Baxter is easily spooked. Any strange sound will set him off. A door slamming, the crunching of cellophane, popping bubble wrap, a door bell, they all get him scurrying for cover under the bed or behind a door. Baxter scares easily, and hides to protect himself from his imaginary fears.
He also gets easily excited about things that fascinate him. Birds in the tree outside the window, spiders crawling across the floor, other cats walking through the backyard, these all set him on high alert. He will sit in place for a half hour with ears perked, tail swishing like a metronome, eyes wide and bright, and murmuring energetic sounds that mean something in cat-speak. I suppose he is on the hunting prowl at such times, getting ready to pounce, if only the opportunity allows itself.
Our scriptures tell us, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” Baxter’s two examples of high alert can help us understand what a proper fear of the Lord is like.
Too often we think of the fear of the Lord as a threat. If we don’t do the right thing, God will get us. If we don’t practice our faith, something dreadful will happen to us. If we want to have “good luck,” we have to please the Lord, and like a happy grandfather, he will lavish undeserved fortune upon you. Fear in this sense plays games with the one we fear. It keeps a distance between us and whatever we fear so that we can control the object of our fear, avoid it, or at least protect ourselves from its effects. Fear generates an unhealthy guilt if we are caught displeasing the object of our fear. We act like kids caught with our hand in the cookie jar. We don’t regret trying for the goody; we regret getting caught at it. We think and act like immature children, or like Baxter, afraid of the doorbell.
But there’s another way to understand the fear of the Lord. God can fascinate us. He is “awesome,” as the kids would say. We get caught up in the grandeur of creation at the Grand Canyon, the depth of unselfish love in Mother Teresa, the precious innocence and wonder of a new-born baby, the spectacular silence of a star-filled summer sky, the beauty and joy of a Eucharist well celebrated. These moments place us in the presence of the Mystery that envelops and enfolds us. It is bigger than anything we can conceive and mightier than anything we can do to hold it back. Its Spirit is within us driving us to do and say things we did not think possible for us, but it is also beyond anything we can do and say leaving us with a few words of praise and thanksgiving or just awesome silence. Like Baxter on high alert looking at the birds singing in the trees, we feel fully alive before the Holy and charged with an energy whose source is outside ourselves.
To be ready for Easter, we need to cultivate this sense of the fear of the Lord -- the wonderful, awesome, fascinating and overwhelming encounters with the Holy that fill our world. Financial insecurity, personal loss of a loved one, guilt over past sins, the threat of terrorism or natural disasters are all fears that can crowd out the true sense of our fear of the Lord. We read in the gospel, “Fear is useless. What is needed is trust.” Trust the mystery that claimed you as part of its life in your initiation into the Church. Then stand ready to hunt for it again and again every time a bird sings or you come to church.
