"Do Not Be Afraid"
Radical Faith in New Possibilities

A guest essay by Edwina Gateley. Gateley's journey has led her to teaching in Africa, founding Volunteer Missionary Movement, sojourning in the Sahara Desert, spending nine months of prayer in a trailer in the woods, befriending and ministering to street people and women in prostitution — "God's little ones," and preaching the Good News that God Is With Us. Edwina is a poet, theologian, artist, writer, lay minister, modern-day mystic and prophet, and a single mom. She gives talks, conferences and retreats in the United States, as well as internationally, while continuing to reach out to women in recovery from drugs and prostitution. You can visit her website here.

           "The word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision: 'Do not be afraid, Abram.'" Genesis 15:1.

           I read an article recently about how climate change is drastically affecting our world food supply. One sobering fact that I heard on Public Radio really made me pause. Apparently, the Blue Fin Tuna stocks are down by 96%. I enjoy tuna — it makes a great lunch sandwich. But suddenly I began to be aware of the very real possibility that the next generation of potential tuna lovers might never get to enjoy it. That is, of course, because our generation has been, and continues to be, unfaithful stewards of our planet earth.

           It would seem that we rape, ravage, destroy and consume at such a rate that the earth, our home, is beginning to manifest deep distress through increasingly violent weather patterns, floods, earthquakes, storms, drought, plummeting fish and animal species — you name it, it’s here. The news is increasingly dire, especially for the folks in the southern hemisphere, and for the poor, who already have a hard enough time of it — at least one billion are constantly hungry.

           But in actual fact, in spite of all our natural as well as man-made disasters, we could still feed the world. We could still be the Gospel people who feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and house the homeless. We do, for instance, have the food resources. It is what we DO with our resources that is the problem. Apparently half of all the world’s food produce ends up as waste every year! A staggering fact! This waste is mostly (according to the UK’s Institute of Mechanical Engineers) because of unnecessarily strict “sell-by” dates, “buy one-get one free,” and western consumer demands for cosmetically perfect food.

           What we need to do, instead of helplessly lamenting the state of the world, is to ask the deeper questions: “What is really going on?” “Can we, indeed, make a difference?” “If so, how?” These questions require a deeper look than just listening to the world news and lamenting. They require a personal withdrawal from all the horror stories and fear mongering we hear endlessly on TV, radio, Facebook, Twitter, smart phones, etc.

           We need, instead, a mountain to sit upon.

           We need, like Jesus in the Gospel, to take a radical journey to a quiet and lonely place where we may see and experience a different perspective. Whilst being conscious of our world’s pain and diminishment, a quiet, lonely place allows us to sink within ourselves to listen to a deeper reality which tells us: “Have no fear."

           We are invited to have no fear because there is an eternal Covenant which, though we unfaithful people may blindly and stupidly be about the business of destroying, a more powerful and holy Truth is about the eternal business of preserving! We are called to the mountain so that we might be reminded to take this ancient Covenant seriously in our troubled times.

           We must ponder deeply, in silence and repentance, how we can do things differently. We must remember, in silence and repentance, that the Divine Presence never leaves us, no matter how immersed in evil we may be. When we sit alone on the mountain (or wherever it is that you can be alone and still for a while), the perennial grace and mercy of a grieving God rises above the noise, the frenzy and the horror of our fearsome deeds, and we become conscious of hope and redemption.

           This, of course, is what Lent is all about. It is about a radical faith in new possibilities come about through an honest acknowledgement of our sin and a radical commitment to start over. Lent reminds us that we are all capable of resurrection and graced with awesome potential for redemption and new life. But we must believe in the miracle — over and against the reality. We must believe that, however small we perceive our efforts to be, if made in faith and sincerity, they are capable of affecting the universe.

           The very act of temporary withdrawal into silence and prayer represents, itself, a new beginning, a sign of hope in the Light of Christ, a contemporary Transfiguration in an otherwise darkened world. We can, like Jesus, then come down from the mountain. We may not cure an epileptic child (as Jesus did), but maybe we will refuse to be seduced into “buy one get one free." Maybe we will not discard food that has reached its “sell by” date. Maybe we will not demand that our food look perfect.

           These calls to conscious action, given the enormity of global problems, seem almost trivial. But that is exactly the point. Our own conversion, in a host of little ways, is essential to keep the Covenant. It is essential to heal our world and even, with the grace of God, to save the Blue Fin tuna.

Soften us
Oh, gentle God, soften us!
Let the fire of your love
thaw the frost within us.
Let the light of Your justice
sear away our blindness,
Let the grace of Your compassion
heal our hardened spirits.
Oh, living God, soften us!
That, flowing with Your grace,
We be impelled to face the world
In bold compassion,
That, driven to justice,
we may dare to cry aloud
for the little ones,
the raped, the beaten
the imprisoned and the hungry.
Oh, living God, soften us!
Sweep us forward
in a mighty wave of mercy
to heal our hurting world.

(From: “There was no Path, So I trod One”; Edwina Gateley) .