In two conversations this past week, a gripping response was present: fear. Two disasters grip us—fire and flood. Both are unrelenting forces, overwhelming when they come upon us, but also haunting metaphors for the inner storms that scorch and drown our souls. Fear, anxiety, grief, sorrow, loss—these are the floods that rise, the flames that burn within.
If I asked you, “What is the most repeated command in all of Scripture?” what would you answer? Love? Obey? Believe? No—the steady refrain of heaven is: Do not be afraid. Some even suggest there are 365 versions of this command—one for every day of the year.
When Fear Takes Hold
Fear is, of course, one of our most human companions. When danger looms—whether violence in our streets, hatred in our politics, or the uncertainty of the future—we brace ourselves. Our minds rehearse worst-case endings. Fear thrives in the gap between what is and what might be. It paints shadows larger than reality, reminding us that we are fragile, finite, and not in control. When fear descends, it paralyzes.
And yet, again and again, God breaks in with that counter-melody: Fear not.
Through the Eyes of a Child
Wendy and I were sitting in the ferry line in Port Townsend, waiting for the Salish to carry us back to Whidbey Island. A Suburban pulled up beside us, and out of a rolled-down window appeared a little face. Sleep still tangled her hair, but her whole being radiated light. Her eyes darted with wonder—right, left, up, down. Tiny fingers pointed, waved, and finally blew kisses into the air, as though the world itself was her beloved. And then, when her eyes caught her mother’s reflection in the side mirror, joy spilled over. Recognition! Love! She squealed with delight, unable to contain her sheer happiness at being seen.
Her little eyes were angelic; her spirit drew us in as we waited for the ferry to take us home.
That is how God sees you. And me. And them.
What Fear Teaches and What God Calls Us To
In our fear, we imagine enemies—people who look different, believe different, live different. We turn different into danger. But not every threat is real. Fear teaches us to blame. Fear makes us defensive. Fear convinces us we must draw lines in the sand, even fire weapons, to protect ourselves from shadows.
But God calls us higher.
- Not to silence one another with violence, but to speak truth in love.
- Not to retreat into hostility, but to risk hospitality.
- Not to let fear harden us, but to let grace soften us.
Fear, sadly, has become a way of life for many of us. For some, it deepens anxiety for us, for our children and grandchildren, even for our country. For others, fear and anger simmer together. And yet—the Gospel still calls us: to a spirituality of listening, of turning the other cheek, of refusing to let the fire of hatred or the flood of despair define us.
That little girl at the ferry window reminds me: there is another way to see the world. Not with suspicion. Not with dread. But with wonder, recognition, and love.
Another Way of Seeing
When hurricanes or tornadoes destroy whole towns, when shootings shatter the peace, when headlines ignite panic, when political and cultural wars stir up division, remember this: You are seen by God with joy. You are cherished with delight. You are held by the One who whispers. God is not taken by surprise by all that assaults and creates deeply felt fear. Do not be afraid.
So breathe. Let your heart rest. Shalom is not the absence of violence but the presence of God in its midst—like still waters running through scorched earth, like a shelter in the flood.
God meets you in the fire and the flood.
Our faith gives an alternative: God meets you even in the fire and the flood. God meets you in the fear and the anger. God meets you in your trembling, in the moments when fear becomes anger, suspicion, or blame. God meets us in the catastrophes of actual fire and flood. And God meets us when fear holds the heart captive. Grace is not reserved for the fearless; it is poured out precisely for the fearful.
What is needed? We seek God and we move toward one another, seeking shalom. We kneel in prayer and rise in action—toward harmony, collaboration, discourse, and common ground. In the fire and the flood, prayer is our portal to God’s presence; action is our portal to God’s peace.
Jesus warned us: “Everyone who hears these words of mine and does not act on them will be like a foolish man who built his house on sand,” (Matthew 7:26). We pray in order to act. Faith is our answer to fear—to believe that even in the fire and the flood, God’s love has not forgotten us, and God’s promises hold firmer than chaos.
And when fear feels louder than faith, let song steady your soul. Michael W. Smith’s “Sovereign Over Us” has carried many through fear into hope. Listen to it prayerfully. Let the music remind you: God is with us, sovereign even in the fire and the flood.
Even in the fire.
Even in the flood.
Even now.
You are not forgotten. You are not alone.
Shalom is still possible.
Practice:
Faith in the face of fear is a spiritual discipline. Find the song “Sovereign Over Us” by Michael W. Smith on YouTube or your favorite streaming service. Listen once with your heart open. Then listen again, this time with the lyrics before you. Let the words become your prayer.
Sovereign Over Us, by Michael W. Smith
There is strength within the sorrow
There is beauty in our tears
And you meet us in our mourning
With a love that cast out fear
You are working in our waiting
You’re sanctifying us
When beyond our understanding
You’re teaching us to trust
Your plans are still to prosper
You have not forgotten us
You’re with us in the fire and the flood
You’re faithful forever
Perfect in love
You are sovereign over us
You are wisdom unimagined
Who could understand your ways
Reigning high above the heavens
Reaching down in endless grace
You’re the lifter of the lowly
Compassionate and kind
You surround and you uphold me
And your promises are my delight
Your plans are still to prosper
You have not forgotten us
You’re with us in the fire and the flood
You’re faithful forever
Perfect in love
You are sovereign over us
Even what the enemy means for evil
You turn it for our good
You turn it for our good and for your glory
Even in the valley, you are faithful
You’re working for our good
You’re working for our good and for your glory
Even what the enemy means for evil
You turn it for our good
You turn it for our good and for your glory
Even in the valley, you are faithful
You’re working for our good
You’re working for our good and for your glory
Your plans are still to prosper
You have not forgotten us
You’re with us in the fire and the flood
Oh, you’re faithful forever
Perfect in love
You are sovereign over us
You’re faithful forever
Perfect in love
You are sovereign over us
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Keith Anderson, D.Min., is a Faculty Associate for Spirituality and Vocation at VantagePoint3 and President Emeritus of Seattle School of Theology and Psychology. He is the author of several books, including his most recent: On Holy Ground: Your Story of Identity, Belonging and Sacred Purpose (Wipf & Stock, 2024). His other works include Reading Your Life’s Story (IVP, 2016), A Spirituality of Listening (IVP, 2016), and Spiritual Mentoring (IVP, 1999). In his writing, teaching, and mentoring, Keith seeks to set a table for people looking to enter the “amazing inner sanctuary of the soul” in the most ordinary and extraordinary moments of life.