Hope
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God’s Word assures us of a safe landing: we will make it to the other side. There are two kinds of destinations that deserve our attention: temporary destinations and our ultimate destination. God assures us that we will arrive at our ultimate destination—life in His eternal Kingdom. That promise alone should dispel all manner of fear—fear of storms and the fear of fear itself. If God says that those in Christ will be saved, they will be saved.
But are we guaranteed passage through every storm en route to that ultimate destination? No. Think of all the saints who died as martyrs. I find it significant that, once death was certain, many of these heroes of the faith died without fear. They could do so only because they had complete faith in God’s assurance of their ultimate destination.
Could you die like that? If your day were today, would you feel the joy of knowing you were going to reach the farther shore? In Christ, death loses all power to terrify.
God’s Word Alerts Us to Expect Stormy Seas
I find it illuminating that the apostle James, the half brother of Jesus, used the metaphor of a stormy sea when he talked about trials (James 1:2-8). He says we will encounter storms in this life, and without faith we will be “like a wave of the sea driven and tossed by the wind” (James 1:6).
“My brethren,” James writes, “count it all joy when you fall into various trials” (verse 2, emphasis added). Note that he doesn’t say if but when. Clear skies are never promised in the Bible, though some struggle to embrace that idea. Even Jesus, who lived a perfect life, was given no exemption from storms. Hebrews 5:8 tells us that He was allowed to suffer, and Romans 8:32 explains why, telling us that God “did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all.” God allowed His Son to suffer so that we might be spared the punishment we’ve earned and go on to enjoy every good gift God gives us.
If Jesus had to suffer, why would we think ourselves exempt? After all, as He explained, “a disciple is not above his teacher, nor a servant above his master” (Matthew 10:24). Then He told them not to fear the storms that inevitably would assail them (verse 26).
Jesus gives us the key to surviving storms in His story about two houses: one built on the sand, the other on solid rock. The sand represents the shallow, shifting, and unreliable values of worldly culture. The rock represents the unshakable truth of God (Matthew 7:24-27). As the storm rages, the first house quickly topples into the sand and washes out to sea. The other stands firm, withstanding the force of the most violent winds. In decades of ministry, I have often seen the truth of this parable vividly demonstrated. People who place their hope in God withstand every storm because they have built their lives on the only foundation that cannot be moved.
God’s Word Announces That the Savior Is on Board
The disciples were too inexperienced with Jesus to have a faith devoid of fear. Perhaps you’re the same way. You identify with Christ, but you draw no assurance as the clouds roll in. When the sky darkens, you might wonder whether you should step into the boat with Jesus or stay ashore in hopes of avoiding the storm. The problem with that choice is that it’s a false one. You can run, but you cannot hide. The storms will find you. You don’t get to decide whether the rain is coming; you only get to decide whether to carry an umbrella.
“But He is sleeping,” you say. “He doesn’t care.” Don’t let His seeming silence lead you to conclude that He isn’t with you. He says, “I will never leave you nor forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5). As He told His disciples, “Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20).
Those are promises, and He has yet to break a promise. That He will be with you is the most certain fact of your life. What’s uncertain is your grasp of that fact—your ability to trust and to build your house upon that truth. It’s the only storm-proof foundation in existence.
Adoniram Judson was America’s first foreign missionary. He devoted his life to God’s service, and yet he lost his wife and then, three months later, their infant daughter, Maria. Judson was overcome with grief. He had been away, doing his Father’s business, during his wife’s illness, and he found it nearly impossible to forgive himself. He wrote, “God is to me the great Unknown. I believe in him but I find him not.”[7]
In spite of this anguished expression of aloneness, Judson didn’t lose his faith. Sometimes the rains pound hard enough to drown out all other voices, and we struggle to hear Christ calming the storm. But that doesn’t mean He isn’t calming it. The storms pass, and we hear the voice of God once again—this time through a new wisdom tempered by our struggles. And we realize that He was there all the time.
God is our refuge and strength,
A very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear,
Even though the earth be removed,
And though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea;
Though its waters roar and be troubled,
Though the mountains shake with its swelling.
PSALM 46:1-3
God’s Word Affirms That Faith Drives Out Fear
Charles Spurgeon uses two biblical examples to show how one’s faith can grow to be stronger and more complete. The first is David, who says, “Whenever I am afraid, I will trust in You” (Psalm 56:3). The second example is Isaiah, who says, “I will trust and not be afraid” (Isaiah 12:2).
Charles Spurgeon compares the faith of these two men to medicines, with Isaiah’s being the stronger brand. He tells about a man who got the chills but gave thanks for the prescription that helped him through them. A neighbor said, “Thankful for that? I have something that would keep you from getting the chills in the first place!” If you have a faith that helps you deal with fear, said Spurgeon, good for you. But why not go after a higher-grade faith that is fear resistant?[8]
When the disciples stepped into the boat with Jesus, they did not even have the first kind of faith. They didn’t put their hope in Jesus, so their fear escalated to sheer terror. When Jesus awoke and calmed the storm, the dawning realization of who He really was ratcheted their faith to a new level. Later we learn that they became utterly fearless, proclaiming the truth of the Kingdom in the face of all kinds of storms. Had they possessed mature faith that day in the boat, they could have curled up and napped with Jesus with no regard for the storm raging about them.
No matter what your trouble is, you can call on God in the midst of it, and He will calm the storm. But deep is the joy of the one who calls on God before the storm, for he will find that his faith drives out all fear.
[1] Sebastian Junger, The Perfect Storm: A True Story of Men against the Sea (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2009), 106.
[2] Craig Brian Larson and Leadership Journal, 750 Engaging Illustrations for Preachers, Teachers, and Writers (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books, 2007), 493.
[3] James Paton, John Gibson Paton, Missionary to the New Hebrides: An Autobiography, volume 2 (London: Butler & Tanner, 1889), 192.
[4] Paton, 325.
[5] Joni Eareckson Tada, Hope . . . the Best of Things (Wheaton, IL: Crossway Books, 2008), 16.
[6] C. S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain (New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, Inc., 1973), 84.
[7] Ruth A. Tucker, From Jerusalem to Irian Jaya (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1983, 2004), 137.
[8] Charles Haddon Spurgeon, “Fearing and Trusting—Trusting and Not Fearing,” Sermons on the Psalms (London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1963).
CHAPTER 2
HOPE AFTER FAILURE
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The LORD, He is the One who goes before you.
He will be with you, He will not leave you nor forsake you; do not fear nor be dismayed.
DEUTERONOMY 31:8
Lyndon Baines Johnson was ambitious from the start. He moved smoothly through the House of Representatives, was elected to the Senate, and then became the Senate’s majority leader. Still, his eyes never left one address: 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue—the White House.
He was a tall Texan—six foot four�
�not to mention wealthy and influential. He had a reputation for getting things done, even if he had to cut a few corners along the way. By the end of a typical day, he had outworked and outmaneuvered everyone in the room. He wouldn’t take no for an answer on anything, including his drive to be president of the United States.
In the two years leading up to the 1960 campaign, it seemed like his greatest dream lay within his grip. He was the highest-ranking Democrat in the nation and one of the most respected men in America. His opponent was considered a lightweight in politics—a skinny, sickly young man who, in Johnson’s view, was little more than a playboy living on his father’s money: John F. Kennedy.
Summoning advisers to his Texas ranch in 1958, Johnson told them plainly that it was his destiny to be president and that he was going to run for the office.
So the men around him began to lay the foundation for a campaign to put their man in the White House. Since the Republicans had held the presidency for two terms, the Democrats poured all they had into their leading light. The planners waited for Johnson’s announcement that he would throw his ten-gallon hat in the ring.
Then they waited some more.
Johnson, who had spoken of this dream for as long as anyone had known him, had cold feet. He was, according to the White House press secretary at the time, “a man badly torn.”[1] Meanwhile, Kennedy was racing across the nation sewing up delegates to win the nomination for himself. By the time Johnson got around to announcing his candidacy, it was too late. Kennedy had beaten him to the punch.
Historians have speculated why such a driven and powerful man stalled at the most important moment of his career. Biographer Robert A. Caro has a theory. He believes that for all his drive and bravado, Johnson was paralyzed by a fear of failure—the fear that he would end up like his father.
When Lyndon was a child, his family was among the most respected in town, living in a large house on a sprawling Texas ranch. His father, Samuel, was a successful man—a member of the state House and the most prosperous businessman in the area. Sam bought the first car anyone had ever seen in those parts, and he had a chauffeur to drive it. The Johnson family was riding high.
But just as young Lyndon came into his teenage years, disaster struck: the business failed. The family lost its ranch and moved into a little shanty house, the next step up from homelessness. From being the highest in society, the Johnsons plummeted to the lowest. Townspeople brought food to keep them from starving. Lyndon was humiliated beyond words. One classmate recalls that when Lyndon was taunted at school, he responded that one day he would be president of the United States. His classmates laughed and said they wouldn’t vote for him. He retorted that he wouldn’t need their votes.
From that moment, LBJ dreamed of being president. But when the prize was finally within his grasp, he was traumatized by a fear of failing in a way that would bring public humiliation, as had happened to his father. He was so afraid of defeat that it became a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Caro writes,
His father’s fall had shown him that failure could mean not merely failure but terror, the terror of living in a house that, month by month, you were afraid would be taken from you by the bank; that failure could mean not merely terror but ruin, permanent ruin; that failure—defeat—might be something from which you would never recover. And failure in public—failing in a way that was visible: having to move off your ranch; having your credit cut off at stores you had to walk past every day; no longer holding your public office—could mean a different, but also terrible, kind of pain: embarrassment, disgrace, humiliation.[2]
According to Caro, that’s why Johnson anguished and languished over his run for office. And that’s why Kennedy beat him for the 1960 nomination and history took the strange and twisted course that followed. He did eventually make it to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, but it wasn’t by a course he ever would have scripted out for himself.
Those who fear failure are paralyzed by the “r word”: risk. They may undermine their own efforts without even realizing it in an attempt to escape the anxiety of looming failure. Have you known people like that? I have—gifted people who might have done great things in life but wouldn’t, and couldn’t, because they were protecting themselves from disappointment.
Nearly all of us have felt the fear of failure at some point in our lives. In fact, many of the most-admired people in the Bible experienced it. We see this consistently in the “call narratives” of the Bible—those accounts in which God summons a person to a particular task. The more prominent examples are Moses, Gideon, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel.
In the Old Testament, these call narratives have a similar form and progression. First there is an encounter with God, either directly or through one of His angels. This encounter occurs not in some sacred place but within the normal routines of life. Moses is tending sheep, and Gideon is threshing wheat. A divine encounter ensues, bringing a call and challenge: Your moment has arrived—I am sending you on the mission of your life!
The calling is usually followed by objections from the person called—many of them born out of a fear of failure. Moses responded to his call by saying: “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh, and that I should bring the children of Israel out of Egypt?” (Exodus 3:11). Even after God’s assurances of success, Moses continued to object: “O my Lord, I am not eloquent . . . but I am slow of speech and slow of tongue” (Exodus 4:10).
When God called Gideon to fight against the Midianites, his initial response was similar: “O my Lord, how can I save Israel? Indeed my clan is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the least in my father’s house” (Judges 6:15). When God called Jeremiah to speak words of prophecy to God’s people, Jeremiah’s objection follows the same pattern: “Then said I: ‘Ah, Lord GOD! Behold, I cannot speak, for I am a youth’” (Jeremiah 1:6).
Obviously, the fear of failure is not a modern phenomenon; it is a timeless human fear. Some of God’s choicest servants through the ages displayed this fear in spite of God’s promises of success. Their stories provide insight into how God responds to human fears. In every case, He draws alongside His servant with assurance and affirmation.
Nowhere is God’s concern for a fearful servant more evident than in Joshua 1, where He prepares Joshua to lead Israel after the death of Moses. In this chapter, I will focus mainly on this call and its accompanying assurance, because here all the principles scattered throughout the other call narratives come together in an organized, step-by-step strategy for dealing with the fear of failure. The theme of Joshua’s call is transition—the transition of Israel’s leadership from Moses to Joshua. To fully appreciate the magnitude of this transition, we must remember the greatness of Moses.
He is certainly the most revered figure in Judaism, and he ranks among the greatest men in history. An entire generation of Israelites followed Moses out of slavery and into the wilderness. Deuteronomy 34 tells how he died at the ripe age of 120, still a sharp and vigorous man. Israel had seen no other prophet of Moses’ caliber—a man so close to God, so endowed with God’s miraculous power. They had seen him raise his staff as God parted the waters of the Red Sea. They had seen him stand up to Pharaoh and call down bread from heaven. They had waited at the base of the mountain as God dictated His Ten Commandments to him.
The book of Exodus makes a statement about Moses that is not said of any other person in Scripture: “The LORD spoke to Moses face to face, as a man speaks to his friend” (Exodus 33:11). On more than one occasion, Moses even spent forty days on a mountain in fellowship with Him. God grants this kind of intimacy only to those who desire it. Moses belonged to an inner circle of people who enjoyed holy intimacy with God.
The people would grumble against Moses, but in the end they would always follow him, for they knew he was God’s man. His leadership filled them with frustration at first, then deeper devotion. And when the great man finally died, they wept in the plains of Moab for thirty days (Deuteronomy 34:8).
There’s no question�
�Moses would have been a hard act to follow. That was the call to greatness that thrust itself upon Joshua.
Moses’ death came at a perilous time in Israel’s history. The previous generation had been too fearful to put their hope in God’s promise of victory and refused to enter the Promised Land at its very border (Numbers 13–14). That entire generation had died off during thirty-eight years of wandering in the wilderness. Now an all-new generation was gathered on the east bank of the Jordan River, ready to cross over and take possession of the Promised Land. They were ready to step out in faith and claim their home. But it wasn’t going to be easy—it never is.
For one thing, after four decades of peace, the Israelites hadn’t fought a serious battle for forty years, and the Canaanites they would soon face were said to be tall, sturdy, battle-hardened warriors who made the Israelite spies feel “like grasshoppers” in comparison (Numbers 13:33). The enemy waited behind strong, fortified walls. They even had horses and chariots (Joshua 17:16).
Then there was the problem of food. The people had grown accustomed to receiving manna from the hand of God at their doorstep each morning. Now, as we read in Exodus 16:35 and Joshua 5:12, the manna would cease, and the Israelites would be responsible for cultivating food from the land.
How would you like to have been Joshua, taking the reins of leadership from someone like Moses at such a critical time? If you had been called in as a consultant to help Joshua prepare for his new role, what would your counsel have been? Actually, Joshua did have a consultant—God Himself. God delivered to Joshua one of the greatest motivational speeches I’ve ever read. His words have often encouraged me at times of great personal challenge.