trust

Shortly after Ruth and I were married we received a letter. It was a letter that promised us huge amounts of money provided that we respond immediately. There was, however, a catch. There’s always a catch. In order to qualify for the cash, we had to take out an insurance policy with the organisation who had sent out the letter. The bulk of the letter outlined the benefits of taking out the policy that we were being offered, but as I read the letter I felt a little…well, threatened. For example, I read: Imagine what would happen to a relative or friend, who suffered an injury and could never lead a normal life again. Everyone is at risk, no matter how careful. Accidents do happen! Although still very much alive, they may not be able to see, or may lose the use of a limb…and that can lead to serious money worries. The letter also included testimonies from people who had, it seemed, suffered terrible life-changing injuries within hours of taking out the insurance policy: “I’m so lucky…In October I took out insurance. In December I had an accident which has left me paralysed and facing a bleak future…” You and I have very different ideas of what constitutes being ‘lucky’, friend. Anyway, I was undecided. If I didn’t take out the insurance then perhaps they’d send someone round to follow up on the promise that ‘Accidents do happen!‘, but if I did take out the policy then I was pretty much guaranteed to suffer some horrible injury in the next few months anyway. What was I to do? I did nothing. I’m a risk-taker by nature. I doubt there was anything genuine about the offer that we received in that letter, but it was clear that they had a very deliberate marketing tactic. Fear. Fear. There’s a lot of it going around at the moment, and it can be hard to keep it at bay, even when you’re not receiving letters designed to terrify you into parting with your money. And why shouldn’t we be afraid, not just of the things that are happening, but also of the things that might happen? After all, accidents do happen and many of us know all too well that a bleak future is always a possibility. Paul writes that we are ‘…hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed’.  J.B. Phillips translates the last part of this verse as ‘[we are]…knocked down, but never knocked out’. If we are knocked down, but never knocked out, what should we fear? What can fear do to one who is not destroyed, never abandoned? And what might I see if I gathered up my fears and took them directly to God? Robert Louis Stevenson tells the story of a ship experiencing a storm at sea. The passengers were terrified as the ship rocked to the right and the left, and as the waves crashed against the deck. Eventually one of the passengers, against orders, left the hold and crept up the deck to see what was going on. Amidst the torrential rain and wind the passenger saw the pilot, lashed to the wheel, steering calmly as though it were a pleasure cruise. The pilot turned and saw the passenger, and simply gave him a reassuring smile.  The passenger went back below and comforted the others, saying, “I have seen the face of the pilot, and all is well.” Fear. There is a lot of it going around at the moment, but I have seen the face of the pilot, and all is well.