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The bags were stuffed full ready for an obscene five o’clock start next morning. I fidgeted with the zip, checked and re-checked my list. I was nervous. Six days of hiking with a 15kg pack in the wilds of Kosciusko National Park. It had been nearly 20 years since I had braved the camping scene. Would I be able to cope without my Blackberry and coffee-maker? What if my lower back gave way in front of everyone? Most importantly, could I handle squatting behind the gumtrees?
You know it well. The dubious feeling in your stomach; the disastrous scenarios created in your mind… that overwhelming pull to be anywhere else but where you’re supposed to be. Whether it’s starting a new job, learning a new skill or just embarking on a hiking trip into the Australian bush, our fears have the uncanny power to pull us out at the last minute with a rush of magical excuses. How much easier it is to stay in your ‘zone’ – the place where moments are predictable and there are no what ifs.
New experiences have an irresistible air of excitement to them. But they also strip you of the familiar and expose you again to the raw material of who you are. Without the security of your known abilities, your tried and tested roles or the comfortable rhythm of your regular environment, you are forced to find yourself again.
You know it well. The dubious feeling in your stomach; the disastrous scenarios created in your mind… that overwhelming pull to be anywhere else but where you’re supposed to be. Whether it’s starting a new job, learning a new skill or just embarking on a hiking trip into the Australian bush, our fears have the uncanny power to pull us out at the last minute with a rush of magical excuses. How much easier it is to stay in your ‘zone’ – the place where moments are predictable and there are no what ifs.
New experiences have an irresistible air of excitement to them. But they also strip you of the familiar and expose you again to the raw material of who you are. Without the security of your known abilities, your tried and tested roles or the comfortable rhythm of your regular environment, you are forced to find yourself again.
When We Step Out
One component of my ministry is to teach seminars on how to hear God’s voice. I love my job – and to be honest, I don’t find it difficult. I have been in fulltime ministry for fifteen years and the church-world is second nature to me. I think and speak Christianese fluently. I know the worship songs word for word. I can kick into the lingo of all the different denominations in a flash.
But recently I decided to take my seminar into the secular world. In a way it was an experiment. Increasingly people are seeking God outside the confines of traditional church. Could I help them find Him in a local community college?
I haven’t been that scared in a long time. Facing that motley group of spiritual seekers was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Would the trainee psychologist who had an answer for everything show me up with his font of knowledge? Would the ex-Mormon who mythologised the supernatural and was well versed in the liberal theology of Bishop Spong ask me a question I couldn’t answer? Or the lapsed-Catholic who now attended a spiritualist church challenge me with experiences I couldn’t explain?
Too late now. I was forced to plunge straight into it; to ignore my fears and do it anyway. Trust God and do it afraid. I was on my toes the whole day and arrived home totally spent.
That experience no longer scares me now. I discovered I could do it. In the midst of it I worked out what to say and if I didn’t know what to say, it didn’t matter. And when the grey-haired lady in the purple and blue silk dress who had played organ as a young woman but had left church disillusioned twenty years earlier commented afterwards; “Now I realise God is alive after all”, my original fears seemed irrelevant and not worthy of any recognition at all.
God’s Call to the Unknown
Following God means we constantly find ourselves in the fear zone. The Holy Spirit seems to delight in leading us to places we have never gone before (Josh. 3:3,4). His knowledge of our innate potential causes him to urge, beckon and even push us beyond the boundaries of safety and into a position of trust. In the fear zone, we meet ourselves and God in a new way.
I think of my mum who bravely learnt to swim at age 63 when she couldn’t even put her head under water, a friend who left the airport terrified and trusting as she flew out to carve out a new market in India for her company, my trainee student who overcomes her shyness greeting new people in the church foyer every week. Confronting their fears and doing it anyway.
I am not sure the feelings ever go away. Growing in God means we will find ourselves in a never-ending cycle of facing fear and finding faith.
Out of the Fear Zone
It was the final morning of our hike. The tents were being rolled up for the last time. There was dirt deeply embedded under my fingernails and I had blood blisters on both my big toes. But during the 50 km trek, we had heard the brumbies gathering near our camp at moonlight, canoed in a sun shower on the lake and retraced history on the steps of the famous Hume-Hovell track. As I sat there in the misty dawn breakfasting by a cowpat and brushing away the bullants gathering at my feet, I realized how unafraid I was. A lot had happened in a week. I still craved a hot shower but the reward was overwhelmingly worth it.
One component of my ministry is to teach seminars on how to hear God’s voice. I love my job – and to be honest, I don’t find it difficult. I have been in fulltime ministry for fifteen years and the church-world is second nature to me. I think and speak Christianese fluently. I know the worship songs word for word. I can kick into the lingo of all the different denominations in a flash.
But recently I decided to take my seminar into the secular world. In a way it was an experiment. Increasingly people are seeking God outside the confines of traditional church. Could I help them find Him in a local community college?
I haven’t been that scared in a long time. Facing that motley group of spiritual seekers was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Would the trainee psychologist who had an answer for everything show me up with his font of knowledge? Would the ex-Mormon who mythologised the supernatural and was well versed in the liberal theology of Bishop Spong ask me a question I couldn’t answer? Or the lapsed-Catholic who now attended a spiritualist church challenge me with experiences I couldn’t explain?
Too late now. I was forced to plunge straight into it; to ignore my fears and do it anyway. Trust God and do it afraid. I was on my toes the whole day and arrived home totally spent.
That experience no longer scares me now. I discovered I could do it. In the midst of it I worked out what to say and if I didn’t know what to say, it didn’t matter. And when the grey-haired lady in the purple and blue silk dress who had played organ as a young woman but had left church disillusioned twenty years earlier commented afterwards; “Now I realise God is alive after all”, my original fears seemed irrelevant and not worthy of any recognition at all.
God’s Call to the Unknown
Following God means we constantly find ourselves in the fear zone. The Holy Spirit seems to delight in leading us to places we have never gone before (Josh. 3:3,4). His knowledge of our innate potential causes him to urge, beckon and even push us beyond the boundaries of safety and into a position of trust. In the fear zone, we meet ourselves and God in a new way.
I think of my mum who bravely learnt to swim at age 63 when she couldn’t even put her head under water, a friend who left the airport terrified and trusting as she flew out to carve out a new market in India for her company, my trainee student who overcomes her shyness greeting new people in the church foyer every week. Confronting their fears and doing it anyway.
I am not sure the feelings ever go away. Growing in God means we will find ourselves in a never-ending cycle of facing fear and finding faith.
Out of the Fear Zone
It was the final morning of our hike. The tents were being rolled up for the last time. There was dirt deeply embedded under my fingernails and I had blood blisters on both my big toes. But during the 50 km trek, we had heard the brumbies gathering near our camp at moonlight, canoed in a sun shower on the lake and retraced history on the steps of the famous Hume-Hovell track. As I sat there in the misty dawn breakfasting by a cowpat and brushing away the bullants gathering at my feet, I realized how unafraid I was. A lot had happened in a week. I still craved a hot shower but the reward was overwhelmingly worth it.
