There I was, reading my
Bible in a mostly daily fashion when I hit this like a tree thrown in front of
a stagecoach in an old western:
“Jesus said, ‘Don’t let your
hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust in me.’” (John 14:1)
Why did that verse catch me
so? I know I’ve read it before. Many times, in fact. I’ve heard it quoted many times, too.
And that was the thought
that came to mind when I first came to a stop on this verse. I wasn’t thinking about past readings of it,
but of a past quote. “Most of a quote” I
should clarify. For, in the movie
adaptation of “Fellowship of the Ring,” it is Galadriel who says to Frodo, “Do
not let your heart be troubled.” (She
may say it in the book, too. I am
ashamed to admit that I cannot remember and—at the moment—my copy of LOTR is at
Scout camp with my oldest son.)
Galadriel is promising a
rest from weariness to Frodo—and the rest of the fellowship—if they will but
tarry a while in Lothlorian. Thanks to
the skill of the elves, they can keep the bad guys out for a time.
It’s a great line from a
great movie, but it’s also just that: a line from a movie. And, even within the context of the movie,
it’s not a blanket statement. Galadriel
knows that what she is offering is only a temporary respite. Eventually, Frodo and company will either
have to get back out on the road/river, or evil will break down the defenses of
the forest. Like other stops along their
path (most notably: Elrond’s house), Lothlorian can only shelter them for a
time.
Jesus’s promise has no such
temporal qualifier. He goes on—in the
next few verses—to promise his followers a room in the very house of God which
won’t wear out. No evil will ever
encroach on it, let along get inside to spoil it.
Yet, there is something he
asks of us—a key to the door, you might say: trust in God and trust in him.
How hard is that? Incredibly simple, isn’t it?
Until we try it. Then, it turns out to be one of the hardest
things we’ve ever done. Especially in
the good times. When laying in a
hospital bed, or sitting next to one and watching a loved one slowly slip away,
it’s pretty easy to trust in God if for no other reason than, “What else can I
do right now?!?”
Often, it’s harder to trust
in God when things are going great.
Bills are paid, no one in the family is sick, and there’s a good show on
television. It’s hard to trust in God at
those times because we don’t feel an overwhelming need to do so.
As I write this, the wind is
whipping by outside the window with such ferocity I keep looking up expecting
to see pieces of the roof flying by. It
occurs to me to trust in God to keep the roof (and steeple) on because I sure
can’t do anything about it. But if I
lose all or part of the roof, so what?
It’d be a pain and inconvenience, but not much more. It might even do me physical harm or, if I’m
lucky, kill me, but big deal.
That’s nothing compared to
trusting God and Jesus with … everything.
Not just life or death moments, but those simple little moments that might
turn into heaven or hell moments—for me or someone I’m called on to minister
to. I think that kind of trust comes
only with practice and complete surrender.
Do I trust enough to
surrender? Can I surrender enough to
trust?
