Be Not Afraid

The Rev. Whitworth Ferguson III
Manassas Presbyterian Church
Manassas, Virginia
July 30, 2006
The 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Be Not Afraid
John 6:16-21
Ephesians 3:14-21

Drive north of Toronto, Ontario about 4 hours;
the traffic is heavy on the 400,
but no worse than what we are used to.
The city recedes in your review mirror: the tall buildings,
the concrete, the cacophony that is city life.
Before long trees replace buildings: beautiful evergreens,
pines of every shape and size,
the endless green punctuated by stands of white birch.
As the miles roll on, it grows quieter and quieter.
You turn off the radio, the CD player, the cellphone.
Open the windows and breathe in the air;
It is fresh, with a piney tang that evokes Christmas.
God’s creative hand is all around you in the natural beauty.

Finally the sign appears: Algonquin Provincial Park.
Tens of thousands of acres of wilderness;
Lakes by the hundreds;
the only way to travel is by canoe,
canoe and foot as you portage over land
that connects one lake to the next.
Get into a canoe with your pack
and paddle away from the shore.
On the smaller lakes, the surface can be like a mirror,
smooth as it reflects the sky,
the only ripples coming from hungry bass breaching the surface
in search of a tasty morsel.
The larger lakes test your muscles, especially your shoulders,
as you dig into the water.
The winds can blow, making the surface rough;
you feel like you’re driving down a road under construction

I grew up in Buffalo, just across the border from Canada,
two hours from Toronto and
less than six hours from Algonquin Park.
I spent many summers in the Park,
including three wonderful years at Camp Pathfinder,
a boys camp on an island in the middle of the Park.
The sounds of nature filled the little island paradise.
Not even the enthusiastic sounds of a hundred boys
swimming, canoing, sailing, playing tennis
or softball could compete with
the birds, the animals, the water tickling the shore,
the wind blowing through the pine trees.

The signature sound in Algonquin Park is a sound like no other:
It is the cry of the loon,
that pointed-billed cousin of the duck.
The loon has a cry that is unique;
it can sound eerie, mournful, lugubrious.
It carries over the water, often from one lake to the next.
Its cry is positively spooky after dark.
When I was a camper, the loon’s call
made the perfect background for one of our favorite activities:
the big bonfire on Saturday evening.
We would all gather at the far end of the island every week for
a program the directors and counselors organized.
We always had music, singing, and stories.

It was the stories that were memorable,
especially the ghost stories, scary stories in the darkness
as the flames from the bonfire leapt high in the sky,
the person telling the story walking around the fire,
his story unfolding, every boy mesmerized.
The best were the kind that left every boy
wishing he’d brought his flashlight
to light the path back to the front of the island
where the tents were.
As we walked back the length of the island,
no one dared to walk alone.
Every one of us was certain that something, or even someone,
was lurking behind that tree up on the left,
or the large rock down the path on the right.
Even after lights-out, most of us lay in our bunks
with eyes wide open,
convinced that we were hearing footsteps,
heavy, slow footsteps, getting closer and closer and closer.
And of course, no matter how frightening,
no matter how scary the story was,
we couldn’t wait until next Saturday,
when we’d go through the whole experience all over again.

Most of us love a scary story;
most of us love mysteries,
suspense-filled movies,
thrill rides at amusement parks,
things that go bump in the night on Halloween:
things that frighten us.
But of course, we love them only when we know
it is all make-believe;
when we know that the ghostly images are computer-generated,
the clanking chains, squeaky door, and heavy steps
are all on a recording,
that even in the Hudson Valley, the Headless Horseman
is nothing more than a story from the pen of Washington Irving.

It’s when reality takes over and we are really filled with fear,
that’s different.
That we don’t like.
When we are afraid, filled with fear,
worry, anxiety – we stop thinking,
we are gripped by our concerns, our emotions.
We are frozen, unable to figure out what to do,
what to say, how to move forward.

Fear and worry come in a thousand different ways,
intruding into our lives,
never knocking, always barging right in,
unannounced, unexpected, unwelcome.
in our homes, our workplaces, our schools, even our churches.

Our Lord Jesus Christ has always understood that we worry,
that we find so many things in life that fill us with fear.
It is why one of his most frequently repeated phrases
is the one we heard him speak in our gospel lesson:
“do not be afraid.”

Certainly we can understand why
the disciples might have been frightened,
given the circumstances we heard in our lesson:
there they were miles from shore on the Sea of Galilee,
a large lake that could be calm one minute,
and rough and hostile the next.
It was dark, the wind was picking up,
the waves growing larger and larger,
water probably spilling over the gunwales into the boat.
as the tired men strained at the oars.
And then in the darkness, a figure appeared, on the water,
walking, walking on the water.
Is it any wonder that the men were “terrified”?

But then from the darkness came that voice:
the voice that filled them with peace and assurance.
“Do not be afraid.”
“Do not be afraid” of the sight you see.
“Do not be afraid” of the wind and the waves.
“Do not be afraid” of anything or anyone:
"for I am with you."
If we translate John’s Greek precisely
the statement is even stronger:
“Do not be afraid, for I am.”

That is Christ’s promise to you and to me
in any situation, in every situation,
no matter how dire: “do not be afraid, for I am”

Because Jesus is, we need never have any fear.
Because the living Jesus is with us,
and always will be with us, each of us,
we need never worry or fear or be filled with anxiety.
Because the living Jesus is with us,
we can know true peace,
the peace Paul tells us surpasses all understanding.,
the peace of Christ,
even when we find ourselves struggling,
when things in life turn bleak and foreboding.

God makes this promise to us repeatedly, right from the beginning,
When the children of Israel stood on the east bank of the Jordan
following their years in the wilderness,
Moses reminded them of God’s unconditional love,
God’s unwavering goodness.
He closed his valedictory sermon which we know as Deuteronomy
with the words,
“The eternal God is your refuge
and underneath are the everlasting arms” (Deuteronomy 33:27)
That’s the promise of God’s love in Jesus Christ.

Now, if we have nothing to fear, nothing to worry about,
we are free then to share the love, share the peace,
share the grace,
we have been given by God through Christ,
with family, friends, neighbors, and
and yes, as Jesus reminds us,
even those we think of our enemies.

God does not promise that bad things won’t happen in our lives.
God does not promise that if we are faithful,
our lives will be filled with wealth, comfort,
good health, and security.
And when bad things do happen,
it is not because God is punishing us,
or because our faith broke down.
What God promises is that he will be with us,
even in the darkest, and bleakest times.

The psalmist understood this when he wrote
those words that we know so well:
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for you are with me.” (Psalm 23:4)
Did you ever notice the change that occurs at that verse?
The writer begins Psalm 23 somewhat formally:
speaking of God in the third person:
“The Lord is my shepherd…
He makes me to lie down…
He leads me…
He restores my soul…”
But then at verse 4, the Psalmist becomes
more intimate with God,
clearly feeling God’s presence
even as things appear to be turning bleak:
“even as I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
YOU are with me;
YOUR rod and staff, they comfort me
YOU prepare a table before me
in the presence of mine enemies
YOU anoint my head with oil…”

For the psalmist, God is right there,
close enough to talk to.
The psalmist’s assurance is ours, too.
That is God’s promise in Jesus Christ:
“Do not worry, be not afraid, for I am.”

I have seen that again and again in my life,
especially in my most difficult times.
Like most people who have reached middle-age,
I have gone through difficult times, trying times,
times filled with uncertainty, anxious times, even fearful times.
But it has been in the midst of my most trying times
that I have felt God’s presence most powerfully,
when I have been most confident of the promise, “I am”.

I have heard the voice the disciples heard in the darkness:
“Do not be afraid, for I am;
do not worry, have no fear,
for my love will bear you up
for underneath you are the everlasting arms.”

With that promise, I can leave worry behind.
With that promise I can leave anxiety behind.
With that promise, I can leave fear behind.

Now, I am still fully human,
so I still struggle with worries and fears
about things large and small.
I don’t know if I will live to age 75 or to age 95,
But, what I do know is that today I live in God’s love
and tomorrow when I arise,
I will arise in God’s grace and love,
and I will have that with me everywhere I go
throughout the day, in times of joy
and in the most difficult times.

What I know is that I will hear God’s voice all around me:
speaking reassurance through the cry of the loon,
the wind in the trees,
the crashing of waves,
the voices of family, friends, even strangers,
always saying, “Do not worry,
Be not afraid,
Underneath you are the everlasting arms,
For I am.”
AMEN