What a Friend We Have in Jesus

I spent most of this past Thursday at a gathering of Episcopal clergy (plus one Lutheran). I generally avoid these so-called "clergy days." They tend to include a lot of group sharing. And although I value deeply the friendship and support of some of my colleagues, I have never found large scale group sharing helpful or productive. Especially since the "clergy day" group seems to include a large proportion of older retired male clergy whom I don’t know. What's to share? But I went this week. It was right here in Bangor; the Bishop was going to be present; and the general topic was "world events." I thought I should be there.

On Thursday, the Bishop "shared" first. She spoke of her own anxiety and how recently she’s had difficulty sleeping. Some of you know that even in the midst of our glorious celebration of community with her last Sunday (and it was glorious!), she spoke privately of carrying a heavy heart. Last Sunday, when she was here, was right after the date March 17 had all of a sudden appeared in all of the newspaper and TV headlines. And not because it is St. Patrick’s Day.

At the clergy gathering Bishop Knudsen went on to share with us a portion of a letter from the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal church sent to all Episcopal Bishops.  Presiding Bishop Griswold’s words were not what any of us expected to hear. He spoke about practical matters. About how a special system has already been set up enabling anyone to telephone the Office of the Episcopal Bishop for the Armed Forces at absolutely any hour of the day or night. That office, in turn, is in constant contact with the military chaplains serving in the midst of battle. In battle, chaplains deal mostly with death. You may know that the national offices of the Episcopal Church are in lower Manhattan near the United Nations. Bishop Griswold also outlined the contingency plans that are in place to maintain this communication network and the overall administration of the church even if the telephone lines in Manhattan should become inoperable.

Bishop Griswold also strongly urged Bishops and Priests to make plans in their own cities and towns, joining with other faith communities. Where shall we meet for prayer and fellowship in the case of a local disaster? How shall we communicate if our phone and e-mail lines are down? How can people of faith respond in such a situation? I still receive the newsletter from the parish where I worked as a seminarian. It’s just a few miles from the Pentagon and for months it has included instructions in the event of a national disaster. Bishop Knudsen pointed out, as I suspect everyone in this room has considered, that Maine is probably the least likely place in the US to experience a major attack. (I was thinking we might actually be second to North Dakota). But that means we must consider that we may be called upon to provide a very special ministry in the days ahead of service to others.

These are times of complicated and conflicting emotions… complicated and conflicting emotions often warring within a single individual’s heart… complicated and conflicting emotions certainly bubbling up among families, friends, neighbors and communities. Again and again at our clergy gathering priests spoke of the struggle to identify and work with our own feelings and convictions, yet still remain faithful pastors, priests, and prophets in such polarized and turbulent settings. We all want to be faithful pastors, priests, and prophets… Faithful to God; faithful to the Body of Christ which is the Church; faithful to our people.

In the midst of it all, I will tell you what my deepest, overriding feeling is. It’s fear. Fear. I have very little fear that my personal life is in danger. And yet I am deeply afraid. It seems to me there is much to fear. This fear has nothing to do with the rightness or wrongness of this endeavor. If the cause is just, fear should not turn us from it. If the cause is unjust, the reality of the fear is no greater or no less. In either case, only a fool would look towards war without fear. There is much to fear.

I fear that all hell is going to break loose. Literally.

I fear the unknown future that lies just beyond us. The unknown is fearful even in the best of times. None of us knows what the future will bring. But I expect we all know it will be soon.

I fear the way that violence inevitably breeds more violence. How a war half way around the world can spawn spousal violence here. How the occasion of this international conflict with one particular regime may become the occasion or the excuse for other international conflicts.

I fear for those of us who will stay here. I fear polarization in our communities. And even more, I fear finding myself personally caught in the middle of that polarization. I fear that name-calling will drown out neighborly greetings. I fear that sloganeering will destroy conversation.

I fear death. Not my own death. But all of the other deaths. Each will have a name. Each will have a cost.

I fear for the children. For what they will see and what they will lose. I fear for the children here and there who will be scarred for life.

I fear for friends who live in places like Houston, Washington DC, and Los Angeles.

I fear for the desert. It is a wondrous piece of God’s creation. Since Jesus’ own day and before, people have sought spiritual cleansing and strength, holiness, in the desert. Ecologically, it is a miraculous but very fragile place. And with so little water, it is excruciatingly slow to recover from trauma. I fear the desert will be lost.

Human beings respond to fear in different ways. You know the joke about denial. It is not just a river in Egypt. It’s probably the most popular response to fear. In denial we deny that we feel fear even though we do. We deny it to ourselves. We deny it to others. We deny that whatever we face has the power to make us fearful.

Denial comes in several flavors. My own particular favorite is what might be called hibernation. Even if I didn’t live in Maine, I expect I’d be trying to hibernate from the war right now. But it’s a particularly tempting form of denial here in Maine. (Will winter ever end?!) And we are so remote from it all. If I just stay here in my cozy cave and only watch reruns on the TV, then somehow all that stuff out there in the rest of the country and the world seems a long way off and not quite real. If I can escape into a good book or a good movie, I can almost pretend that I’m safe and secure, that it doesn’t affect my life.

Another flavor of denial is hyperactivity. I’m too busy to be afraid. I have things to do, places to be, responsibilities to fulfill. There is no room in my life for fear. And if I keep my life particularly extra, extra full right now everything will be OK.

Another flavor of denial is bravado. Bravado can be a particularly noble form of self-deception. But, like all denial, ultimately it is self-deception.

Beyond denial, there are other ways that people respond to fear. A contemporary philosopher has written: "Fear is the main source of superstition, and one of the main sources of cruelty" (Bertrand Russell,  An Outline of Intellectual Rubbish).

All of these responses—denial and the others—are wrong, psychologically unhealthy and spiritually dangerous. There is only one right response to fear. Prayer. It’s also the best, right response to anger, indecision, or despair. Whatever you are feeling today and in the days to come, pray.

St. Paul’s words to the Christians in Rome are often chosen as a reading at funerals. In a time of uncertainty and loss, they are a powerful assurance: "Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? No, in all these things we are more than conquerors though him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Face the fear; and take it to God in prayer. Let us lay bear before God the fearful trembling of our hearts. Or take the anger to God. Rage in God’s holy presence. In prayer, seek God’s guidance in the midst of internal conflict and indecision. And if it is hopelessness or despair that you feel, do not hide it from God. For only God can bring light into that darkness. No matter what you are feeling today or tomorrow or the next day, just pray.

Remember the words of the old spiritual?

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