Anita Mathias: Dreaming Beneath the Spires

Anita Mathias's Blog on Faith and Art

Grab Christ’s Hand When You Are Sinking

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Hi friends, I’ve recorded a podcast meditation, which I hope you’ll enjoy. Feedback welcome 🙂

Sometimes, the little boat of your life is tossed in

the darkness, in a storm-swept lake, far from shore,

It’s buffeted by waves, with the wind against it. And a dark

figure looms, walking on water, and you cannot see his face,

and you do not know his name, and you are terrified.

 

And in the encircling gloom, Christ always speaks the same

magnificent words, “Take courage. It is I. Do not be afraid.”

 

He comes to us in the darkness, a future that looks bleak,

with unsolvable relational difficulties or financial difficulties, or

when intellect, energy, and organisation feel puny, matched with

our dreams and calling. But it is Christ. Do not be afraid.

 

And Peter, the risk-taker, from an overabundance of love and

impulsivity, says, “Lord, if it’s you, tell me to come to you on

the water.” And Jesus speaks another of his great words, “Come.”

 

Jesus, the merciful, did not ask Peter to do something that

transcended the humanly possible and Peter’s faith, but

since Peter wanted to get to Jesus as quickly as possible, and to

do whatever Jesus did, he gives him permission to walk on water.

 

We sometimes yearn to do things for which we know we don’t

have the money, time, abundant gifting, or even the character.

Never begin them before you’ve prayed, “Lord, tell me to do it.”

If he says, “Come,” start tackling the impossibility, immediately.

 

And Peter walks on water, until he sees the almost visible wind,

is afraid, and begins to sink. Fear paralyses, sinks, and destroys.

 

And Peter prays a powerful prayer, “Lord, save me.” And

immediately, Jesus reaches out his hand and catches him,

scolding, “Oligopistos. You of little faith. Why did you doubt?”

 

And the wind dies down, and Peter learns to keep his eyes

on Jesus and his power when he attempts the impossible,

and to cry out for Jesus’s help when he begins to sink.

 

Help us, Jesus, you who control the wind and waves,

and all things, when we are sinking in the darkness,

and all seems impossible. Tell the wind to be quiet.

Take my hand, precious Lord. Lead me on. Let me stand. Amen.

Walking on the Waters, Looking at Jesus, in the Shadow of the Big C (who Must not be Named)

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I had a cancer scare two and a half years ago. Fear gripped my heart when I realised the doctor suspected endometrial cancer. Fears of chemotherapy–and, perhaps worse, death. My youngest daughter was just 12. I was by no means ready to die.

And I lay down, and “saw” a vision. Christ walking towards me on the dark waters. And he said, “It is I. Do not be afraid.”

I took that to mean that I did not have cancer, and fear left my heart.

The biopsy results took six weeks to arrive. A friend who worked in that department told me that I would get my results earlier if I called. Roy urged me to call, but I had lost interest. I had seen Jesus and he told me not to be afraid.

When the letter arrived, all was well.

* * *

 Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, why did I not revise my life? Change my diet, cut fat and sugars, become active and lose weight. Oh Jesus!

So I reach a state of exhaustion this August, and I keep telling Roy, “I think I have cancer. Nothing else can explain the progressive exhaustion despite a good, good diet.”  My short daily walk was exhausting me.

I go to the doctor. I am severely anaemic. I have a colonoscopy. They find a very large polyp. It has been growing for years by the size of it. The doctor looks at it, and says it has a Type V pit pattern, the worst incidentally, correlated with malignancies.

The biopsy results take 23 days to arrive—just long enough for hope to spring up in my heart, hope for a second chance to be healthy and revise my life.

The nurse hears the tremor in my voice, and says the results are “highly suspicious” of cancer. Was she being kind? Oh I prefer the truth, no matter how brutal.

So I am to see a surgeon on November 13th for another colonoscopy and to plan on how to remove the 6 cm polyp. The nurse thinks it will probably involve major surgery, scheduled for November 25th or December 9th.

This dismays me. I have so little energy, and exercise is hard for me, anyway. How on earth will I exercise while recovering from surgery?

* * *

 Anyway, when I first got the call saying the anaemia was severe, and I should have a colonoscopy, I was filled with fear, and lay face down on my bed.

And, like the previous time, I “saw” Jesus walk towards me on the waters. And he said, “Take courage. It is I; do not be afraid.” (Matt. 14:27)

And like Peter, I saw myself walk towards him on the waters, and grow afraid, and begin to sink.

And Jesus held my hand, and said, “You of little faith. Why did you doubt?”

So that was the image and the comfort. Not a clear sense of “No cancer,” as  last time, alas, but this comfort: Jesus will hold my hand through this. I will walk on the waters of what is to come, holding Jesus’s hand.

* * *

 So that’s where I am. You see posters, “I don’t just hope for miracles. I rely on them.” Well, increasingly, that’s the way I live, relying on miracles.

So I am praying for a miracle–that when the surgeon looks at the polyp on November 13th, it will have shrunk. That God will change the molecules of the polyp so that when they are biopsied again, they will prove not to be malignant. (He IS a molecular biologist. He changed the molecules of water to wine; of bread, so it fed five thousand.)

There are three types of surgery: snaring the polyp via endoscopy, but the team thinks it’s too large for that. There is keyhole surgery, which would remove it with minimal intervention. Or, horrors, removal of that section of the colon, which is what the nurse thinks might happen. NO, Jesus!!

And, of course, cancer is Mordor, the Land of Shadows and Darkness. There are other possibilities which I am refusing to contemplate until I have to.

So, if you are a person of ridiculous faith, please could you pray that the polyp will shrink, that God will change its molecules so that it is not malignant, and that it will be removed with minimal surgery.

* * *

The risk factors for colon cancer are red meat, a high fat diet, being overweight, and being sedentary. Readers, you can be jolly sure that I will not be eating red meat, will not be eating high fat, and will not be sedentary. Oh no, I will not! As for being overweight, if I can figure out what to do to shift my weight, I will. Oh yes, I will.

Fortunately, the things which minimise one’s risk of colon cancer—fruit, vegetables, bran, cruciferous vegetables, onions, are also things that are great for one’s health.

So if I get out of this shadow alive, I am jolly sure I will be a healthier girl. And if you could pray with me that the horror will be minimal, I will be so grateful!!

In Which I Resolve Not to Be Afraid

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16

 So the disciples row for “three or three and a half miles.” (I love these charming details, John striving to remember accurately–and how they make it easier for us to believe in the truth of these memoirs of Jesus.)

It’s dark; the wind is raging; the waters are rough.

And a figure looms out of the darkness, walking on the waters, approaching the boat.

And they cannot see his face; and they do not know his name

And understandably, they are terrified.

* * *

Who is he who comes walking on the waters, in the dark, when the winds rage, and the sea is rough?

The dark figure terrifies, until he speaks his name, “It is I. Do not be afraid.”

And that too is the aspect He sometimes wears. He appears when it is dark, and the winds are strong, and the waters rough. He walks towards us, a dark figure, and we cannot see his face, and we do not know his name, and we are terrified.

But it is Him, nonetheless, and face to face with the stranger in the darkness, we are to remember God’s most consistent command: Do not be afraid.

And so I will not be afraid.

I shall taste the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

* * *

The Israelites response to the manna which sustained them was “What is it?” In Hebrew, Manna.

“Tell me your name,” Jacob uncertainly asks the dark figure who disabled him. “Who is it?” the disciples wondered, terrified, as a figure looms out the storm and darkness, approaching them.  Or, “Manna.”

The answer was always, is always, the same. For richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, in success or in failure, in rich friendship or loneliness.

It is the Lord.

* * *

Everything we have comes from God. He comes to us in spring and summer–and in winter too. In abundance—and in scarcity too. When life is easy—and when it’s excruciatingly hard.

“Yes,” I say to the dark figure walking towards me amidst the roaring winds and stormy sea. “I know it is you. I have trusted you in the past and I trust you now. I know you.”

“And so, however the dice falls, I know nothing shall separate me from your love, and all shall be well, all shall be well, all manner of things shall be well.”