“Do not fear”,
said the prophet Isaiah, twice in the passage we heard in fact. “Do not fear”.
Fear is a horrible emotion. It sets our hearts racing. It fills
our minds so we can’t think of anything else. It wakes us in the night and
refuses to let us get back to sleep. It can be all-consuming, overwhelming. And it’s not at all unreasonable to be afraid.
The world can be a terrifying place. Accidents happen. Illness strikes out of
nowhere. The job and home and family that seem so secure could all be lost. Underlying
all our fears is the big fear, the fear of death. Death is frightening. Most
people, most of the time, will go to great lengths not to think about it, so
they can kid themselves that it won’t happen to them. They don’t want to make a
will, or make decisions about their funeral service, because deep down they
hope that if they don’t acknowledge it it will go away. We play with our fears of death – that’s what
Hallowe’en is about – to try to put it in its place, but most people find it
very hard to stare it in the face seriously.
And we don’t just fear for ourselves. We fear for our
families and our friends as well. Every time they are late home or out of
contact, we imagine the worst. And once our imaginations are engaged, and fear
has taken hold, it is very hard to get rid of. Whether we genuinely have something to be
afraid of, or are just torturing ourselves with “What ifs” makes no difference.
But of course we’re not the first generation to be afraid.
We’re not the first generation to look for reassurance, hope and comfort.
The words “do not fear”
or “do not be afraid” occur in the Bible
well over a hundred times. I know because I counted… It’s the opening line of
pretty much every angel who ever appears to anyone – the Christmas story is
peppered with angels telling people not to be afraid as they swoop in with news
that will turn their worlds upside down. Jesus tells people not to fear in the midst of
storms or when he heals them. And the prophets, like Isaiah in the reading we
heard earlier, are full of exhortations to people not to be afraid.
The people of the Bible lived in even more terrifying times
than we do. Their lives were fragile and precarious. They had precious few defences
against illness, poverty and political instability. They had plenty of good
reasons to be very afraid.
The first reading we heard tonight was written at a time
when they had been in exile in Babylon for 70 years. Jerusalem had been
destroyed. They’d been carried off into captivity. They were powerless and far
from home. Would they ever return? Yes, says Isaiah to them. God will gather you
from all the places you’ve been scattered. It was good news, but even good news
can be scary. What would happen when they got home? There were many challenges
ahead. But God says to them, through the
prophet Isaiah, “Do not fear”.
It’s really important, though, to understand why he thinks
they should not fear, otherwise it just sounds like a platitude. He doesn’t say
that there is nothing to be afraid of. He doesn’t say that he’ll wave a magic
wand to make all their problems go away. There will be deep waters and raging
flames, real troubles to face, but when they go through these things, he
promises them that they won’t be alone. “I
am with you. You are mine.” He says. That’s what makes the difference.
St Paul, in his letter to the Romans has the same message.
This early Christian community lived right at the centre of the mighty Roman
Empire. They faced persecution. They’d witnessed brutality which no one should
see, friends and family killed. Paul doesn’t promise them that they won’t experience
pain or physical harm – they wouldn’t believe him if he did. He’ll be killed by
the Romans himself in the end. What he promises them is that nothing will
separate them from God’s love. We can face the most terrible things if we know
we are loved, if we know that we aren’t alone. That’s what he wants them to
remember.
In Evangeline Paterson’s poem, she speaks of the reassurance
that comes with knowing you aren’t alone too. She writes about the strange
experience of knowing that someone you love is dying, even as you go about your
own daily life. You can’t make the journey for them, but there is a sense in
which you can make at least some of it with them. “In the midst of my life, I am living your death, seeing with your eyes
the shining of sun on the leaf. All day I am keeping pace with your slow
journey.” It’s a wonderfully comforting poem, a poem that is unafraid of
death because Paterson trusts that her friend is “from love to Love going”. So
the boat she imagines taking her away can “launch
out gently into the dark”. It is safe for her to go, because her origin,
her destination, and the very sea she floats on is love.
Today, as we remember those we love who have died, and
inevitably ponder our own deaths too, we may be afraid, or recall times of
fear. It’s human. It’s natural. No one can say to us, “Cheer up, it may never happen”, because it has happened.
But we can look around us and remind ourselves that we are not alone , and that
those we love and see no longer aren’t alone either. They are held in the
loving hands of God, but we are surrounded by love as well – the love of family
and friends, the love of communities like this one in this church, and most of
all, the love of God whose promise is still “I
am with you. You are mine”. In life and in death, we are going from love to
Love, and that means that there truly is nothing to fear.
Amen
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