Preached at Westminster Presbyterian Church, Durham, NC

“Do not be afraid, little flock.” This is a very sweet sentiment for Jesus to give to his disciples and the crowd with them. It is a phrase found in the Bible over 100 times as God’s people are receiving announcements of promise from God:

“Hagar, do not be afraid, for God has heard the voice of the boy where he is.”

“Isaac, I am the God of your father Abraham; do not be afraid for I am with you and will bless you.” 

“Gideon, peace be to you. Do not fear. You shall not die.” 

“Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard.” 

“Do not be afraid; for see – I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.”

Do not be afraid, little flock. It is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. This is a promise from God and if we look at the Greek, the verb for divine pleasure is in the aorist tense, a tense that indicates a completed action in the past. It is not an ongoing decision for God to give the kingdom to humans; the decision has already taken place. 

So, what do we have to fear? Evidently, a lot. Here are just a few of the fears I can so easily see by opening up Facebook or Twitter: fear of gun violence; fear of leaders; fear of the other side; fear of failure; fear of abusers; fear of not being able to help or change. 

Friday was my last day of my summer-long chaplaincy internship at UNC Hospital. Primarily spending my time on the neurosciences floors, I visited with people who were in some of their lowest points. As my supervisor helped me realize, they were in a deep pit and it was my responsibility to sit with them in that pit. 

The pit is full of fear and worry. Fear of biopsy results; fear of loss of independence; fear of doctors and nurses; fear of death…and sometimes, fear of life itself.

So, to be honest, it feels difficult – impossible – for me to stand up here and pretend that fear is something avoidable if your faith in God is strong enough. I imagine that there are days when you wake up and feel immense sadness, powerlessness, or fear in response to all that is happening among us. And if you yourself don’t wake up to those days, I can assure you that your neighbors or co-workers – the ones we are called to love as ourselves – feel that fear. 

Scripture reminds us that we are not the first ones to face this scary world. No, we are not the first ones, nor are we the last ones, and we certainly are not the only ones at any given moment. Fear is big and powerful, but faith in a God who has rained down promises on us can hold even more power. 

By faith…the wife of an intubated patient asked the nurse to transition to hospice care. 

By faith…the man welcomed his ex-wife into his home as she escaped domestic violence in her own. 

By faith…the mom of a young adult with autism allowed her family to step into her caregiver role as she recovered from a stroke. 

By faith…the parents sent their newly paralyzed four-year-old to the best rehab facility in the state despite it being four hours away from home. 

These are just a few of the many encounters I had this summer with faithful people. These faithful people were all venturing into an unknown territory. 

Every now and then, a patient would tell me their story of twists, turns, tragedy, and terror. The story would be told with such peace and trust. The patient would look at me and conclude with a shrug and a smile. All I could think to ask was, “How did you keep going? Where did you find hope in this mess?” These questions served two functions. I was trying to do my job of connecting them to a source of strength in this vulnerable time at the hospital, but I was also trying to gain wisdom from them for my own life. 

Many times, the response to my inquiry was something along the lines of, “I believe in a God that is good and loving. I had no other option than to keep going. I knew that God would take care of me.” Patients and families were hand-delivering me statements of faith. These statements came from people who were facing death and the unknown. This is the same faith that is attributed to Abraham and Sarah, among others, in Hebrews. This faith is how Abraham was able to set out for an unknown land; to be a nomad in this world for the rest of his life. 

If Abraham did it, so can we. If our grandparents did it, so can we. I’m sure each of us can name someone who acted by faith. Who do you know? Really. I’ll give you a few seconds to think about it. … Keep that person in your heart so they may be a constant example for you.

This is encouraging news, but it does not mean that this life of deep faith is going to be a breeze. We are going to be called into dark or hidden places. 

And when the fear or darkness feels too big to ignore or push away, perhaps that is just when we should be responding with action led by our faith. Our faith that teaches us to sell our possessions, give to those in need, and to be dressed for action with our lamps lit. When news headlines leave us wondering if anyone can be safe in this world, we cannot just forfeit to that feeling of danger. We must find ways to lift one another up, work for change, and make this world a less frightening place for the generations to come. 

Friends, God has given us the promise of God’s kingdom. A heavenly country. A city prepared for us by the greatest Architect and Builder. A place where Christ will prepare a table and serve us.We are called to respond to this beautiful promise by acting with our faith as a guide. I believe it will be worth it.

It is going to be scary and it is going to be hard. I think that is one of the reasons why we come back here each Sunday. When we are here in this sanctuary, we sing praises of God’s promises and gifts to us and we remind ourselves that we aren’t doing this alone. We have each other, and we have ancestors of the faith who have paved the way for us. Dare to imagine what could be ahead of us if we continued acting by faith. 

To close, I want to read part of an essay that Toni Morrison, who passed away this week, wrote about fear. 

“Christmas, the day after, in 2004. I am staring out of the window in an extremely dark mood, feeling helpless. Then a friend, a fellow artist, calls to wish me happy holidays. He asks, ‘How are you?’ And instead of ‘Oh, fine — and you?’, I blurt out the truth: ‘Not well. Not only am I depressed, I can’t seem to work, to write; it’s as though I am paralyzed, unable to write anything more in the novel I’ve begun. I’ve never felt this way before…’ I am about to explain with further detail when he interrupts, shouting: ‘No! No, no, no! This is precisely the time when artists go to work — not when everything is fine, but in times of dread. That’s our job!’

I felt foolish the rest of the morning, especially when I recalled the artists who had done their work in gulags, prison cells, hospital beds; who did their work while hounded, exiled, reviled, pilloried. And those who were executed.

This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.

I know the world is bruised and bleeding, and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to its malevolence. Like failure, chaos contains information that can lead to knowledge — even wisdom. Like art.”

All glory be to the Creator, Christ, and Holy Spirit. Amen.