Facing The Nightmare: Fear and Anxiety

When I was a child I had nightmares all the time, terrible, horrible, graphic nightmares. Terrible.

By the time I was 8 or 9, I began to realize that I could identify if I was in a nightmare. I would hear this thumping louder and louder, pounding through my surroundings. For some time I just knew it as the nightmare noise, but at some point I realized it was my own heartbeat. I learned that when I heard that noise in the dream, I could latch on to it, and pull myself out of whatever terror facing or chasing me. I trained myself to listen for something that was always consistent, reliable, and to which I could focus on to move myself in the right direction. I began to be able to force myself to wake up. Eyes open in my dark room, I lay there listening as my heartbeat faded from my ears, moving to rest back in my chest where it belonged.

After a few moments, I would roll over and study the floor. My room was lit by a nightlight and just enough to see if there were any dangers on my path to the door. Because I couldn’t see under my bed, I always jumped as far as I could and then ran to my doorway. As I opened the door, my nightlight lit a triangle into the darkness of the hallway.

The hallway was so big that the triangle of light reached all the way to the bathroom to my left or to my parents’ bedroom on the other side of the stairs to my right. So I would stand in the darkness and stare into the black before I could pursue comfort. When my eyes had adjusted enough that I could make out the outlines of the trunk, of the laundry closet, and no outlines of invaders or monsters, I would take a deep breath. I held so still, listening for my heartbeat. Could I hear it? Was I awake or dreaming? In the absence of the pounding of my heart, I would fling myself out into the hallway and run as fast as I could for one or the other destination.

Nothing ever got me. Nothing was ever there.

In one direction, lay meeting the needs of my body. Often, when I woke up out of the nightmares I had to go to the bathroom. Sitting in the brightly lit bathroom, taking care of that bodily need, I could find my bearings. This sink is real. This bathtub is real. Nothing is behind the shower curtain. I am safe. Feeling grounded, and with my physical needs met, I walked back to my room, no longer needing to run through the hall. I climbed in bed and went back to sleep.

In the other direction lay my parent’s room. There was a long time, longer than was allowed for both of my brothers, where I could wake in the night and finding myself scared and alone, I could climb into bed with my mom. At some point, my parents decided I was too old for that. I still knew, however, that there on the other side of the hallway were people who loved me, who cared for me, who took good care of me, who would comfort me and tuck me back in.

But as I grew older and thought that I was too old to ask for help, I would stand and whisper from my doorway, “Mom? Dad? Mommy? Daddy?” I was afraid to bother them. I was afraid to wake them up. I knew that my nightmare was a figment of my imagination, and so I thought it would be of little importance to them.

When we face fear, deal with anxiety, we need to be aware of the physical element of our response. We may not actually be dealing with a spiritual crisis. We may be dealing with a physical, a chemical, a biological, a situational or an inherited crisis. We have to be willing to turn to the left, to pursue the solution to the aspects of fear and anxiety which truly are a result of our fleshly bodies.

Fear is a natural reaction. Fear is a good and healthy part of our design. Fear preserves the human race and assures its survival. But when fear turns into a cancer, reproducing itself over and over, without treatment it will ultimately destroy us entirely.

But also, we need to be convinced that there is a right turn option as well. And we need to know who is in that other room.

In Christian circles, we can hear “Do not fear!” and think only of the disciplinarian parent, who lays out rules with no regard to whether or not they can be followed. “Do not fear!” becomes as common as “Do not touch that!” We hear “Do not fear!” and it sounds like we’re being told “Do not blink!”

And then we say to one another, “God is love. Perfect love drives out fear. He who fears is not made perfect in love.” The silent underlying message is “If you fear, you will disappoint me. If you fear, you are less than perfect. If you fear, you are not my child.” And the whisper that follows that is, “If love drives out fear, and your fear is not going away….maybe…maybe there is nothing to actually drive it out. Maybe you are all alone.”

These things are false messages, but that doesn’t mean we don’t hear them.

It is those messages which prevent us from admitting we fear. We don’t want our brothers and sisters to think that we’re not in the family, that we don’t belong. We don’t want them to think we don’t have it together. So we walk around looking like we’ve been told not to blink. We tape our eyelids open and deny that there is a natural part of our body which was designed to act that way.

Then we begin to do what I did, we whisper our prayers, “God? God?” with no intention of rousing Him and no belief that your concern will matter to Him. Oh, oh, oh, this is the worst of it all. Fear, left unchecked, makes us act as if we are not who God says we are, His child.

The truth is, the words are not “Do not fear.” They are “Do not fear, for I am with you.” God does not sleep. You do not need to worry about waking Him. He is already there, listening to you inhale and exhale, hearing your heartbeat as it quickens, looking under your bed and clearing the path to the doorway so that you might come to Him. Go to your doorway and if you are not brave enough to run through the darkness into His sanctuary, scream out into the night “Abba!”

Oh child, make yourself heard, because He is listening.

And just you see. Just you see if he doesn’t burst through the doorway, throw on the light and gather you up in His arms. He carries you to a rocking chair or sits next to you on your bed. He wraps Himself around you, rocking you back and forth, swaying you in time to the biorhythms He designed in you. He sings to you, “Do not fear, I am with you. Do not fear, my sweet child, I’m here.” He whispers to you over and over, “Shh shh shh don’t be afraid. Daddy’s here. I am here. I am here. You’re alright. I’ve got this. I’ll protect you. I’ll take care of you. Shh Shh Shh. I am here.”     

Is that not who He is? Is that not the kind of father He is?

Who are we in all of this? What is our role?

The first part we play in the spiritual battle against fear is to train ourselves to climb in our Father’s lap. It is to truly believe that He will come when you call. It is to be honest with Him when He comes. Be prepared to answer Him honestly when He asks, “What are you afraid of?” and don’t put on pretense with Him like it’s really no big deal and you know it’s about perspective and you’re probably doing a fine job, maybe you don’t really need him to do everything. No! If you have fear, tell him what you are afraid of, not how you can fight it yourself.

And the second thing we can do is equip ourselves. That will not happen, if you do not work at it. You cannot go into battle and pick up the sword for the first time when the enemy is rushing you. We have 3 mighty weapons at our disposal at all times and it is up to us as to how well we will train ourselves with them.

They are the Word, our prayers and a journal. Know what He’s already said about fear. Continue the conversation with Him about fear. And record how He has shown up for you, defended you, comforted you, turned on the lights, gathered you up, rocked you and sang to you, so that you can remember it and reread it and be convinced that He is who He says He is.

Finally, you are not in this battle alone. I do not only mean that God is with you. We were created for community. We were put here to care for one another. If you are facing anxiety and fear, tell someone. Please. Start with a friend or a family member you trust.

Talk to a doctor. Go to the GP and have bloodwork drawn to rule out imbalances or deficiencies. Be your own best advocate at the doctor and know that you are in charge of your treatment options.

Fear.

Anxiety.

They feel so real.

But I promise you, there is hope that morning will come, that the nightmare will end.

And I promise you, that even on the darkest night, we have sources of light.

Communion at Women’s Prayer & A Note About Immigrants

Thursday morning I brought communion to women’s prayer. A little juice, a little bread (gluten-free of course). I wanted to set it out and make it look sort of nice, but all I could find in the church kitchen on short notice was this old scratched up plate and a coffee cup that didn’t match. Presentation never really was my thing.

I got to church early on Thursday and sifted through some favorite devotionals and a book I’d been reading to find what I’d like to share for the devotional. But I didn’t want to share out of that. I wanted to share out of scripture and out of my heart. I turned to the same three chapters I’ve been reading for weeks, months even. Mathew 14, 15 and 16.

Jesus feeds the 5,000 in Jewish territory. Jesus explains to the Pharisees that it’s not adhering to handwashing rituals which makes you unclean. Jesus reexplains it to the crowds. And the disciples make him re-explain it in private. Wait, wait, Jesus, we don’t get it? What are you ACTUALLY trying to say, because certainly we can think of things that make a person unclean, unfit to eat with us. Jesus gets put out and tells them off.

And I think because they still don’t get it, even with Jesus speaking as plainly as he can, Jesus storms off in the direction of the Greeks. He interacts with a Canaanite woman in a way that after months of reading this passage I have come to view differently than I ever have before, but that is a story for another day. Just know, this little perplexing story in the middle of Jesus’s meltdown is consistent with him as a loving, compassionate provider. Jesus continues on and he heals many people, many people afflicted with things that would say to others at the time that that person was unclean, had sinned in some way, or their parents had sinned. But Jesus, it says, has compassion on them.

And after 3 days, 3 days where Jesus seems only to interact with the broken masses who need him, he tells his disciples, we need to feed these people. If we don’t, they will faint on their way home. The disciples, who just saw Jesus feed 5,000, and are talking to Jesus on a break from a massive healing spree, can’t figure out where the food is going to come from.

Jesus asks them what they have. And it is good I think to note….Jesus doesn’t feed these people the leftover gathered bread from the Jewish miracle a few days earlier. He uses good, fresh bread. He gives thanks, breaks it, and gives it to the disciples. He has the disciples serve the Greeks gathered there. He has them serve the unclean. And then he has them clean up after them.

Another boat ride on a full stomach to another discussion with Pharisees where they are asking him to prove himself. At the close of that discussion he tells his disciples, “Be on your guard against the yeast of the Pharisees and Sadducees.” To which the disciples figure Jesus is upset with them because they forgot the leftovers from feeding the 4,000.

Being a mother, I have mastered the slow-turn-with-one-eyebrow-raised move which immediately silences my children and warns them that any commentary from them will not go well and that what I’m about to say they better take very seriously. Mama ain’t playing, you know. When I picture Jesus replying to the disciples here, it’s after just that kind of Jesus ain’t playing kind of slow turn.

Matthew 16: 8-12 reads “Aware of their discussion, Jesus asked, “You of little faith, why are you talking among yourselves about having no bread? Do you still not understand? Don’t you remember the five loaves for the five thousand, and how many basketfuls you gathered? Or the seven loaves for the four thousand, and how many basketfuls you gathered? How is it you don’t understand that I was not talking to you about bread? But be on your guard against the yeast of the Pharisees and Sadducees.”  Then they understood that he was not telling them to guard against the yeast used in bread, but against the teaching of the Pharisees and Sadducees.” 

What is that dangerous yeast? It is those tiny things which blow things out of proportion and puff us up with pride. It is adherence to the law saying, you did not wash your hands the right way and so I can’t eat with you. It is saying I did wash my hands the right way, and so I am better than you.

Today, in America, there are a lot of ways this could be applied. There are a lot of ways that we set ourselves one against the other, both inside and outside of the church. But my mind has been on the border over the past few weeks. I know that our immigration process needs work, but I don’t know how to fix those things. I know my ideas are different than the ideas of others, which are different than the ideas of still more others. I am not a politician. I am not a lawyer. I don’t know the right solution or exactly how our immigration system needs to be run so that it is a system which protects our American people, as well true to our historical values as a nation from its foundations built by immigrants and asylum seekers. I can easily become overwhelmed trying to figure out how we should fix the system.

But as I read Jesus breaking down the nationalism and legalism that even exists in his disciples to make it clear that his compassion, his care, and ultimately his complete sacrifice is for everyone, I am afraid of the yeast of the Pharisees. I am terrified more of eating that bread more than I am afraid of eating gluten. I am an American, and proud of it and blessed by the benefits of being an American. But as Derek Webb so powerfully says in his song “A King and a Kingdom,” “My first allegiance is not to a flag, a country, or a man, My first allegiance is not to democracy or blood, It’s to a king & a kingdom.”

Today, this yeast says, “You did not come into this country the right way. You deserve what you get.” Today this yeast says, “I was born here. I am better than you.”

Jesus does not rewrite the law to improve it. He does not come to correct political and societal establishments and health care systems. He acts in a way that is reflective of his allegiance, which is not to a race or to a political party or an earthly ruler. He just feeds the hungry.

But if we know what the yeast of the pharisees is, what is the bread which Jesus’s uses as an allegory?  Often while I set up for communion throughout the year I think upon what communion’s meaning should be. After using the theme of bread to introduce this deep hard teaching that salvation is available to all, Jesus addresses point after point and stays consistent to that message, before returning to the bread. Tucked in a quiet room, Jesus shares his final meal with his disciples.

Take. Eat. He invites them. Take. Drink. For the forgiveness of sins.

He doesn’t feed them something fancy. He doesn’t sacrifice a lamb and make a comparison to himself. He doesn’t create the equivalent to a retirement party where he is the guest of honor. He feeds them the same thing he fed to the masses. He feeds them the common, every day food.

The last supper is a moment to see that the common mingles with the uncommon, the ordinary with the extraordinary. It is a moment to remember that these basic things that sustain us, this is what Christ longs to be. Our day to day nourishment. Our provision. Our sustenance.

Eat and you will hunger again. Drink and you will thirst. But for what our soul hungers for, we draw up to the table with the 12. We sit down on the hillside with thousands of others. We stand in the middle of the day next to the woman at the well. Jesus will satisfy. Jesus is enough. Jesus provided everything already and Jesus sustains us still.

But it’s not about the bread. It’s not just bread. The bread is an allegory.

We have made communion so very sacred, that I’m afraid sometimes we forget, I forget, that it is built on such a common thing, a common every day meal. And so in women’s prayer yesterday, it was good for me to see the bread I can eat and the juice in a coffee cup. Maybe I need to think about my common food.

As often as I drink my coffee, every morning, sometimes twice, oh, may I remember.
As often as I eat my gluten free granola bar, a few hours later, my first meal of the day, oh, may I remember.

He has done this for me.

But also, he has done this for them.