This sermon was delivered by Reverend Gonzalez-Block on June 6, 2025, at the Montreat Youth Conference

In a way, I’ve been in your shoes … in your pews. I never came to Montreat as a conferee, but I did come for the first time as a back-home leader exactly ten years ago. This was about seven seconds after taking my first call (my first job) here in Asheville, as the Associate Pastor at Grace Covenant Presbyterian Church—a role I was blessed to be in for six years. When I arrived, I was immediately sent here to Montreat, with nine youth and one other back-home leader.

I didn’t know what to expect. Like many of you for whom this is your first time here, you might be wondering: “What is going on? Where am I—really?” What is all this energizer enthusiasm and how is it possible my body is moving like this? Rest assured you are in good hands … and in a day or two you will likely be the most enthusiastic participant—perfecting beloved energizer moves like “the Bernie” and “Beyonce,” and singing “Revolution” at the top of your lungs in the shower. It’s OK … this is a safe space.

Looking back at my summer here ten years ago, I can remember that first night very vividly. I went to the adult chaperone meeting, like many of you did last night. And at the end, as they were getting ready to send us off, they casually announced: “Get some rest. We are so glad you’re here. Be mindful of the bears. Have a great night. See you tomorrow.”

“Excuse me … ” I said. “Can we backtrack to the part about the bears. What bears? Bears?!?”

Now, I had just moved from New York City to Asheville. So, I had already worked through my fear of roaches and subway mice, but big black bears that roam the streets freely was new to me. And if you are still processing that there are bears here. Don’t worry, have a great night and see you tomorrow! No, I’m just kidding, let me tell you a bit more of what happened.

As we left that adult meeting, I remember thinking there is no way I am walking out here alone. I clung to the other adults. “Hello! Let’s walk together!” I said enthusiastically to the other leaders.

“OK,” they said. They thought I was there to make a friend—I was there to live. I turned my phone flashlight on and walked with my new best buds, arm in arm. But as we continued on, everyone started to break away—and head into the safety of their homes. Finally, it was just me, and my phone flashlight, and my fears. I could hear my breath—shallow—as I walked uphill into the deep dark night.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, I noticed my phone flashlight had 1% battery left—surely not enough to get me to my destination. I now had a choice:

Do I use that last bit of battery for as long as it will light my way (because seriously it was like the furthest house on the mountain) or do I sacrifice every bit of my coolnew-pastor-vibe by using that 1% to call the house and ask someone to come down and find me and walk me up the hill—admitting to everyone that I was afraid.

~

What are you afraid of? What keeps you up at night? What keeps you silent in class or at Youth Group or small group? What keeps you from expressing how you really feel? What keeps you from asking for help?

God knows, for as long as we have breath—we have fears. It’s normal. It’s human.

Fear of getting lost. Fear of monsters under the bed. Fear of getting in trouble. Fear of being too smart, too clumsy, too serious, too funny, too quiet, too loud, too faithful, too doubtful … the list goes on and on.

How many of us here have been afraid we would not make the team—varsity or junior varsity or a club team? How about auditioning for the school play? Or running for school government?

We have spent the day exploring some of these fears together. This morning, your keynote speakers, Brad and Julianne Clayton, asked you to share some of your “What ifs,” and here were some of your heartfelt responses:

What if I disappoint my parents, myself—even God? What if I don’t get into my dream school? What if I never find a partner or friends who appreciate me for all that I am? What if the cancer returns? What if we go to war? What if I relapse? What if the grief never goes away? What if our planet can’t recover? What if I can’t hear God’s voice or trust where God is leading? What if I fail? What if I never forgive myself? What if I am not enough?

Now, don’t get me wrong: fear is not all bad. It can help keep us safe. Keep us from doing something too crazy, too out of the box, or something way out of our comfort zone.

Like we have been talking about today, fear can also hold us back from opportunities or from one another. It can keep us from taking grand leaps of faith, vital steps forward, it can prevent us from following God when God is calling out to us.

~

I remember when I graduated from seminary in New York City and was looking for my first call as a pastor, I thought I knew exactly where I was headed. And, it wasn’t to Asheville. In fact, I approached my pastor, Greg Horn, for some advice on next steps. I announced to him: “I don’t want to look at any churches outside of the New York area!” It made sense. I was comfortable where I was living: my family was close by. I had great friends and a community already established. I had my favorite bagel place, my favorite pizzeria, my routine. Why would I venture away from all that? Makes sense, right?

Well, my pastor looked me in the eyes and with a gentle smile asked. “Why are you trying to limit God’s Spirit?”

“Why are you trying to limit God’s Spirit?” Suddenly, all that clarity I had went dark. What he was really asking me was: “What are you so afraid of?”

The truth is: I had lost sight of the One who I said I was following. Jesus wasn’t ordering my steps, fear was. In fact, I was trying to pull Jesus off course, down the path I wanted to go, instead of grasping Christ’s hand and saying, “Lord, you lead the way.”

Can anyone here relate? I imagine so. These pushes and pulls. These big decisions and small. From college and high school choices, to the countless needs of our wider world that we have to navigate.

We know that in this time in which we are living, the road can feel jam packed with signs that say: “be afraid” “be silent” “be territorial” “be closeted” “be hopeless” “be competitive” “be alone.”

Fear seeps into every headline and press conference and social media post—maybe it found its way into the hallways of your school, or your living room, maybe even into the conversations at youth group or here at Montreat. There is war and violence and oppression and prejudice of all varieties all around us. There is finger-pointing and bullying, affecting our mental health and sense of stability.

We may be feeling like we have to build up walls to divide ourselves from one another, to believe there is a hierarchy of God’s love and affection, to see the rich diversity amongst us (or within ourselves) as something to squash, or silence, or be ashamed of, instead of to celebrate and lift high.

Worse still, we may be feeling pushed to see each other as “other.” To separate or rank ourselves based on the color of our skin, based on our nationality, based on who we love, or how we identify, or the clothes we wear, or the thickness of our accents, or where we go to school, or our politics, or our age, or our different abilities, or gender identity, our religion. Should I keep going?

And we travel in fear of each other—instead of recognizing each other for who we really are—instead of seeing one another as Christ sees us: as precious, known, and loved children of God.

Each of us here—each of you—is a precious child of God. That isn’t something you earn—it is something you are. In fact if you get only one thing out of this week: get this: “I am a precious child of God.” Can you say that with me? I am a precious child of God.

So, precious children of God, how do we face our fears? How do we look our worries head on and say I am not following you? How do we stand in the pitch darkness (with 1% battery left) and refuse to be frozen and afraid?

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

She makes me lie down in green pastures.

God leads me beside the still waters.

She restores my soul.

Psalm 23 is like a flashlight that we can carry with us throughout our lives. Some of us may have learned this psalm at an early age. Some of us learned it today. Some of you, or your parents or grandparents have it memorized. It is often said to little ones before bed, or on Sunday mornings, or at funerals, or in about a dozen horror and action films in moments of distress.

Even though I walk

through the darkest valley,

I will fear no evil,

for you are with me;

Psalm 23 begins as a song about God’s presence on the path—always and all the time. And quickly shift to a song to and for God declaring I know you are with me every step of the way … in the fear, in the joy, in the light, in the dark, when I am starting my path, when I am at a crossroads, when I am at a rest stop, when I have finished my journey, you are with me—my shepherd, my restoration, my guide—so, what am I so afraid of?

Do you know how many times in our Bible we hear those words “do not be afraid” or “fear not”? Over 300 times! Over 300 times our biblical ancestors are reassured that God is with them, as God is with us.

When Mary and Joseph are freaking out when they learn they are going to be parents to Jesus, the angels reply, “Do not be afraid.” When the Hebrew people are preparing to flee from slavery in Egypt, Moses assures them that God has their back, by saying: “Do not be afraid.” When the women see Jesus risen from the dead and are startled and amazed, Jesus says: “Do not be afraid.” Again and again and again, we are reminded that God is here—as God has always been and will be. He’s got your number, he knows your name, you are not alone—and you need not fear.

So why stay silent then when the world needs tending? Why stay stuck when the path goes dim? Why limit God’s Spirit when we know we have the tools to follow?

Friends, you will no doubt find yourselves walking these roads at night this week. And when you do I want you to remember something. So often we associate light with God’s presence and darkness with God’s absence. But we have to be mindful about this kind of thinking. It can unknowingly heighten our fear of the dark, and prevent us experiencing all the wonders it can bring. Even worse, it can unknowingly seep into racist ideologies or vicious dichotomies like good and bad—right and wrong—us and them—lightness and darkness—you and me.

But the truth is, God is at home in the dark. In fact there has never been a time when the darkness has not known God’s presence. It’s how the world began. And as the scripture tells us light did not come to replace that darkness. Light came to be a companion to it. God says the light will shine in the day and the darkness at night. They are companions for the journey.—working together to care for the world.

Can you do me a favor? Can you close your eyes for a minute? What do you see?

Even when we close our eyes, we still see glimmers of light. Darkness and light—divine and sacred—working hand in hand to guide us on our way..

So friends, when we are standing in the middle of the field outside in the heat of the day—Your shepherd, God is there. And when we are standing in the pitch black of night, in the darkest valley or hill—Your shepherd, God is there. Calling us in, calling us out and calling us toward one another.

~

Let me take you back to my first night here at Montreat ten years ago. Remember, I was by myself—with a decision to make. Do I keep it cool, and use that last bit of battery to find my own way home alone? Or do I throw that out and call for someone in my group to come get me? Show of hands, what do you think I did? Went it alone? Or called for help?

So, I decided who needs to be cool?!? I picked up the phone and called the house.

“Hey … what’s up?” I said, clearing my throat. “Can someone please come walk with me? I’m down the road?”

And then my phone died. And I stood in the darkness. And I swear I found myself saying, “The Lord is shepherd; I shall not want. She makes me lie down in green pastures. God leads me beside still waters, She restores my soul … ”

And a few minutes later (it felt like more), I heard something approaching quickly. Oh gosh … .a bear? But, you know what? It wasn’t a bear. And it wasn’t an adult. It was one of our youth, Colleen, whom I had only just met earlier that day. She was literally skipping through the darkness towards me.

“Hey Sam,” she said with a bright voice. I couldn’t see her face clearly in the dark, but I sensed her warmth—and her no judgement. “I’ve come to get you!”

“Don’t you want to turn your flashlight on?” I asked. “I didn’t bring one,” she said. “It’s OK. I know the way.” And she linked her arm in mine, and she guided me up the hill to our house, where all the rest of the youth were waiting.

I was humbled that night. Because I had come to Montreat to shepherd her—and there she was—shepherding me.

Just as God promises to accompany us in the darkness, we too are called to be God’s feet and God’s arms accompanying one another—especially in those moments of vulnerability, suffering, and yes, fear.

This week, I wonder how you can put your fears aside and open yourselves to the possibilities to let God’s Spirit lead the way. What new connections will you make in small groups, at recreation, with those sitting next to you? Whose week will you change for the better? What will happen if you come on this stage and serve as a leader, singer, or in the Variety Show? What’s possible if you let yourself be vulnerable and share a bit about who you are with others? Or if you let go of your phone, and just be fully here?

How will we experience God for the first time or anew?

How will we be transformed in the process?

Siblings in Christ, God is at home in the darkness, and God is here to shepherd us along the way. Don’t worry about the bears. You’re going to be OK. “Do not fear,” God says over and over again. So, let’s open our eyes, link our arms, and skip joyfully into the night. We’ve got lots to do—and no time to be afraid.