Chapter 13: Faith Hand in Hand With Fear

Chapter 13: Faith Hand in Hand with Fear 'What time I am afraid I will trust in Thee.' Psalms 56:3.

It must be a very difficult thing to be the first traveller through an unknown country, but it is a much more simple matter to travel where others have preceded us; however difficult may be the road, we discover our path by certain marks which they have left for us, and as we turn to the record of their journey, we say, 'Yes, here they came to a forest, here is the forest; here they spoke of a broad river, there they forded it; here is exactly the spot which is marked, we are in the right road, for we are following in the track of those who have gone before.' Now God in His providence has placed us in the ends of the earth as to time; a long caravan of pilgrims has preceded, and they have left us marks on the way and records of their journey. A notable of the pilgrims to the skies was David, for his pilgrimage was so singularly varied Some travel to heaven, but it is sunshine almost all the way there. And some on the other hand seem to have storms from beginning to end But David's case differed from these, he had both the storm and sunshine. No man had braver weather than the King of Jerusalem, and no man ever ploughed his way through soil that was more deep with mire, nor through an atmosphere more loaded with tempest than did this man of many tribulations. He has been a kind of pioneer for us. I remember seeing, some years ago, the French Army going through Paris, and noticing some of the big, tall fellows, old men that had been in the wars of the first Napoleon. These went in front, and they seemed to be worth all the rest that were behind—they were the pioneers that cleared the way for the others. Now David, and such as these we read of in the Scriptures, are just the grand old soldiers that bear the standard and lead the way, and we are the raw recruits that come on behind them. Be thankful that we have some veterans to lead the van.

Now our text is rather an extraordinary one. Yet it represents the experience of many of us, and we are comforted by the thought that our feelings and David's have very much agreed. 'What time I am afraid I will trust in Thee.'

You notice in the text, first, a complex condition. Here is a man afraid, and yet he is trusting. Well, then, we look at the natural side of this, 'I am afraid.' And then we look at the gracious side, 'I will trust in Thee.'

I. A complex condition

Notice, first, then, that here is David in a complex condition. He says, 'I am afraid,' and with the same breath he says, 'I will trust in Thee.' Is not this a contradiction? It looks like a paradox. Paradox it may be, but contradiction it is not. What strange creatures we are! I suppose every man is a trinity, certainly every Christian man is—spirit, soul and body—and we may be in three states at once, and we may not know which of the three is the real state. The whole three may be so mixed up that we become a puzzle to ourselves. Though certain mental philosophers would say that I egregiously err in asserting that such a thing can be, yet nevertheless I am quite certain that it is a very common experience of the child of God.

It is even quite possible for us to find two minds and two wills—two sets of faculties within ourselves clashing and jarring and warring and contending with one another. In a record of some very notable experiences of doctors who attend upon the insane, there is a very singular case described of a man who was sane always regularly one day, as clear in the intellect and intelligent in judgment as any man; the next day he was always insane. On the day on which he was sane he used to talk about how the doctor ought to treat him to-morrow, and to express his surprise that he entered into such a state, reasoning in the most practical manner. He seemed to be two men. There is a record of another case even more remarkable, of a man who would act and speak and think as an intelligent full-grown person, but after sleeping two or three days he would wake up a child, to learn like a child, to talk like a child, to speak like a child, and to all intents and purposes to lead the life of a child. Then he would fall asleep again and wake up as an adult person. To us it seems a most marvellous thing that this should happen, but perhaps it is even more marvellous to find ourselves perfectly sane with no mental malady upon us, and yet at the same moment the subject of two sets of feelings—afraid and yet trusting.

I am sure that every Christian here will follow me while, for a moment, I speak upon this singular duplex condition of Christian experience. You remember how the women returned from the sepulchre. They had seen a vision of angels, they had also seen the Lord, and it is said they returned with fear and with exceeding great joy—very fearful, trembling at what they had seen, but very joyful—never so fearful, and yet never so joyful before. And you remember the disciples when the Lord Jesus stood in their midst. 'They believed not for joy.' Extraordinary thing! They did believe or they could not have had the joy, and yet the joy seemed, when it grew out of the belief, to cut away its own roots, and 'They believed not for joy.' Strange, marvellous state of mind, yet common to the Christian. The same thing is true as to our attitude to sin. Have you not found yourself, beloved believer in Jesus Christ, drawn towards an evil thing for a moment, fascinated by it, finding a tendency in the carnal corruption of your nature to go after evil, and yet at the very same time you hated yourself that you should give way even for a moment to a thought so vile. You have felt the struggle to go after sin, but yet another self, as it were, struggled with greater force not to go after it. One faculty seemed to say, 'How sweet that sin would be,' and yet you have said, 'It is gall and bitterness itself.' The flesh has loved it, but the spirit has said, 'I abominate it, I loathe it,' and has cried out to God to prevent the possibility of our being allowed to indulge ourselves in it. Yet thus warring and contending with us, the prince of the power of the air uniting with our own evil nature, has endeavoured to drag us down, while the Holy Ghost, co-working with the incorruptible seed which he has implanted in us, has sought to draw us upwards towards holiness, purity and perfection. It is a wondrous warfare which only the elect of God do understand.

So, too, you have been the subject of another phase of this same phenomena in reference to faith. You have seen a precious promise or a glorious doctrine; you have believed it because you have found it in God's Word. You have believed it so as to grasp it, and feel it to be your own, yet, perhaps, almost at the same time certain rationalistic thoughts have come into your mind, you have been vexed with doubt as to whether the promise is true. You remember, perhaps, the insinuations of others, or something rises up out of your own carnal reason that renders it difficult for you to believe, while at the same time you are believing. You battle with yourself, one self seems to say, 'Is it so?' and yet your inner self seems to say, 'I could die for it, I know it is so.' You are tormented because you cannot answer certain arguments against it, but yet at the same time you feel you have answered them, and they are no arguments at all. Your heart repels all attacks upon the truth, and yet somehow or other, for a while, you are staggered by the assault which Satan has made upon you.

I might go on to mention many other ways in which these two states of mind will come. I have found it frequently so in prayer when I have sought to draw near to God. An idle worldly spirit will bring ten thousand distracting thoughts to bear upon the soul, and the heart will seem to say, 'I cannot pray just now, I have other things to do, I must think of them.' What is worse, the mind will persist in thinking of these things, and they will come crowding in; some work that you have to do, perhaps some friend that you have to call upon, something you have forgotten—these things will come pouring in upon you as if in your own heart you said, 'I do not want to pray.' Yet at that very same time you have felt a craving, an insatiable longing, to draw near to God in prayer, and you have felt 'I must pray, I cannot live without it, I must now have a period of fellowship with God, cost me what it may.' These two things will be there, the praying and the unpraying, the faithless and the believing struggling one with another, and your poor spirit will be like ground that is trampled upon by two armies that are fiercely contending as to which shall get the mastery, You see that in David's case, when in the text he says, 'I am afraid, yet will I trust in Thee.' There is a complex condition.

II. The natural side of it

Let us look at the natural side of it. David says, 'I am afraid.' Admire his honesty. Some men would never own they were afraid; they would have blustered and said they cared for nothing; generally there is no greater coward in this world than the man who never will own that he is afraid. But this hero of a thousand conflicts, this brave scion of the sons of men, honestly says, 'I am afraid.' Why afraid?

Because he was but a man, and we men cannot rule the elements, we cannot overcome those who are mightier than ourselves. 'They be many that fight against me, O Thou Most High,' he cries; and then he adds, 'I am afraid.' We cannot expect, therefore, that we should be free from fear when powers greater than our own are set against us. We are afraid because at the very best we are but weak and feeble men.

He was afraid, again, because he was a sinful man. It is this that makes cowards of us more than anything else. We know we deserve the rod of our Father, and though by faith we feel that He will never use the sword of justice against us, yet we are often afraid that the correcting rod will be brought out and we shall be chastened sore. Well, then, while we are men and sinful men, no wonder that we should be afraid.

Besides, David was something more than that; he was afraid because he was an intelligent man. He knew his position, and could rightly estimate its risks. Now, with some persons, bravery arises from utter ignorance; they do not know the danger, and therefore do not fear it. The unsaved sinner, if he did but know where he is, would not be as quiet as he is. Unconverted men and women, if they did but know who and what and where they are, if they did but remember that God is angry with the wicked every day, would be very ill at ease; they would be full of alarm and terror. But the Christian knows his position, he is not blind, his eyes have been opened, he has been brought to the light, he does not shut his eyes to the strength of his spiritual adversaries, nor to his own internal weakness, nor to the awful guilt of sin. He sees all these, and therefore it is not to be wondered at that with so much of intelligence, as a Christian man he should have some misgivings. 'I am afraid,' saith he. And then he is afraid again because he is no stoic. The heathen tried as far as they could to turn flesh into iron and harden their hearts into steel, but such is never the process through which the Christian passes. The Christian, when his sinews are most braced and he is most heroic for his Master, is still as tender and as sensitive as a little child. The grace of God does not take away from us feminine tenderness, though it gives to us masculine courage; in fact, it blends the two in a perfect man, putting strength and sympathy together, and making us like to Christ who, with all the force of the majesty of His determination and His courage, had all the tenderness and gentleness that the fondest love could bring. Therefore we are afraid, because we do not boast of the insensibility of the Red Indian, but we still strive to be gentle and tender-hearted. The grace of God keeps us so. But when is it that the saint should expect to be most afraid? Is it not when enemies around him are many? The Psalmist, therefore, is afraid because he is compassed by foes. The Christian man does not like having enemies; if he could help it he would not have a single one. He never willingly makes an enemy, and if he could destroy his enemies by turning them into friends, he would be delighted to achieve so great a victory. When, therefore, he sees that he has many enemies, and these are very cruel and very determined, then he is afraid.

We are afraid, sometimes, when we think of the old enemy, our spiritual enemy, for we know his cunning. He has been so long tempting the saints that he knows his business well. We know what poor birds we are when he is the fowler, how soon we are taken in his net, and therefore at the prospect of being tempted again by him we bow our knee to our great Father, and we cry, 'Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.' We are afraid at the thought of having to fight Satan. Who that has read John Bunyan's description of Christian fighting Apollyon in the Valley of Humiliation but will feel afraid at the prospect of such a fight as that? The man of God may be afraid, too, because he sees want surrounding him. The Christian must eat and drink, and, though he is not to make this the question of his life, yet he cannot look upon his little ones and think that he will not have bread for their mouths without being somewhat afraid The natural side of the question must come up. He is not so hardened that he does not feel it, and when he sees want staring him in the face, for his own sake and for the sake of those about him, he is afraid.

If, in addition to all this there comes upon him the remembrance of past sin, and with especial vividness some transgression into which he has lately fallen, he is afraid because of the memory of the fast. Though he may look to Jesus, and he will do so, though he may see the sin laid on Christ, yet even while he is looking, he will often be amazed with a sore amazement, and an agony of soul will come over him, not so much the fear of being cast away, if, indeed, he be a child of God, but a fear lest after all he should turn out not to be what he hoped he was. If you never are afraid about your souls, I am afraid for you. If you never had a fear about your state I think I may remind you of Cowper's lines:—

'He that never doubteth of his state, He may, perhaps, he may—too late.'

Under a sense of sin it is but natural, nay, I will add, it is but right, that a trembling should come over the soul, and we should fall down in the presence of God humbled before Him. The like is the case, too, with the man who is afraid because of the thought of approaching death. We have seen some, when they have come actually to die, rejoicing with joy unspeakable, and it has strengthened our faith when we have heard their bold declarations as they have felt the Master's presence in the final hour. But if, as a rule, you and I can think of death without any kind of fear, if no tremor ever crosses our minds, well, then, we must have marvellously strong faith, and I can only pray we may be retained in that strength of faith. For the most part there is such a thing as terror in prospect of death; the fear is often greater in prospect than in reality, in fact, it is ever so in the case of the Christian. But yet when we give ourselves up to fear for a time we are grievously afraid. This, then, is the natural side of the question. A man may be a true believer, he may be a very David, and yet be afraid.

III. The gracious side of it

Now take take the gracious side of it. 'What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.' 'Trust in Thee!' How glorious is this. It is not the expression of nature, it is a sign of grace. No man trusteth God unless there has been a divine work upon his soul—at least, no man who is afraid can trust in God unless the Lord has taught his timorous spirit to fly like a dove to the sure dovecot cleft by divine grace in the Rock of Ages. Happy soul that has been taught the art and mystery of believing! It is the highest and noblest of all the practical sciences; God grant us grace what time we are afraid to exercise ourselves in it.

It is a sure sign of grace when a man can trust in his God, for the natural man, when afraid, falls back on some human trust, or he thinks that he will be able to laugh at the occasion of fear. He gives himself up to jollity and forgetfulness, or perhaps he strings himself up with natural resolution, takes arms against a sea of troubles and hopes by opposing to end them. He goes anywhere but to his God. Only the gracious spirit, only the soul renewed by the Holy Ghost will say, 'What time I am afraid,' my one and only resort shall be this, 'I will trust in Thee.' The thoughtless, as I have said, try to laugh off their fears; the naturally thoughtful try to invent some scheme by which they may pass through the difficulty; but he who is believing leaves schemes and frivolities alike, and applies to his God with the burden of his care, and finds from Him an instantaneous and effectual relief. And after all is not it the most reasonable thing in the world that a soul that is afraid should trust in God? Where can there be a firmer ground of reliance than in Him whose power never can be defeated, whose wisdom is never at a nonplus? If I have God's promise that He will help me, to whom or whither should I go but unto God that has so promised? If in addition He has given me His oath, 'that by two immutable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, I might have strong consolation,' where shall my timid spirit go but to the shadow of the wings of the God of covenant Who, by promise and by oath, has guaranteed my safety? What are my circumstances? Hath He not given me a promise suitable to them, a special promise for each special time? And so I need never be afraid of my circumstances. Has He not, indeed, given me one promise which covers them all with its broad expanse? That 'all things work together for good to them that love God; to them who are the called according to His purpose.' With a God who is Almighty and eternally faithful, with a God who promises and seals the promise with His oath that He will help me when I call upon Him, what more reasonable than that when I am afraid I should come and put my trust in Him.'

Ah! my brethren, if it be reasonable, it certainly proves itself to be most effectual, for he that trembles from head to foot does but begin to trust in God, and behold! he grows calm. Have we not seen minds so distracted as to be almost bereft of reason grow quiet and peaceful when they have learnt to do the work they could do, and then leave the rest to God. Oh! it is sweet waiting at the posts of Jehovah's door. It is well to tarry till His promise comes to be ripe, and then in all its sweetness drops into our hands. 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee,' so hath He declared. My soul lay hold upon that, and next time thou art afraid, seek a shelter beneath that promise, 'No good thing will He withhold from them that walk uprightly.' When I am afraid lest I should want I will come and get beneath that promise. If it be a good thing, God has bound Himself by His Word to give it to me. 'Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God. I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.' My God, when another time I am full of alarm and dismay, I will come to Thee, for Thou art bound to strengthen and to help and to uphold thy servants who place their confidence in Thee.

Dear brethren and sisters, let me exhort you—(and may God's Holy Spirit back up the exhortation!)—to the exercise of a holy trust in God, not when you are happy only, but when you are afraid. It is a seasonable thing as well as a reasonable one. Fruit is always best in its season, and the time of faith is the time of trial. Faith is never so full-flavoured as when it is produced beneath cloudy skies. Other fruits need the sun to ripen them, but this is one of the precious fruits put forth by the moon. You shall, when your experience is most bitter, honour God the most if you can then trust Him. Sure, it is no faith that believes in providence when the purse is full. What faith is it that believes in the merits of the precious blood when it feels its own sanctification to be complete, if such can be the case? What faith is that which leans on the Beloved when it can stand alone? But that is faith which, when it cannot stand in itself and knows it—sees death written upon all its own power, almost sees all its hopes withered and blasted with the east wind—yet cries, 'My God, it is enough! My soul waiteth only upon Thee. My expectation is from Thee.' This is to honour God indeed.

Observe the gradation there often is in Christian experience. You will sometimes find believers in so low a state that their heart is all fear. By-and-bye they believe, they are enabled to exercise the faith that God has given them, then it is fear and trust. But they do not stop there, they get a little further, and as David did in this Psalm, if you will turn a verse or two further on, it gets to be trust and no fear. 'In God have I put my trust; I will not be afraid what man can do unto me.' May you climb the steps of that gracious ladder; may you, with your fear, have faith, and then afterwards have your faith without any fear! When faith gets strong enough fears are expelled

Let me, however, return to my point, that when you are afraid then is the time to trust the Lord. If you are very poor, then is the time to believe the doctrine of providence. If you feel your sins, then is the time to lay hold on Jesus Christ and to wash in the fountain. Who cares to wash when he is clean? The time to wash is when the filth is felt; then fly to all cleansing blood. You say, 'I feel so dead and cold, I have not the spiritual vivacity and warmth and life that I used to possess. I used to come up to the Tabernacle and feel such joy and rejoicing in worshipping on God's day, but now I feel flat and dull.' Oh! but do not be tempted to get away from Christ because of this. Who runs away from the fire because he is cold? Who, in summer, runs away from the cooling brook because he is hot? Should not my deadness be the reason why I should come to Jesus Christ? Now is His time for Him to show His power. Now my Master, if indeed Thou be a friend that sticketh closer than a brother, and, blessed be Thy name, Thou art such a friend, beholD! here is one of Thy friendS; prove that Thou canst forgive and still stick to hiM Cause him to trust in Thee, and let him find Thee better than all his fears.

I have done when I have made application of my text to those of you who have not believed in Jesus and yet desire to do so. I know your fears, your doubts, your tremblings. May I whisper in your ear this word, 'Now that you are afraid put your trust in Jesus?' Christ came to save sinners such as you are with all your fear. Now, while the fears toss you, go to Jesus.

'While the raging billows roll, While the tempest still is high.'

Hang all your weight upon the Lover of Souls. Do not wait till you get rid of your fears and then go to Him. Go now. Go now. A person was once walking in a field and a bird flew right into her bosom. She wondered why the little lark came nestling there, but looking up she saw a hawk in the air; it had pursued the little bird, which, though it would have been quite afraid at any other time to find a shelter where it did find it, had by the greater fear of its enemy been driven out of the lesser fear. She to whom it fled for refuge cared for it, cherished it and set it free. So he it with thee. Let thy great fears of hell overcome that fear that thou hast sometimes had, that perhaps Jesus may reject thee. Fly into His bosom. 'Oh! but I fear me He will reject me.' Well, then, I trust in God that your other fears will get so great as to overcome this fear. John Bunyan says that his fear of hell at last became so terrible that if Jesus Christ had stood with a naked sword in His hand, or if He had held a pike to him, he would have run on the point of the pike, and would always rather go to an angry Christ than be cast into hell. But, believe me, Christ is not angry. He holds no pike and no sword in His hand This is His word, 'Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out.'

Aged sinner, you that have been a great transgressor, whoever you may be, if you come and simply cast yourself upon the blessed Saviour who on the cross offered up Himself for human guilt, you shall be saved. 'What time I am afraid I will trust in Thee.' I dare to say these ancient words to-night from the depths of my soul. I am afraid of my sins; I am afraid of my unworthiness. I never live a day but what I see reason to be afraid. If I had to stand in myself I should be afraid to stand before God If I had never done anything in my life but preach this one sermon, there have been so many imperfections and faults in it that I am afraid; but, my Lord Jesus, Thou art my soul's only hope. I trust entirely in Thee.

Beloved, have this same faith. May God work it in you, and then your fear shall only drive you closer to your Lord, and so the fear and the faith shall go on hand in hand together for a while, till at last perfect love shall come in and take the place of fear, and then faith and love shall go hand in hand to heaven. May the Lord bless you, every one of you, for Jesus' sake! Amen.