And, like Gideon, the multitude of tasks before me seems overwhelming. And interestingly enough, the time frame of seven years is another parallel to my own life. Jehovah had delivered the Israelites into the hands of the Midianites for seven years. I will have been pastoring here in Lafayette for seven years, come August. I wonder if Gideon felt the fatigue of seemingly fruitless labor like I do. Gideon was hiding away in the wine press to thresh the wheat lest the Midianites steal their food. Though I can’t say that I’ve been as faithful in the labor of “husbandry” as Gideon appears to have been, I, too, feel stuck in the wine press, circumscribed by the constrictions of the work space and the smallness of my productivity.
I keep going back to that number “seven.” Seven, we know, is the Sabbath number. It is the number before the resurrection number – eight. I’ve been talking with a friend about the significance of this number. It seems that God often works consistently within numeric frameworks as He works out our redemption. For example, the seventh year of marriage often seems to be a hard year for couples. But, if they persevere, the eighth is often a time of greater fruitfulness and joy. I am hoping this will be true in my ministry here.
At the right time, the Spirit of the LORD came upon Gideon; then he blew the trumpet, and his kinsmen gathered behind him. I want one of those trumpets! Ever since I’ve arrived, I’ve pleaded with God that He would send me helpers – a wife, godly friends, an associate pastor, a secretary, you name it. Yet here I remain, small and alone. However, God has recently been building our forces. We have a few men, now, who have a heart for the labor. They’ve bought into the vision. All they need is a leader. But I still don’t have one of those trumpets. And the end of the seventh year is approaching. I still want the trumpet because there are more men that I want to gather. I discern that we need more gifts added to the mix. I’m not asking for a big army, just the right army – just a few more men who can fill out the necessary gifts-set and who have the vision.
I went to a conference a couple of years ago in Moscow. Steve Wilkins lectured on John Witherspoon’s influence upon his students at Princeton – the same men who founded our country. Witherspoon instructed them that they “must conspire together.” I came away more fully convinced than ever that no great or lasting work within human history was ever accomplished by a single individual. Sure, there have always been great men, and we seem to remember them singularly. But even Jesus Himself gathered twelve with whom He shared the vision. They were His army of friends. They conspired to take over the world. And no other mission has endured like unto His. I also think of the Westminster Assembly and the seven Scottish divines who would ride down to the Assembly together, conspiring on how they could exercise the most influence on the Assembly, planning who would be on what committee, who would represent what view on the Assembly floor, how they would arrange their seating in order to spread out and not be suspected of being in collusion together. They were shrewd as serpents, innocent as doves. And they influenced a whole bunch of Anglicans and Independents to formulate a Presbyterian document.
Since that conference I attended, I have asked some of my dearest friends – men who I knew had my vision, men who have special gifts that I don’t have, men with whom I would love to live, work, and die alongside – to come to Lafayette and join with me in this labor. But I don’t have that trumpet. And I think, “Maybe the timing is not right. The eighth year is coming.”
God send me warrior-friends; the kinsmen of my heart. You know the ones I mean… and the ones I can’t yet imagine.
In the passage, the angel of Jehovah appears to Gideon, who was busy threshing wheat. He said to Gideon, "The LORD is with you, you mighty man of valor!... Go in this might of yours, and you shall save Israel from the Midianites.” However, Gideon’s own feelings about himself are in stark contrast to the angel’s assessment. "O my Lord, how can I save Israel? Indeed my clan is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the least in my father's house.”
You see, I am weak and small, like Gideon. I suppose we all feel this way most of the time. And perhaps the larger a person’s vision, the smaller he feels. Certainly Gideon’s task seemed overwhelming to him. And, like Gideon, the multitude of tasks before me seems overwhelming. And interestingly enough, the time frame of seven years is another parallel to my own life. Jehovah had delivered the Israelites into the hands of the Midianites for seven years. I will have been pastoring here in Lafayette for seven years, come August. I wonder if Gideon felt the fatigue of seemingly fruitless labor like I do. Gideon was hiding away in the wine press to thresh the wheat lest the Midianites steal their food. Though I can’t say that I’ve been as faithful in the labor of “husbandry” as Gideon appears to have been, I, too, feel stuck in the wine press, circumscribed by the constrictions of the work space and the smallness of my productivity.
I keep going back to that number “seven.” Seven, we know, is the Sabbath number. It is the number before the resurrection number – eight. I’ve been talking with a friend about the significance of this number. It seems that God often works consistently within numeric frameworks as He works out our redemption. For example, the seventh year of marriage often seems to be a hard year for couples. But, if they persevere, the eighth is often a time of greater fruitfulness and joy. I am hoping this will be true in my ministry here.
At the right time, the Spirit of the LORD came upon Gideon; then he blew the trumpet, and his kinsmen gathered behind him. I want one of those trumpets! Ever since I’ve arrived, I’ve pleaded with God that He would send me helpers – a wife, godly friends, an associate pastor, a secretary, you name it. Yet here I remain, small and alone. However, God has recently been building our forces. We have a few men, now, who have a heart for the labor. They’ve bought into the vision. All they need is a leader. But I still don’t have one of those trumpets. And the end of the seventh year is approaching. I still want the trumpet because there are more men that I want to gather. I discern that we need more gifts added to the mix. I’m not asking for a big army, just the right army – just a few more men who can fill out the necessary gifts-set and who have the vision.
I went to a conference a couple of years ago in Moscow. Steve Wilkins lectured on John Witherspoon’s influence upon his students at Princeton – the same men who founded our country. Witherspoon instructed them that they “must conspire together.” I came away more fully convinced than ever that no great or lasting work within human history was ever accomplished by a single individual. Sure, there have always been great men, and we seem to remember them singularly. But even Jesus Himself gathered twelve with whom He shared the vision. They were His army of friends. They conspired to take over the world. And no other mission has endured like unto His. I also think of the Westminster Assembly and the seven Scottish divines who would ride down to the Assembly together, conspiring on how they could exercise the most influence on the Assembly, planning who would be on what committee, who would represent what view on the Assembly floor, how they would arrange their seating in order to spread out and not be suspected of being in collusion together. They were shrewd as serpents, innocent as doves. And they influenced a whole bunch of Anglicans and Independents to formulate a Presbyterian document.
Since that conference I attended, I have asked some of my dearest friends – men who I knew had my vision, men who have special gifts that I don’t have, men with whom I would love to live, work, and die alongside – to come to Lafayette and join with me in this labor. But I don’t have that trumpet. And I think, “Maybe the timing is not right. The eighth year is coming.”
God send me warrior-friends; the kinsmen of my heart. You know the ones I mean… and the ones I can’t yet imagine.
Motivated by fear
In recent years, I've seen ever more clearly the contradistinction between fear and faith. Especially interesting to me is the way fear often disguises itself as faith or faithfulness or wisdom. Often, even within ourselves, we cannot discern the difference.
I watched Transformers. Starscream said to Megatron, "I'm not saying you're a coward, but sometimes cowards survive." And then, he ran. This seems to sum up the motivation of fear - survival.
What does St. John mean when he says in his epistle that "perfect love casts out fear?" I think it has to do with our motivations. Perhaps it could be suggested that the only difference between fear and faith is whether we are acting out of love - perfect love, i.e., love that is complete and entire, love that is self-sacrificing and giving for another. When we love, we give up our lives. When we try to hang on to our lives, we act out of self-preservation, out of fear of losing life or comfort, out of self-love. But when we truly love God and give ourselves up to Him, we are able to give up our default drive of self-preservation and be courageous with our lives. As John says, we become bold. We become bold in the day of judgment and because of that, we can have boldness today. Because as He is - vindicated, victorious, jubilant, fearless - so are we in this world.
1 John 4.17-18 Love has been perfected among us in this: that we may have boldness in the day of judgment; because as He is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves torment. But he who fears has not been made perfect in love.
We have been delivered from the fear of death. We have been delivered from the fear of what may happen to our harm or displeasure. And insofar as we have not, we have not been perfected in love. Insofar as we act of out of fear - self-preservation - we compromise other people in our lives. Then we defend our choices by cloaking them as "wisdom." This is not to say that fear in our own hearts is clear to us or that we can even perceive our motivations in this. Cowards are often self-deceived. This is what makes Starscream's motto unrealistic. He called his own cowardice by name. Most cowards won't admit their cowardice to themselves. Why? Pride of life. It is the very pride of life - that thing which motivates them to preserve their lives out of fear - which blinds them to the reality of their hearts. They're too scared to admit they're scared.
May God perfect us in love that fear may be cast out. May we be entire in love that there may be no room for self-love. May we be whole in love that there may be no place for pride of life. As He is, so are we in this world - humble, self-sacrificial lovers of God and others.
I watched Transformers. Starscream said to Megatron, "I'm not saying you're a coward, but sometimes cowards survive." And then, he ran. This seems to sum up the motivation of fear - survival.
What does St. John mean when he says in his epistle that "perfect love casts out fear?" I think it has to do with our motivations. Perhaps it could be suggested that the only difference between fear and faith is whether we are acting out of love - perfect love, i.e., love that is complete and entire, love that is self-sacrificing and giving for another. When we love, we give up our lives. When we try to hang on to our lives, we act out of self-preservation, out of fear of losing life or comfort, out of self-love. But when we truly love God and give ourselves up to Him, we are able to give up our default drive of self-preservation and be courageous with our lives. As John says, we become bold. We become bold in the day of judgment and because of that, we can have boldness today. Because as He is - vindicated, victorious, jubilant, fearless - so are we in this world.
1 John 4.17-18 Love has been perfected among us in this: that we may have boldness in the day of judgment; because as He is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves torment. But he who fears has not been made perfect in love.
We have been delivered from the fear of death. We have been delivered from the fear of what may happen to our harm or displeasure. And insofar as we have not, we have not been perfected in love. Insofar as we act of out of fear - self-preservation - we compromise other people in our lives. Then we defend our choices by cloaking them as "wisdom." This is not to say that fear in our own hearts is clear to us or that we can even perceive our motivations in this. Cowards are often self-deceived. This is what makes Starscream's motto unrealistic. He called his own cowardice by name. Most cowards won't admit their cowardice to themselves. Why? Pride of life. It is the very pride of life - that thing which motivates them to preserve their lives out of fear - which blinds them to the reality of their hearts. They're too scared to admit they're scared.
May God perfect us in love that fear may be cast out. May we be entire in love that there may be no room for self-love. May we be whole in love that there may be no place for pride of life. As He is, so are we in this world - humble, self-sacrificial lovers of God and others.
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