Breathing in Love, Breathing out Fear
Wednesday, April 29, 2026
Author Diana Butler Bass recounts how fear continued to accompany the disciples well after the resurrection:
If you remember back several weeks, you might recall the reading for the first Sunday of Easter:
When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.”… Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you….” When he had said this, he breathed on them…. [John 20:19–22].
…. The end of the Easter season is also the end of the first half of the Christian year. The cycle of Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, and Easter focus on the story of Jesus—the promise of his coming, his birth, the light he brings to the world, the seriousness of his mission, his execution, and the mystery of his resurrection….
And here’s the odd thing, something I never really noticed until this year. Fear is foundational to the first half of the year. It isn’t just that the disciples were afraid after Jesus died. The story began—way back in Advent—with the angel telling Mary, “Fear not!”…
Six months later in the church year, Jesus’ story ends with “Peace I leave with you … do not let your hearts be afraid”.…
As the author of 1 John later wrote, “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear” [1 John 4:18]. I think that is the point of Jesus’ life, the story we retrace in the first half of the Christian year, the culmination of which is the Easter season: Perfect love casts out fear.
Butler Bass acknowledges that fear is a biological response and universal experience, but that Jesus’s assurance is also true:
“Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you….’ When he had said this, he breathed on them…”
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.”
The door opens toward love—the love of God, the love of neighbor.
I can’t explain it. All I know is that it is right. And I feel it. When I’m scared, I breathe. My breath. Sacred breath. Spirit breath. The in, out, in, out, in, out of life. My heart slows and opens, making room for the other, giving space to love. In, out, in, out. Breathe in peace. Breathe out love.
Peace, love. Peace, love.
Fear abates.
Perfect love casts out fear.
I think of the first words of scripture, how “in the beginning” there was nothing but chaos. Then, God breathed. Chaos was transformed by that breath into a world of beauty and sustenance.
Easter began in confusion and terror behind a locked door. Now, it comes to a quiet conclusion in the breathing … the promise and possibility of new creation. Peace, love.
Perhaps that’s what is meant by resurrection. Being raised from the deadened weight of fear to love.
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THIS SHEPHERD
Brothers, sisters,
Siblings in Christ
(and who isn’t?).
We’re all the sheep of his pasture,
and Jesus is truly our good, good Shepherd.
This Shepherd Good,
whose birth to earth,
whose great descent
into our Hades—
saved and saves us
(not least from ourselves).
This Shepherd Great
sought and found me
tangled in thorns,
gorging on blackberries,
(blood-sweet, in tears),
lips stained red with guilt.
This Shepherd Gentle,
whose clarion voice I knew,
called and called
and called until I lay down.
(Did he make me?
Or did I break me?).
Yes. In him we rest.
This Shepherd Guide
leads me on right paths,
to quiet waters,
if I consent,
when I don’t resist
as soon as I surrender
(one day at a time).
This Shepherd Kind
so gentle, ever attentive,
and woah! Oh so severe,
this Mama Bear,
in the shadowy gulch,
warding off darkness and dread
even in death’s false victories.
This Shepherd Strong
who never, ever
breaks a little lamb’s leg—
no shepherd has or does.
But the serpents’ skull…
hangs crushed,
a trophy above his hearth.
This Shepherd Love—
If harm were his way to save us,
he is not good at it. No good at all.
And though long-suffering stings,
the whispers of wise Love
gently persuade us home.
This Shepherd’s Love
takes time—
wades through mess—
then pours rivers of oil,
of mercy,
of gladness,
of life
through our parched souls.
This Shepherd Host,
at whose table wide
we dine and wine
(or whine)
with enemies
until they’re not
(pass the salt,… friend?).
This Shepherd King
cross-shaped throne,
thorny crown,
leads us
through hell,
through bed,
through bath,
and beyond.
Into his house,
where we dwell.
At his table,
we feast.
In his flock,
we gather
without lack,
souls restored…
or will be soon.
All our days
all our nights,
every dusk and dawn
of our lives,
of his life
forever.
WELCOME TO HIS TABLE
So, my friends, takeaways…
He’s a good, good Shepherd,
He knows you so well,
calls you by name,
You do know his voice,
you have followed his lead,
even through deep, dangerous gulleys,
sometimes co-suffering with you,
But always I hear him promise,
”I will never abandon you,
I know the way through,
back to the Table,
My Table.
Where you and all are most welcome.”
