Mark 5:21-24, 35-42
When I began to realize how serious the COVID-19 crisis really is, I remember thinking to myself, “I haven’t been this afraid since 9/11.” Do you remember that day? I had been working at my desk and decided to call my vet to schedule boarding for my dogs, because my dad and I were planning to go to California to spend Thanksgiving with my brother’s family. The woman I spoke to said, “I guess the planes will be flying again by then.” I asked her what she meant; I hadn’t had the TV or radio on, so I was unaware that a plane had flown into one of the Twin Towers. I quickly put on the TV and watched in horror as the second plane crashed into the other tower, then learned about the plane that had crashed into the Pentagon. And then we heard about Flight 93, which had been brought down in Pennsylvania, but had probably been heading for Washington, D.C.
During the course of that long day, and the days following, I remember feeling afraid of physical harm, afraid of where the terrorists might strike next and how they might do it, afraid of whether the United States could protect itself, afraid of the people who hated us so much that they cheered in the streets as they learned of what had happened to us. I was afraid in a way that I had never been before, and in a way that I never expected to be again.
But here we are, dealing with a threat that is more daunting than terrorism: a pandemic, a virus that strikes young and old alike, a disease that has taken over 80,000 American lives and hundreds of thousands around the world. I am afraid of many things: of getting the virus; of having a family member die from it; of people who don’t care enough about themselves or others to take the proper precautions when out in public; of having states “re-open” too soon and too quickly and causing a tremendous spike in cases of the virus. I am afraid that life will never return to “normal” again. I am afraid. And I suspect that I am not alone.
There are all kinds of things to be afraid of in “normal” times. People are afraid of getting in a car accident, of getting cancer, of not having enough money for their retirement, or being a victim of violence, of being unable to pay all their bills, of coming down with Alzheimer’s. Some people – including myself – are even afraid of flying. Leonard Sweet wrote about that fear:
Travel is hard enough without the airline industry scaring us with their terminology. As I drive to the airport, watching for the signs that indicate which exits to take, I wonder what sadist named the place where you trust your all to a creaking bunch of nuts and bolts the “Terminal.” When I check in at the counter, I remember this particular flight was chosen by my travel agent for one reason – it was the “cheapest available.” When it’s time to land, why does the flight attendant have to remind us that we are making our “final approach”?
Most of the things that we are afraid of have not happened to us yet and may not happen at all. We are afraid of what the future might hold. And that fear can become paralyzing. It reminds me of the little boy who was going to be in the church play. He had one line that he was supposed to say: “It is I; be not afraid.” When the time came for him to go out on stage, he was so nervous that what came out of his mouth was, “It’s me, and I’m afraid.” He was paralyzed by his fear.
I have come to appreciate something my Grandmother Smith told me years ago. She said, “One of God’s greatest gifts to us is that we can’t see the future.” She was right, you know. Just think about it for a minute. What if, ten years ago, you knew exactly where you would be right now? What good things have happened to you since then? What hard times have you gone through? If you had known what was coming, would it have made it any easier, more enjoyable, or less stressful? If you had known that someone you love would not be with you today, wouldn’t it have made your grief start way too soon? Would you have been able to enjoy life as much if you had known what was coming? We wouldn’t be able to fully enjoy the present if we knew the future held painful things. Nor would we be able to enjoy the present if we knew the future held even better things.
Fear is the opposite of faith. And fear can rob us of our faith. One of the greatest illustrations of this comes from the classic novel by Daniel DeFoe, Robinson Crusoe. Crusoe had left home in search of fame and fortune, against his father’s wishes. He lived recklessly and godlessly, until the day he experienced a terrible storm at sea and was shipwrecked on a deserted island in the Caribbean. And it was there that his soul began to reach toward God. He had found a Bible in the wreckage of the ship and became a Christian after reading it. His life was one of peace and prayer, and his faith grew strong.
But one day, Crusoe found a footprint in the sand. He suddenly realized that he was not alone on the island. He became very fearful, imagining that there was a tribe of cannibals close by. He was constantly looking over his shoulder and could not sleep at night. He pictured himself being captured, boiled alive, and eaten. Crusoe said, “Thus my fear banished all my religious hope. All that former confidence in God, which was founded upon such wonderful experience I had had of His goodness, now vanished, as if He that had fed me by miracles hitherto could not preserve, by His power, the provision which He had made for me by His goodness.”
The man Jairus in the story from Mark’s gospel was a man who was afraid. He was afraid because he believed his little girl was dying. She was just twelve years old and had her whole life ahead of her. But she lay very sick, sick unto death. And so Jairus, who was a leader in the synagogue, a man of power and dignity who was respected by others, ran to Jesus, fell to his knees, and begged Jesus to come and heal his little girl. Fear drove him there. But also there must have been faith. He must have had some faith that Jesus could actually do what he was asking him to do. He had some faith that Jesus could make his daughter well again.
Jesus agreed to go with Jairus. But when they got to the house, they found everyone weeping and wailing, because the child had died. It was too late. The people told Jairus that he might as well leave Jesus alone now, because there was nothing anyone could do. But that is not what Jesus said. Jesus looked at Jairus and said, “Don’t be afraid; just believe.” Jairus had to choose between his fear and his faith, and he believed Jesus. And Jesus proved that Jairus’ faith was not in vain when he went into the house, took the little girl by the hand, and told her to get up. And she got up, alive and well.
Perhaps more than any other message in the Bible, God tells us, “Don’t be afraid.” He calls us to give up our fear, and that can only be done when we have faith. God says, “Don’t be afraid,” and the next words are often, “for I am with you.” God is with us. When God is with us, we don’t have to be afraid of anything, not even the future. God is already there. God knows what is coming our way. And God promises to be there with us through it. “Don’t be afraid.” It is the ultimate test of faith. And it comes to all of us sooner or later. We don’t have to be afraid of what we can see, or what we cannot see. We don’t have to be afraid of what we can only imagine. God is with us.
When you look around you and see so many things to be afraid of, remember that God is with you. We were not made to live in fear, but to live by faith. And when we have faith, we can face the future without being afraid.
