IT, Fear, and Re-Centering our Lives

Whenever I mention to someone that I have a bit of an irrational fear of clowns (which comes up in conversation more often than you would think), one of the first things I'm asked is, “Oh man, you must really get freaked out by IT then, right?”. Surprisingly, though, I don't. Pennywise is probably the only clown I've ever seen that hasn't given me the heebie jeebies. Maybe it's because Stephen King is one of my favorite authors, or because I've seen his two-part miniseries a dozen times over the years. But mostly, I think it's because I know that the man behind the makeup and fangs is Tim Curry. As great as his performance as Pennywise is, half the time I'm thinking about him as a stodgy butler or as a sweet transvestite. Being aware of his other famous roles somehow diffuses any fear that the character of Pennywise might have otherwise sprung up in me. In my mind, the same can't be said for any other clown, who could actually be a blood-sucking demon for all I know. 

IT is a movie. As an adult, I know that movies are nothing to be scared of, that they're just images on a screen. But my somewhat arbitrary distinction of Pennywise as being innocuous compared to other clowns brings out for me the fact that fear isn't something that's objective or concrete. It's a product of our mind, a remnant of our original set of survival instincts. That doesn't mean that strong fear feels any less real for us when we're in the middle of it, or that there aren't some things that are healthy for us to fear. It does mean that fear can be put in perspective and controlled to some degree.

But for so many of us, fear is a central part of our lives. Instead of ghosts, zombies, or old dolls (uggghh), it's the mundane things we face on a daily basis. Fear of confronting our bosses or family members, of crime, of illness, of disappointment and failure, of our difficulties in paying our next rent bill or loan payment. This type of fear can be crippling and can prevent us from thinking and acting clearly or living full lives.  

Obviously, we don't want to live in constant fear. God doesn't want us to, either. People are often shocked to find out that the most frequent command in the Bible isn't to do with not killing or stealing or committing adultery. It's “Do not be afraid.” Such a simple command, and yet how utterly impracticable it seems to us sometimes. Just one more piece of unrealistic advice from the Bible in our stressful, high-tension world. 

At the heart of the command, though, is God asking one important question:  What is your center? Is it this anxiety, this uncertainty about the future that you're feeling right now? Or is it trying to serve Me and living the best life you can for the benefit of those around you? When we put our own feelings at the center, the fear associated with asking an intimidating boss for a promotion can be debilitating. Putting God at our center, as well as our determination to live the best lives possible, can put this moment in perspective. As real as this fear feels, it's transitory. God is what lasts, and He'll make sure that you're provided for, whether your boss gives you a promotion or kicks you out of his office. Keeping the big picture in mind, that our causes for fear as well as the feelings themselves are temporary, is crucial here. As difficult as this can be, the alternative is allowing fear to put us in a stranglehold to the point where we forget how to live in any other way. 

My intention here hasn't been to downplay anyone's fears or to shame anyone for having them. Fear is a fact of life. But it doesn't have to be the only fact of life. It can be disarmed and shown for what it is. As a product of our minds, fear and its causes can be put into perspective. There is one thing that is certain. There is one Rock. To establish our lives on a foundation of fear is to build on sand and to risk what will happen when the rain falls and the winds blow. To trust in God and in the fact that everything will be all right is to persistently declare in our hearts, “The Lord is with me. What can man do to me?” (Psalm 118:6) Or, for that matter, killer clowns?

Small Acts of Kindness

This afternoon, I was taking a walk around my neighborhood and passed a middle-aged woman struggling with a large filing cabinet. She was attempting to drag it across her driveway to the curb for garbage pick-up. There were already several objects on the sidewalk in front of the house, and I noticed a “For Sale” sign in the yard. Shortly after passing her, I decided to turn back. I excused myself to the woman and asked her if she needed help. She looked relieved and accepted the offer. It took about two minutes to span the driveway and place the cabinet upright on the curb. I then introduced myself. She asked me if I thought she might get in trouble for having too many items on the sidewalk, and explained that she was in the middle of trying to sell the house and move. She was really grateful for my help, since there usually wasn't anyone at the house during the day. I suggested she call the cops to make sure she wouldn't get fined for cluttering the sidewalk, said “You're welcome” and “Have a nice day,” and continued my walk.  

Not a very dramatic or extravagant interaction. The whole thing took about five minutes. Nor is it particularly unusual or praiseworthy for people to have a bit of sympathy for a stranger and help them out. In my life, and especially while traveling, strangers have lent me a hand hundreds of times. Yet as I walked away from the house, I felt a sense of joy for having made a positive impact on someone for at least a few minutes that day. Somehow, that tiny act of kindness and the conversation that proceeded it made today feel worthwhile. I know that it's not as if I rescued someone from a burning building, or talked someone off the ledge of a building. I'm also aware that, for every time I reach out to help, there are probably three or four times when I don't, either out of laziness or out of the belief that it would take up too much of my time (precious time that could be more productively used watching reality TV or catching up on my Netflix queue). 

Toward the end of my walk, I realized why I felt so happy. Those brief moments of both giving and receiving acts of kindness reinforce for me the fact that, though our lifestyles, ethnicities, and religions may be different, we're all stuck in this world together. God made us as social creatures. He intended for us to be in positive relationships with one another rather than isolation. Not just with our family and close friends, or with the people that we encounter on a daily basis, but with everyone whenever possible. It doesn't take much to realize how often we fall short of His will for us. One has only to turn on the news to know that acts of kindness aren't in the agenda for many people in the world, those who care only for themselves and have no intention of allowing God's plan for peace and prosperity to overcome violence and poverty. 

But in the midst of the insistent shout that the world is going to shit, that all is lost, that people are becoming more and more violent and that their hearts have grown cold, these small acts MATTER. Not in spite of the fact that there is evil in the world, not that we should ignore it or sweep it under the rug, but because of it. We are fighting a war against evil, a war whose outcome has already been decided by God. But the victory can be implemented and demonstrated through us, by kindling hope in others, warming hearts, showing people that there is yet good in the world. It is a war of ripples in a pond. Of real lives being changed for the better, bit by bit, through acts of kindness great and small, and of the recipients of that kindness finding a way to pass it on to someone else.

Later in the day, while writing this article, I remembered that I had been told by a neighbor that the woman's husband had recently passed away, and that she was moving because she couldn't afford to live in the house anymore. I found myself hoping that the woman would remember that a stranger had given her a hand, however briefly, in carrying some furniture. Nothing dramatic. Nothing extravagant. But something.