We don't talk about it much. Sometimes we talk about how we're not talking about it. We take in tragedy upon tragedy—from a military compound in Beirut, a mental hospital in Grenada, a border town in Nicaragua. We analyze the facts, discuss the details, feel all that we feel. But we don't talk much about the fear; about this sense that the world is about to blow.
The children are more honest. A mother told me last week that she heard her 12-year-old daughter crying herself to sleep one night. When she went to her daughter's side and asked her why she was crying, she answered, "I'm afraid that we're all going to die in a nuclear war."
We fear nuclear war and all the tragedies short of it. We fear death, but maybe even more we fear life in a world controlled by those who believe that the solution to every crisis is to deploy either missiles or Marines. And we wonder sometimes whether all that is good on earth will be blown away in an instant by nuclear fire, or slowly snuffed out by the crushing power of oppressive military might as it rolls over the globe.
We live in a world that seems about to drown itself in its own tears. The cries come from every corner. And every ray of hope seems so fragile, so easily stamped out or swallowed up by the darkness. Despair threatens to take up residence in our hearts.
We weep, we protest, pray; and ultimately we find that we can only cry out, "Lord, have mercy."
We are all in need of mercy these days. We need salve for our wounds and our fears. We need Jesus.
It often seems that the realities that can lead us to despair are more concrete than the signs of hope. In this issue of Sojourners we offer voices of hope that speak of faith and celebration in dark times.
We share the testimony of refugees in Central America. From one of the earth's darkest corners comes the brightest light: the witness of people whose faith is profound because they know that Jesus is with them. The story of Mary and Joseph in search of shelter, the humble birth of Jesus, the flight from Herod's deathly power, is their story too. Through their words we are reminded that Jesus comes to us knowing each pain and fear—Jesus the poor one, the refugee, the victim of military power.
Also in this issue is an Advent sermon by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, delivered 50 years ago. It is another message of hope from an era that was also ruled by fear.
Jim Forest offers his reflections on the words of the angel to the shepherds on Christmas night. The angel's message is the word we need most to hear and share with one another this season: "Be not afraid."
It is a word that was delivered to each of the characters in the Christmas drama: to Mary when the angel announced that she would be the mother of Jesus, to Joseph when he wanted to forsake his marriage plans with Mary, to the wise men when they had to reroute their journey to avoid Herod. Fear was just as appropriate in those days as it is now. The courage of the participants in the nativity should be inspiration to us.
The cries come from all corners, and the risks for those of us who want to live in peace become greater every day. In these dark days, we remember a different cry heard 2,000 years ago. In an obscure stable, from a bed of straw, a cry of life was given. Hope was born. That cry has echoed through the centuries with a power that cannot be stifled.
It is the announcement that Jesus has come to make a home in our hearts. And where Jesus is in residence, there is no room for despair. No room for fear.
Whatever may come. Jesus is born again. The peace of the Lord is with you. Be not afraid.
Joyce Hollyday was an associate editor of Sojourners magazine when this article appeared.
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