Facing Our Fears (Part 1)

After this, the Moabites and Ammonites with some of the Meunites came to make war on Jehoshaphat.

Some men came and told Jehoshaphat, “A vast army is coming against you from Edom, from the other side of the Sea. It is already in Hazazon Tamar” . . . Alarmed, Jehoshaphat resolved to inquire of the Lord, and he proclaimed a fast for all Judah. The people of Judah came together to seek help from the Lord; indeed, they came from every town in Judah to seek him. —2 Chronicles 20:1–4

Marine Corps Lieutenant General Chesty Puller once referred to the Korean Conflict as a “dirty little war, but the only one we have.” I was in the military then, and though I never saw combat in Korea, I saw some of the casualties. It was an engagement in which the enemy refused to fight fair.

I’ve seen the look of terror in men’s eyes, unfaded by years of relative safety—the look of men who’ve been to hell and back and can’t forget what they’ve seen.

I’ve seen that same terrible look in the eyes of men who’ve told me they have prostate cancer, are victims of corporate downsizing, are facing bankruptcy and ruin, or have been abandoned by their wives. They too look as though they’ve been to hell and back; they too have seen an enemy that will not fight fair.

There is an irony about anxiety, however, that takes away its power. It can make us braver than we ever were before. Courage is not fearlessness, but a settled disposition to do what is right in the face of our fear. “Courage is not the absence of fear,” reads a line in The Red Badge of Courage, “it is the ability to do what we must.”

There’s a narrative in the Old Testament that makes that point. It’s the story of King Jehoshaphat, a man who learned to face down his fears.

Jehoshaphat was a relatively obscure ruler of the southern kingdom of Judah. Second Chronicles 20 reports on a day “after this” that began like any other day, but quickly turned into chaos.

It is significant that these armies from the east massed and mounted their attack at this particular time. Jehoshaphat was on a high. This was a time of great victory for the young king. God had made him His instrument to bring about a great revival (2 Chronicles 19:4–11).

With the announcement of the invasion, King Jehoshaphat came down from his high in a hurry. Hazazon Tamar was only fifteen miles from Jerusalem, less than a day’s march away.

This was a daring and unexpected move in which the invaders crossed the Dead Sea, probably at a ford opposite Masada, and climbed one of the difficult assents directly into the heart of the Judean hills. Before Jehoshaphat was aware of their presence, they were in position to strike Jerusalem, the capital city of Judah. The crisis was total!

Jehoshaphat was badly frightened, and he admitted it—unlike some men who deny their fear. It’s too bad that they do, because the first step to overcoming any anxiety is to face it.

Fear ought to lead us to do the best thing, what Jehoshaphat did. He inquired of the Lord and sought help from Him. Jehoshaphat, an extraordinary man, stood with his people in the house of the Lord and prayed (20:5–13).

Jehoshaphat focused first on God and found that everything was under control in heaven and earth. At ground level the view was appalling, but there was no panic above. “God works in tranquillity,” one old saint has said. And those who know the God of peace share His calm and quiet nature.

Then Jehoshaphat looked back and thought about God’s faithfulness in the past: “O our God, did you not drive out the inhabitants of this land before your people Israel and give it forever to the descendants of Abraham, your friend?” (20:7).

He reminded himself that God had given Canaan to His people by covenant; He had guaranteed their integrity in the land. No one could oust them without His permission.

Those who had lived when God gave Israel land and had learned their faith back then said that when crises came, a man could cry out to God in his distress, and he would be heard and saved (20:9). And so Jehoshaphat prayed, “Now here are men from Ammon, Moab and Mount Seir . . . O our God will you not judge them? For we have no power to face this vast army that is attacking us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you” (20:10–12).

There is a significant juxtaposition of two thoughts here: “Power and might are in your hand” (20:6), and “We have no power” (20:12).

We have no power; God has it all. He does not give power to anyone in the sense that His power is ours to have and to hold. We are always weak. We are never strong. The only strength we have is the strength that comes from God. “Not that we are competent in ourselves,” Paul echoes, “but our competence comes from God” (2 Corinthians 3:5).

Sometimes we feel weak; sometimes we feel strong. But we must always keep in mind that we are never strong, even when we feel that way. We are always needy, always incompetent, always inadequate, always inept, always desperately dependent on God. Without Him we can do nothing.

Perhaps the most startling of all Jesus’ statements about Himself was His insistence that He too was an inadequate being. “By myself,” He said, “I can do nothing” (John 5:30).

Jesus’ incarnation included taking on our weakness. He, like us, had to rely on God every moment of every day. Each morning He had to abandon His own strength and strategies and offer Himself up, confident that His Father’s power would lead Him into greater works than He could envision or accomplish alone. “Oh the mystery of humility,” F. B. Meyer said, “that He who planned all things should live a life of such absolute dependence.”

I recall walking into Ray Stedman’s office one day to lament my own limitations. Some months before, I had been handed a large ministry. I knew I would surely fail. “I’m so inadequate,” I bemoaned.

“Yes, you are, my friend—and so am I,” Ray quipped, “and it’s good that we know it. Some men labor all their lives never knowing that they’re inadequate.”

Jehoshaphat knew. He looked at his limitations and then looked to the Lord as the only source of his help: “We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon you.” That’s a prayer we should breathe every moment of every day, not just when our backs are against the wall. When that becomes our mindset, significant things begin to happen.

G. K. Chesterton pointed out that if a man needs wisdom, he may cry out, “William Shakespeare, help me!” and nothing much will happen. If he needs courage, he may cry out, “Billy Budd, help me!” and nothing much will happen. But for two thousand years, whenever a man has cried out, “Lord Jesus, help me,” something momentous has happened.
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3. I am indebted to Dr. Howard Hendricks for this phrase.

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Taken from Seeing God, ©2006 by David Roper. Used by permission of Discovery House Publishers, Box 3566 Grand Rapids, MI 49501. All rights reserved.