Two Bears, Fear, and Love
Approaching God through the wonder of nature while unzipping our tent doors to trust
The gigantic crash woke me up, and another crash soon followed. It took me a second to sit up in bed, out of curiosity more than fear. A wild animal must have knocked those food boxes off the picnic table. Was it a raccoon? A girl told us she saw a bobcat go through our campsite when we were gone. I wondered if bobcats go after human food as I zipped the window panel down and peered outside. It was nearly a full moon so everything glowed with a bluish light. And there, ten yards away was a gigantic black bear. She was probably licking the leftover barbacoa meat from dinner off my camp stove.1
I don't think I've ever been as aware of how flimsy a tent's walls were until there was a bear on the other side of them.
Fear of judgement
The other week I was talking with a loved one about the scripture verse I've heard out of context more times than I can count. Maybe you'll recognize it from the New King James Version, too: "...perfect love casts out all fear."
I tried to tell her she was understanding the verse wrong—that it wasn't about her life anxieties and catastrophizing fears, but that it's meant to give us confidence we are on God's side, not Hell's. We can be completely unafraid of the afterlife because we are free of God's judgement. The end isn’t dangerous to us.
I still love the context. I'm thankful I gained a degree of confidence when I was younger, halting my compulsive need to repeat the Sinner's Prayer. More recently, this passage has helped me through my near death experiences.
Unsurprisingly, pointing out the context didn't meet my friend where she was at.
It made me wonder, does the context really matter that much? Is it actually inaccurate to encompass freedom from all fear, not simply the fear of judgement in the afterlife? For if we really are accepted by God, totally and unconditionally, what is there left to be afraid of?
Sometimes it sure seems like a lot.
The second bear
We saw another bear on another summer trek into the wilderness. Unlike the black bear perusing our campsite, this sighting was from the safety of a car. I especially appreciated Rhonda the Honda’s thick windows and metal siding because this bear was a bona fide grizzly.
It was thrilling. I've wanted to see a grizzly in the wild for years. Bearizona nor our renown San Diego Zoo wasn't going to check this off my bucket list. But I am also pretty scared of them. Grizzlies in the wild are known to be nondiscriminatory and violent. I didn't want to happen across one on a trail in front of me unless I had a safe place to hide.
I was a high pitched, ecstatic, and gleeful winner of the lottery when I saw that bear mozy out of the forest on the side of the road. When I pulled over, every car nearby did too, hoping to find whatever it was we saw on the edge of the trees.
Together, from the security of our cars, we watched as the grizzly meandered and climbed an evergreen. It was like the freakin' nature channel! He even chased back a lone wolf that had followed behind him. Actually, it was probably a coyote, but we have pointedly decided to remember her as an adolescent wolf, which I'll argue it still could have been.
We saw a lot of other wildlife too—bison, elk, mule deer, and even a moose. But the grizzly was the pinnacle of our rather difficult Yellowstone road trip; it made it worth it.
New angles of nature
A friend of mine who identifies as an atheist told me, "Watching that sunset was probably the closest thing I've ever had to a spiritual experience."
I replied, "To me, that's defines a spiritual experience." For me my response to a sunset isn't a metaphor or simply adjacent to spirituality. This awe and wonder is all I need; it draws me to God and the wildness of his love. I don't mind more, but seeing God through nature is enough to satiate me.
Although I regularly marvel at the sunset silhouetting the palm trees in front of my house and marvel at the ocean's crashing waves, these experiences are easy for me to take for granted. I might love them greatly, yet, spoiled as I am in San Diego, I have extensive experience appreciating this paradise. Considering, enjoying nature that is outside my everyday periphery gives me a new perspective of wonder. I love new angles to marvel at the beauty and majesty of creation.
My coastal mountains cannot compare to peering in awe at the rugged Grand Tetons from the chill of a clear mountain lake. God's righteousness is like these! His love is like the wide starry sky above the emerald forest where we stayed in Montana's Big Sky. God's faithfulness is grander than the clouds that build up over the colorful geyser basins we walked through in Yellowstone.2
And God's strength ripples like the muscles on those shoulders of the bears. I wouldn't be the first person to marvel at God's power by watching beasts, regardless of what you define a Leviathan and Behemoth as sea monsters and dinosaurs, or crocodiles and hippos.3
Power, Love, and a Sound-Mind
Another verse I've known since childhood is, "For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind." This one is fun to chant loudly, emphasizing POWER and LOVE and a SOUND MIND!
(Did you just try it? I hope so!)
Again, though, my experience with this verse has been largely out of context. It was an exhortation to Timothy, to be unafraid of moving forward in his authority, calling, and giftings, no matter that he was young or what people thought.
I guess that context doesn't really work for bears, either. Or nightmares. Or flashbacks. Or my panicking nervous system (thanks, trauma).
But maybe it does work for these fears, too. For confidence on the stage of life is formed by learning faith in the quiet places, when facing the walls. It's formed as we learn to survive in the wilderness. Power, love and a disciplined mind are developed by learning to rule with God over our own hearts. When we can eat a lavish feast in front of our enemies—Ms. Terror and Mr. Anxiety—we have confidence in the God who has met our needs by the river and through the valley.
If I look at the life of King David, the author of the Psalm above I am alluding to, much of his confidence in God was developed long before he climbed onto his throne. It was formed when he was fighting bears.4
I don't usually sleep with a weapon under my pillow but when I do....
The only time I've ever slept with a weapon under my pillow was the night the black bear was in our campsite. And it wasn't because of the black bear. Earlier that night, my toddler found my teenager's massive knife in his backpack--more like a short sword, actually. I saw it as soon as he began to unsheathing it and immediately tried to gently coax it out of his hand before he tripped on a pillow or threw it for funsies. Relieved, I hid it the closest place out of sight: under my pillow.
Later, when I saw the black bear near our tent, I immediately woke up my daughter, thinking she would be thrilled. She was thrilled. But she was also totally freaked out (and rightfully so)! I can't lie, my body also flooded with adrenaline as I watched the black bear clawing at our containers.5
I was pretty sure we would be safe, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't grab that knife from under my pillow. I stood with my legs braced, weapon in one hand, flashlight in the other, illuminating the meager wall of anti-mosquito mesh. I was intimidating. Standing at the front of my tent I looked like the camping warrior woman edition of Zelda.
My daughter swore the bear charged at us when she sneezed, but I only saw him startle and stare at us. If he got any closer I would scream and shout, even sans the bear horn accidentally left in in the van. If one swipe of his claw would cleave our tent in half, I was ready.
Meanwhile, my daughter was urgently telling me to text her friend at another campsite to get that girl's dad. Apparently she didn't think I had it under control. But, after a minute stare-down, the bear walked away with our breakfast muffins in his belly. I assume they were delicious, but I'll never know.
Separation
The only reason I could enjoy seeing that grizzly bear was because I saw him many yards away, and through a car window. The black bear, on the other hand, wasn't something I was able to enjoy in the moment because as soon as I knew she was there, I transformed into mama-bear mode, ready to protect my kids or die trying.
I might love nature, but I also am quite aware of its dangers and the boundaries that I need around it. When I go out on the bay, I need my paddle board to separate me from the depths. When I'm riding a breaking wave, I need a boogie-board to buoy me back to the surface. When I'm hiking a desert trail, I wear good shoes to keep my feet from being stabbed by cacti. And my home has surge protectors to keep the electricity powering my laptop at bay.
Theology of suffering
I can give you hundreds of examples of how humans either try to tame, conquer, or at least create boundaries with nature to live in peace. Eventually, nature always wins: lawns overgrow, ruins crumble, and bodies decompose, renewing the soil. By its very nature, nature is unruly, unmastered, and holds a powerful chaos.
It is poetic to compare God's character with his creation. But I think there are a lot of aspects of creation we wouldn't want to compare to God. If his power is truly more immense than nature's power, what questions about his trustworthiness does this dreg up for you? If he is as uncontrollable as nature is, what does that say about him?
I’ve noticed these questions are typically informed by our theology of suffering. It wasn’t until the last few years that I became acutely aware of how lacking my own was.
Big and Good
Back when I did that Christian ministry school, one of my teachers said something I'll never forget: God is big enough; God is good enough. This speaker claimed that a life of faith is essentially aligning with these aspects of God's character. I've found this to be true.
The Christian faith requires us to not believe in a set of doctrine, but to trust a person. And most of the time I'm either having a hard time believing that God is big enough—powerful, strong, omnipresent, great, etc... Or I am struggling believing that he is actually good—loving, kind, full of mercy, grace...and all the wonderful things I need God to be.
It is easy to believe one at a time. But both? Sometime that feels impossible. And I although I am a pretty trusting person, but I am not that trusting. There isn't conclusive evidence. Sure, there is a book about who he is. But nothing is guaranteed.
This is why our faith is faith.
To mime a tent
Maybe my thought process only makes sense to me, but I keep coming back to something in the weeks since that black bear ate my breakfast muffins. I wanted to be separated from each of the bears. But still marvel at the bears.
Once upon a time, I had a friend who got upset at me while we were in a car. As she couldn't jump out of the moving vehicle, she mimed going into a tent and zipping it up. She made an invisible barrier between us right next to me. In case I am not being crystal clear, although there was no physical divider between us, she only interacted with me as if there was one. I'd have to knock on to get her attention. She’d peek through the “window.” And if she didn't like what we talked about through the safety of the non-existent tent mesh, she'd zip me out again.
I could see it was serving her and found it entertaining. I played along. We didn’t need to be separated. Neither of us were harming each other—but she had been harming herself and I was calling her out on it.6 I wasn’t dangerous to her, but to her I felt threatening. Miming a tent gave her some sense of control as she processed, eventually realizing I was safe for her to trust.7
I wonder if we try to separate ourselves from God the same way, as if he is as dangerous, chaotic, and as harmful as his creation. I've sure wondered this a time or two. Especially when I was divided from my faith community, subsequently fell deathly ill with lupus, was defying the doctors orders to abort my son, and the non-profit I'd spent a decade building was ripped apart.
But just because life is dangerous, nature is dangerous, and even bears are dangerous—does that make God dangerous? Or to put it another way, is God trustworthy?
This is a doozy to wrestle with, that's for sure.
Nothing
Although I can't answer that question for you, I can share one more passage I frequent concerning the intersection between fear and God’s love:
"And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:38-39 NLT
Guess what the context of this one is? It is partially about not being afraid of the afterlife. It is also partially about living out your calling in confidence, with a purpose, for good, as an heir of God's Kingdom, with all the standing of a son/daughter.
But the context is also just plain ol' fear, within a groaning (sometimes harmful creation). Here's another part of this passage:
"Can anything ever separate us from Christ’s love? Does it mean he no longer loves us if we have trouble or calamity, or are persecuted, or hungry, or destitute, or in danger, or threatened with death?" Romans 8:35 NLT
In case you don't know, the answer is no. Nothing can separate us from God's love. Nothing, whether a wild bear, a tent, or even a fake tent can separate us from God's love.
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Why, you might be wondering, were there boxes out and barbacoa juice on the stove? In my defense, this was the first summer bears were ever seen at this campsite. And although it was mentioned, the rangers didn’t seem very concerned and there were no bear boxes. Although a have a certified bear ice chest, I didn’t bother putting the other boxes away either because the first night nothing bothered us. However, the second night the campers and loud RVs to our side were gone—we were on the edge of nature. I would have at least cleaned up, wiped the stove, and put random stuff back into the other boxes. But before I did, one of my kids started yelling in the tent, waking up the toddler. It was total chaos, so I went in to settle them down and forgot to come out. Heck, I was tired.
Job 40, Psalm 74:14, and 104:25-26
Psalms 23
Later, we found multiple plastic boxes with one to three inch gashes in them. Clawing is a great way to get into a box.
For context: I had her permission and the authority in her life to “call her out.” Sometimes “calling out” can cause more harm than good, and although I wish I had even more training than I did, this was done well.
If you are unfamiliar with recovery and trauma-informed practices, you might also find this helpful: when our unhealthy coping mechanisms are taken from us, we can feel totally out of control. We also often feel upset at those whose role it is to walk with us through it.