Do Not Fear

Keeping the Faith in Troubled Times

Janet E. Hoover

• Publisher: Wipf and Stock
• Year: 2012
• Print ISBN:
  9781610979566
  9781498263047
• eBook ISBN:
  9781630874889
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Biblical Studies

Fear works its way into our lives on a daily basis, but it does not define us. God's loving power undergirds us, even when we are blinded by our worries. The experiences of the men and women whose stories are included in this book offer encouragement for our anxious times, reminding readers that God works in the darkest moments to bring about healing and wholeness.

1

Who’s Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf?

The twenty-first century began in fear—fear that life as we knew it would end as computer networks failed, bringing down our technological infrastructure. That particular anxiety proved groundless, but fear continues to weave its way through our days leaving in its wake depression, burnout, anxiety, violence, and despair. Strident terrorist threats, warnings of pandemics, cascading economic downturns, and whispers of scandal create a cacophony that beats in our ears until we want to add our own screams to the airwaves before hiding in some dark cave where we might find some peace and quiet.

We long to be brave and courageous and, like Superman or Wonder Woman, leap into the chaos and turmoil to help those in need and create order out of chaos. But the truth is, we are more like the three little pigs. In the children’s story of three home-building pigs, heroism and strength dissolve in the face of impending danger. Sensing the presence of the big, bad wolf these three pigs scurried around in an effort to protect themselves. Two of them were so overcome with fear that they grabbed whatever they could find to shelter themselves. These pitiful shelters of straw and sticks, however, were no match for the snarling wolf, and as he huffed and puffed at their door, they were left exposed and vulnerable. Only one of the frightened creatures sought shelter in a structure strong enough to withstand the hot blast of the threatening, prowling wolf. Secure in a house of stone, only one little pig found the courage to face down the power of the wolf.

Who’s afraid of the big, bad wolf? We are. We see him prowling on the horizon. We hear him growling at the door. We feel his hot breath on the back of our neck. We are afraid. We are afraid of sickness and death. We are afraid of looking ridiculous or being lonely. We are afraid of disappointing others or ourselves. We want to be courageous and strong, but our problems and struggles overwhelm us. The cold winds of broken dreams and dull routines, and the heated waves of quarrels and devastating illness combine to create a storm that beats against the walls we have erected in a vain effort to isolate ourselves from trouble. Our stockpile of self-protective resources—financial security blankets, educational credentials, and technological innovations—begins to crumble, leaving us bewildered and frightened.

When I was a child, one of summer’s treats was to drive to the Amana Colonies where we would eat at the Ox-Yoke Inn. I looked forward to platters of chicken and bowls of corn and mashed potatoes, dishes of sauerkraut and cottage cheese with chives. But as we pulled into the parking lot, my stomach began to churn just a bit as fear began nudging my heart. The food was great, but upstairs, right next to the Ladies’ Room where I couldn’t avoid it, was . . . the bear. This was no ordinary stuffed bear. It was a monstrous creature with claws extended as if to inflict agonizing pain. An evil sneer contorted its face, and while I knew in my head it was long dead and could not hurt me, the rest of me was terrified. My heart would beat a little faster as I walked toward it, scurrying past as fast as I could. Years passed. Busy schedules and new responsibilities marked the end of this family tradition. Eventually, I moved from Iowa to Oklahoma and yet the bear never left my mind. For years it haunted my dreams.

Then one summer my husband and I took our daughters back to Iowa for a vacation and, hungry for some good Amana food, we bundled our daughters in the car and headed for the Ox-Yoke Inn. Along the way I prepared the girls for the bear so that they wouldn’t be as frightened as I had been. I described the bear, stressing the fact that it was long since dead and totally harmless. And I prepared to face my fears. What a shock! I climbed the stairs and there was the same bear. The bear that had made my heart pound and caused sleepless nights well into adulthood was shorter than I, moth-eaten with a sickly sort of smile on its face.

My mind had built a monster out of a furry taxidermist-creation. My daughters continue to tease me about my scare bear, which helps remind me that sometimes the things we fear the most turn out to be nothing. The wolf howls fade into silence.

But not always. During the dark days of the Civil War in El Salvador, I had the experience of traveling to that broken and bleeding country where I met with many Salvadoran Christians. It didn’t take long to grasp the fact that their faith was lived out in the midst of pain and fear. I heard stories of torture and killing and disappearances. I also heard—over and over again—testimonies of hope. One of these witnesses was a woman named Maria who shared the following:

To be a Christian isn’t easy. Oh, it is easy to read the Bible, go to meetings, receive communion. But at the same time we know that we and those we love will be persecuted, captured, and tortured for the cause of God. But we are to follow Christ and nobody is going to stop us. It is “yes” we have said to God. We do have fear—we are not courageous. We want to preserve our lives. Yet only God can take our life away. So we continue, despite our fear. I have had two children assassinated, but I have faith in God. All passes, but faith in God.

Sometimes the things we fear are all too real. We don’t wake up from the nightmare. But the snarling wolves are not the final word, for in the end their growling is drowned out by melodies of grace and hope. Even as the wolf howls, a voice can be heard. Echoing out of the darkness it sings, “Be not afraid. I am with you always. Nothing can separate you from my love.” Sometimes fear is as ephemeral as my Amana bear. Sometimes it is devastatingly real. But always and forever, God comes to us in the midst of our fear; breathing hope into all the dead and dried out places of our lives—energizing, encouraging, enlivening.

We will find ourselves in difficult situations, and in those times of trial and uncertainty, we have a choice. We can try to erect shelters of sticks and stones, hoping that a bigger pile of weapons or cash or accomplishments will protect us. But if we do, when it all crumbles around us—and it will—we will be left confused and vulnerable. Or we can find shelter in a structure built of living stones—men and women who allowed their faith to transform trembling into trust and doubt into hope. Living stones who witness to the truth that in Jesus Christ we need fear nothing. We can link hearts with those who know all too well the power fear has to inhibit loving trust and who know equally well the strength that is ours from a loving God. Some of these stones are well polished and highly visible—Moses, Esther, Peter, Mary Magdalene. Others are less obvious—Jacob, Jeremiah, Elizabeth, Joseph. Many of the stones are small and almost overlooked—Hagar, Shiphrah, Zebedee’ wife, Malchus, Ananias, a nameless leper. Together, however, the stories of these living stones offer us hope for our own journeys of faith.

The wolf will come. We will face difficulties and pain and struggle. Suffering and hardship, trials and conflict come to all of us at one time or another. But they do not define us, as long as we allow ourselves to be shaped and formed by God’s hands of grace and goodness. When anxiety mounts, when worries threaten to flatten our joy, when pain and darkness sweep us into the spiraling chaos, when we are afraid—we can remember the ways God has been present through the centuries to heal and restore. We can sing with Isaiah and all those who love God:

Surely God is my salvation.

I will trust, and will not be afraid,

for the Lord God is my strength and my might;

he has become my salvation.

With joy you will draw water from the wells

of salvation.

And you will say in that day:

Give thanks to the Lord,

call on his name;

make known his deeds among the nations;

proclaim that his name is exalted.

Sing praises to the Lord, for he has done gloriously;

let this be known in all the earth.

Shout aloud and sing for joy, O royal Zion,

for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel.

—Isaiah 12:2–6

2

Streams in the Desert: Hagar

Genesis 16:1–16, 21:1–21

The hot wind etched an arid trail across the desolate landscape; a trail duplicated in Hagar’s heart. “How,” Hagar whispered with hardened lips and swollen tongue, “how is it possible to be so dry and yet cry so much?” Her swollen eyes, reddened by the relentless, burning sun, shifted toward her son. He was so still—eyes open but staring off into the distance as if he had already moved away from her. Her arms ached to hold him, but he was no longer an infant to be embraced. She slowly pulled her scarf from her head, stretching it over her son in an attempt to provide some sort of shade. Crawling away she almost welcomed the blistering heat on her head, as the pain served to distract her from her grief—a mix of sadness and anger that threatened to sweep her up into madness. In a life well salted by tears, this moment was beyond anything she had yet experienced. Crumpling into a heap of misery, her mind went back—back to her life before the great sadness.

It seemed unreal, those early years. Years when she was actually happy. Time and hardship had eroded the memories, but there were still a few images that she kept tucked away to pull out when reality became too hard to bear. She could still see her father’s hands carving small animals out of pieces of wood. She remembered her mother’s arms holding her and her mother’s voice crooning a gentle lullaby. She remembered running and playing with her brother around the campfire.

The problem with memories is that once they started, they wouldn’t stop. She wanted to stay in her mother’s lap forever, but even now she could hear her mother’s screams and feel the rough hands of the man pulling her away. She remembered her father lying motionless on the ground with her brother crumpled on top of him. She remembered feeling lost and alone in a land she didn’t know, and the relief she felt when a sparkling-eyed woman—Sarah they called her—took her by the hand and said, “Child, you now belong to us. Soon you will be a nursemaid for my baby.”

Slavery was a burden to be born, but at first ...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Preface
• Acknowledgments
• Chapter 1: Who’s Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf?
• Chapter 2: Streams in the Desert: Hagar
• Chapter 3: Wrestling in the Dark: Jacob
• Chapter 4: The Courage to Care: Shiphrah
• Chapter 5: On Holy Ground: Moses
• Chapter 6: The Sky Is Falling: Jeremiah
• Chapter 7: Here She Is: Esther
• Chapter 8: A Blessed Event: Elizabeth
• Chapter 9: In the Still of the Night: Joseph
• Chapter 10: He Touched Me: A Leper
• Chapter 11: Sons of Thunder: Zebedee’s Wife
• Chapter 12: The Cowardly Lion: Peter
• Chapter 13: Out of the Shadows: Malchus
• Chapter 14: Pax Romana: Pilate
• Chapter 15: Amazing Grace: Mary Magdalene
• Chapter 16: Scales of Love: Ananias