Fear No Evil

David Watson

• Publisher: Hodder Faith
• Year: 2014
• Print ISBN: 9781444793192
• eBook ISBN: 9781444793185
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Religion

Facing the final test of faith, David Watson candidly shares his personal thoughts during his moving struggle with cancer: his doubts and fears but also his ability to trust in God and fear no evil.David Watson was an internationally renowned and much-loved preacher and writer. His many books include Discipleship, I Believe in the Church, Is Anyone There? and One in the Spirit. He died in 1984, a few weeks after writing the final pages of this book. ' Fear No Evil is the conquest of death... by facing it squarely... and knowing that for a believer it is the vestibule of glory.' - J. I. Packer

CHAPTER ONE

Anxious Moments

‘Have you got any spare room in your cupboard for a chest of drawers?’ I asked Fiona. ‘And Anne, where on earth can we put these two chairs?’

‘Hang them in the garage, with everything else!’ replied Anne. The garage was already looking like a warehouse for old second-hand furniture, with chairs, tables, old carpets and mirrors hanging on its walls.

‘There’s just not enough room!’ complained Guy, as he heaved his bed into another corner of his room.

It wasn’t really as bad as all that, and in fact we are extremely fortunate to be in such a pleasant house in central London. But it was the first time we had ever moved as a family. For seventeen years Anne (my wife) and I had lived in York, and since Fiona was sixteen and Guy thirteen, it was the only home they had known. I am an Anglican clergyman and we lived in a large and typical mid-Victorian rectory – not very attractive, but it had fourteen main rooms and a considerable garden which usually looked wild since we had little time to spend on it. However, it was home.

Suddenly, all our roots had been pulled up, as though all our teeth had been pulled out in one go. It really hurt! We moved from north to south (‘They’ve got such funny accents!’ said Fiona and Guy), from one of the most beautiful small cities in Great Britain to the heart of a huge metropolis, and from a rambling house that had been almost a part of our lives to a small house in a mews. Even though we gave away masses of tables, beds, wardrobes, desks, chairs, carpets and clothes, we still carried far too much with us, and it was quite a game squeezing it all in. Anne and I saw it mostly as the next adventure in our lives. Fiona and Guy longed to be ‘back home’, in York.

Sam missed the big house and garden as much as anyone else. Sam was our dog – a friendly mixture of every breed you could think of, though appropriately fierce with intruders. But Sam wasn’t well. The difference between York and London hit us hard when Sam had an operation two months after our arrival. Virtually the identical operation had cost us twenty pounds in York; in London we paid one hundred and thirty-four pounds – considerably more than my week’s salary! And a few weeks later Sam died. Anne sobbed, the children were upset, and I really missed him too.

The move to London had not been easy in all sorts of ways, and I found it hard to answer Fiona’s constant question, ‘Why did we leave York?’ Basically we had moved because of my work, and because Anne and I believed that God had called us to London, but it wasn’t easy convincing our children, who were missing ‘home’.

Then came the biggest shock of all.

I had gone to my doctor, William Robarts, for only another prescription concerning my asthma. Since I had learned to live with asthma for eighteen years it was no more than a brief routine visit.

‘One little question,’ I asked him as I got up to leave, ‘Does this medication have any side-effects? I seem to be going to the loo rather a lot these days.’

‘How long has this been going on for?’ He startled me by the serious tone of his question.

‘Well I’m not sure. I haven’t paid much attention to it until the last few weeks. But looking back I suppose it might have got gradually worse over this last year. As you know I travel widely, and any problems I’ve put down to changes of food and water. I remember having a little trouble in Sweden nine months ago …’

‘Do you mind if I have a look?’

After a slightly uncomfortable examination he looked thoughtfully at me across his desk. ‘You have an ulcer in the colon. I would like you to see a specialist because you might need an operation. It could be serious.’

‘I’m afraid that is impossible,’ I replied, beginning to feel uneasy. ‘I’m just off to California with my team for five weeks, and of all the events in the year this is one that I simply cannot cancel. It’s out of the question.’

I spend much of my time travelling to many parts of the world with a team of about eight men and women who are gifted in the performing arts: music, song, dance, drama and mime. In five days’ time we were due to leave for our most demanding tour of the year: five intensive but enjoyable weeks based at Fuller Theological Seminary in Pasadena, California, with weekend engagements at San Francisco, Phoenix Arizona, Fort Leavenworth Kansas, and one or two other places. I was already booked to lecture over sixty times (including a few preaching commitments) and I knew that over eighty pastors were coming from all over America and from as far away as Australia for those lectures. I teach in California at the same time every year, and I always find it totally exhausting but wonderfully stimulating. It stretches my capacities to the full, yet I always come back with a renewed vision of God and of his work in different parts of the world. No, that was one engagement I definitely could not cancel! My doctor, however, seemed unmoved by my protests.

‘Are you saying it could be – malignant?’ I asked, a little nervously.

‘It’s possible.’

I did not know what to say. My heart thumped away beneath my outward poise.

‘I’ll just make a phone call,’ said my doctor; and within a couple of minutes the appointment with Mr Beard, a consultant, was fixed for the day after next.

‘This really is serious,’ I thought to myself, almost as though I was dreaming, expecting to wake up at any moment to discover it was only the start to a nightmare. But no, I was wide awake. It was no dream.

As I stepped out of the doctor’s surgery I could not really believe that anything was seriously wrong. It is true that I was shaken, but I could not accept the possibility of an operation. I wove my way through the January sales’ shoppers streaming in and out of Peter Jones department store. It was late afternoon, and the lighted streets were thronged with brightly coloured punks from King’s Road and fashionably dressed ladies from Belgravia.

Sloane Square seemed alive with colour and bustle, shopping bags bulging with bargains and bright lights from Christmas decorations still shining from the trees. I always love the start of a new year. From earliest childhood I have thought of it as a season of promise and hope – a new start and fresh expectations. It is Epiphany, the manifestation of Christ to the world when the wise men from the East brought their priceless gifts to honour the infant King. Every year seems to herald the dawn of a new age.

I felt sure that my doctor was only being cautious. I felt remarkably fit. How could I have a malignant ulcer? Indeed, what exactly was a malignant ulcer? I noticed that neither my doctor nor I had used that dreaded word ‘cancer’. As I looked into the faces of the shoppers hurrying home for tea I wondered how many of them carried in their hearts secret fears, anxieties and sorrows? I walked through the quiet elegance of Eaton Square into the jostling crowds around Victoria Station. I was going to buy a briefcase with some money that had been promised me for that purpose. And it would be a briefcase for California. I really could not cancel that trip. I was almost certain that I would be going with my team on the Tuesday as planned. The talk of a malignant ulcer was surely no more than a sobering scare. In fact, purchasing the briefcase for the journey became for me a symbol of faith. Or was it of fear? I found just the one I wanted and I hurried home.

‘How did you get on at the doctor’s?’ asked Anne once I had displayed my briefcase.

‘All right. He thinks I may have an ulcer,’ I replied cautiously.

When our children, Fiona and Guy, went out of the kitchen to watch television, I closed the door and related to Anne what had happened.

‘What actually did he say?’ pressed Anne. She had been trained as a nurse at Guy’s Hospital and would not be satisfied with anything less than the full details.

‘He thinks it could be malignant,’ I replied, speaking in short sentences since I wasn’t far away from tears. ‘Got to see a specialist. Mr Randolph Beard. Friday morning, nine o’clock.’

I sat there, choking back my emotions and watching her face. Anne had been through some rough times in our marriage, and a few lines on her face and the wisps of grey hair spoke of pain and tears. But she was still beautiful, with open searching eyes.

‘Mr Beard is the best!’ she said enthusiastically. ‘He was loved and respected even when I was a nurse.’

‘I’m glad,’ I replied weakly.

We held each other’s hands and prayed.

‘Heavenly Father, we know you love us and are fully in control of our lives. Help us to trust you, and keep us in your peace. We really need your help. Amen.’

Anne cried a little. We gave each other a hug, and then I went to join the children in case they wondered what was going on.

‘What did the doctor say?’ asked Guy immediately.

‘Just that I’ve probably got an ulcer, and may need an operation,’ I replied as casually as possible.

‘An operation? Gosh!’ Guy was puzzled, since the only ulcers he had known were in his mouth and had not needed an operation. But I didn’t try to explain.

We spent the rest of the evening watching a film on television. It wasn’t a good one and I couldn’t concentrate, but at least I was with my family and I relaxed.

That night I took a mild sleeping tablet, committed my life, my family and my future to God, and slept well.

The next morning I met with the team as usual, mainly for a time of worship and prayer. I began by telling them the news of my visit to the doctor, the possibility of an operation, and the uncertainty of my going to America. They were all shaken by the news. For weeks we had been preparing for this trip, but essentially the team were going to illustrate my lectures. Apart from packing, we were all set. Now, at the last moment, everything looked precarious.

Much more important, I knew they were very worried about me. Although the members of the team were all half our age Anne and I had come to love them dearly as our Christian brothers and sisters, and we were not surprised by their immediate and enormous concern. We joined together in several songs of gentle praise, expressing our faith in God’s ultimate control and unceasing love; and then we prayed for one another. They gathered round me and laid hands upon me, praying that God’s peace would continue to fill my life. I felt immensely encouraged, and returned home, leaving the team to rehearse for California, but without much enthusiasm.

Back in my study, I tried to work further on my lectures. I had not written the material for two of my subjects and others needed tidying up. But my mind was not in it! My natural apprehension unsettled my stomach more than ever, and I seemed to spend much of the day in the smallest room in the house! Some work, however, was accomplished. In the afternoon I made good progress on the two lectures whilst spending an unusually long time in the dentist’s waiting-room – a wonderful place for gathering one’s thoughts!

That evening I was restless and anxious. There was still plenty to do in preparation for California, but the possibility of my going seemed to diminish hour by hour, and I really wanted to spend more time with Anne, Fiona and Guy. So we had a quiet evening together doing nothing in particular.

Friday, January 7th was a bright and fresh January morning. The air was crisp and the winter sunshine seemed full of hope. I went to see the consultant, Mr Randolph Beard. Arriving early, I walked through the streets until my appointment was due. I was surprisingly peaceful as I rang the doorbell and was ushered upstairs to meet Mr Beard. At once he impressed me with his quiet and encouraging manner; I could see why Anne had enthused about his outstanding reputation as a consultant surgeon.

After a brief examination he spoke gently. ‘You’re in real trouble. You have a malignant ulcer and you need an operation at once.’

I was stunned. My worst fears were confirmed. I felt my throat getting dry with tension. Feebly I told him how difficult an operation was at that time, with over sixty lectures to give in California in a few days, and with many pastors coming having already spent hundreds of dollars on this course. How could I possibly cancel the engagement at this stage? Mr Beard smiled kindly, but was unbending in his decision.

‘I cannot overstress how important this is,’ he said.

I had no choice but to accept his guidance. He told me that, in anticipation of my visit, he had provisionally reserved a bed for me in Guy’s Hospital and that I should be there first thing on Monday morning. He warned me that almost certainly I would need to have a colostomy (I had only the vaguest idea of what this meant), but that many active people learn to live with one. He made it clear also that I must be off all work until Easter at least, with no international work for six months.

As I left his surgery my head was spinning. I still could not quite believe that this was happening to me. I was worried about Anne and the children. How would they take it, I wondered? And what about my trip to America? How on earth could I sort that one out? What about all the pastors coming at considerable expense to themselves? And what about all my other numerous engagements? How could I disappoint so many thousands of people? We had been planning Christian festivals in various towns for months. Everything seemingly depended on my remaining fit and well.

What on earth did the future hold? Indeed was it ‘on earth’ at all?

CHAPTER TWO

Roots

I remember little about my father. He was away in the Army for long periods of time, and died in India in 1943 when I was ten.

My earliest memories go back to the North-West Frontier of India, now Pakistan, where my father was commanding a mountain-battery of guns. I have childhood impressions of gunfire over our bungalow, topis and polo ponies, Indian servants and beautiful saris, and even finding a hooded cobra in my bath! We came back to this country in 1937, when I was four. I must have been a romantic child for I proposed to a five-year-old girl on Victoria station having just crossed the ocean seas with her. To my dismay she refused me, and it took me another twenty-seven years before I summoned up the courage again – but it was not to the same girl!

My father’s death was particularly tragic since he was a Christian Scientist and, according to his beliefs, refused all medical help when he was seriously ill with bronchopneumonia. My mother, stunned by the effects of such convictions (which she never shared) had me baptised and confirmed in the nearest Anglican church, although I understood absolutely nothing of what was going on.¹

This confusing religious start to my life, coupled with the dull monotony of formal school chapel, caused me to explore a variety of religious paths. Having rejected Christian Science, I dabbled in spiritualism to see if I could make contact with my father. My uncle, however, was a devotee of Rudolph Steiner, and I went on to study the Law of Karma. This led to forms of Buddhism and to belie...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Also by David Watson
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Acknowledgements
• Dedication
• Contents
• Foreword
• Introduction
• Chapter One: Anxious Moments
• Chapter Two: Roots
• Chapter Three: Quick Change
• Chapter Four: Getting Ready
• Chapter Five: Into Hospital
• Chapter Six: Death Sentence
• Chapter Seven: Encouraging Faith
• Chapter Eight: Prayer for Healing
• Chapter Nine: Enjoying God
• Chapter Ten: Letters Galore!
• Chapter Eleven: What is Reality?
• Chapter Twelve: Back at Home
• Chapter Thirteen: Strength Out of Weakness
• Chapter Fourteen: Planning for a Future
• Chapter Fifteen: A Fifth Dimension
• Chapter Sixteen: Is Suffering Punishment?
• Chapter Seventeen: Is Suffering a Test?
• Chapter Eighteen: What is God Saying to Me?
• Chapter Nineteen: Overcoming Suffering
• Chapter Twenty: Getting Going Again
• Chapter Twenty-One: The Present Moment
• Chapter Twenty-Two: What Happens at Death?
• January 1984
• Epilogue
• Footnotes