Courage is knowing what not to fear. – Plato
Sometimes, for me, the pursuit of this knowledge seems eternal.
When I was a young child, Fear liked to play with me. He made strange noises at night and pretended to be a monster hiding under my bed; he disguised himself as my mother when she caught me playing with matches near the oil furnace; and, when I was hospitalized for tonsillitis, he was the nurse who entered my room every four hours brandishing a menacing hypodermic syringe.
Fortunately for me, Fear’s visits were short during my early childhood, and so was my memory, until I enrolled in the first grade.
Although Fear and I were born on the same day, lived side by side, and played together often, I never knew his name. To me, he was simply one of the neighborhood kids I accepted and included in my life. We were not introduced formally until my first day of Catholic grade school. Fear said that his name was God.
God had rules, the Ten Commandments, and so did the school. We were told where to sit and stand; when to speak and be silent; how to dress, when to study, and how often. The teachers asked the questions and the pupils gave the answers. The answer to every question was right or wrong, black or white. If we broke the rules, we were punished. If we did not obey God’s rules, we were assured that we could expect the same fate. Fear was in his element.
According to the Bible, fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. When I graduated from eighth grade, I believed that if I committed a mortal sin and died before I went to confession, I would go straight to hell.
Consequently, my faith was obedient and unquestioning, automatic and rote. At the age of fourteen I was not wise, but I was smart enough to be afraid.
Before leaving grade school, I took an entrance examination for the Scranton Preparatory School, a Jesuit high school. When I was accepted by the school, I was excited and impressed by its reputation for academic excellence but intimidated by notorious rumors concerning its methods of discipline: three hours of homework every night; daily quizzes; impossible rules and regulations; and, something called “jug.”
When Fear heard about my acceptance, he was ecstatic. On the first day, he held the door for me. – Excerpt from “I’m Afraid”
I offer these thoughts for your consideration.
Welcome to my world!
The saga continues in my next block.