“No one will see if you stop believing.” – Mark Hall
The mines of Moria are dark. The small group, led by Gandalf the grey, had tried to go over the mountain, but an evil wind blew in snow that nearly froze them to death and forced them to go under. Gimli was excited. He longed to know what became of his friend, Balin, who had gone there years before in search of treasure. Boromir longed to turn away. Who knew what lurked beneath the mountain? But Frodo insisted they move on. There was still that pesky issue of disposing of the ring.
They traveled the dark corridors for some days without trouble when they encountered Balin’s tomb. It was surrounded by bones and helms–remnants of the dwarves who had tried to recapture the wonder of ages gone by. A charred book detailed their fate; orcs had risen from the deep and trapped them in the small chamber.
“We cannot get out. The end comes. Drums, drums in the deep.”
In true dramatic fashion the drums of the orcs begin to thrum.
Boom, doom. Boom, doom.
“Trapped! cried Gandalf. “Why did I delay? Here we are, caught, just as they were before. But I was not here then.”
If Balin was guilty of greed and the ruthless pursuit of glory and treasure, Frodo and Aragorn were not. Their noble task to destroy the ring of power and end the reign of Sauron was most noble. Yet there they stood in the dark–trapped just the same. Evil does not discriminate.
Sometimes the evil we face is so great we are driven to despair. Our fears rise up like malevolent gargoyles and we are pinned down and crushed. We want to run away, but like Frodo and his friends, we are trapped, and the dreary whispers of our enemy drown out any speck of hope.
A few years ago, a good friend of mine was pregnant and endured a horrific birth experience. When her water broke, they went to the hospital only to discover the baby was not progressing. They gave her Pitocin, which induced excruciating contractions. In her agony, they administered pain medication via an epidural, which promptly stopped the labor. She endured hours and hours of painful contractions and physicians and nurses who were not helpful. Like many women, she bears the scars of that experience.
My friend is pregnant again and due in a few weeks. Her fear and dread of labor has grown into a monster of epic proportions. Even though she has selected a different hospital and has a more caring doctor, she is–quite frankly–terrified. No amount of prayers and reassurance will give her peace. I suspect its fair to say she has labor and delivery PTSD. And the only way out of her situation is to endure it.
My friend feels like a handkerchief blowing in the wind and in some respects, she is flimsy. There is nothing more vulnerable than a pregnant woman who is near term. She is beset by hormones, physically exhausted, and without the regular support system one needs because her family is out of state. The coronavirus has robbed us of so many comforts, why wouldn’t it steal our sense of security as well? But no matter the fear–our God is stronger than flint and He will sustain her.
How can I say such a thing?
I recently asked a friend if we could trust the bible. We were discussing some really tough situations in our lives, and while we believe in God, suffering has a way of eroding faith and trust in Him. We want to know why He doesn’t stop hard things from happening. In short, we want practical solutions to esoteric problems. I asked her, “Can we really believe and trust in these old texts? I mean, it is thousands of years old.” I’m not the first to question its authenticity, and in the heat of cruel emotions, it’s very tempting to throw it in the dirt.
The disciples had a similar dilemma in response to the teachings of Jesus when he said he was “the bread of life.”
“It is the spirit who gives life; the flesh is no help at all. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life.” – John 6:63
“After this many of his disciples turned back and no longer walked with him. So Jesus said to the twelve, ‘Do you want to go away as well?’ Simon Peter answered him, ‘Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know that you are the Holy One of God.” John 6:66-69
We place our trust in something we cannot see, and while it often befuddles others, it sometimes befuddles us too. But the reality is, whether I like it or not, I do believe it. And not in the “I believe in Santa Claus” kind of way. I’ve staked my life on it.
There is no guarantee my friend won’t suffer another horrific labor and delivery. She might even die in childbirth. It pains me to write that and I pray it doesn’t happen. But I’m thinking of my other friend whose son is suffering terrible mental health issues. She said, “God never promised us we would be “whole.” And he didn’t. He sent Jesus to die for our sin, not so that we would have perfect, pain-free lives.
“Trapped! cried Gandalf. “Why did I delay? Here we are, caught, just as they were before. But I was not here then.“
Of course Gandalf protected Frodo and the rest of the fellowship. Unlike Balin, they made it out of Moria alive. Alas, Gandalf fell to his death due to the machinations of the balrog. I may be remiss to make this analogy, but it does feel the same way with God. He sent Jesus to bear our sin and shame. He suffered and died. Then he rose from the dead. If I believe the bible–that’s probably the most important thing to believe. Because without the resurrection of Christ–my faith is worthless.
So we walk with faces unflinching into the fire. No matter how flimsy we feel, God is not. His strength will sustain us–even unto the end.
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