A Tale of Two Fears

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

Now when all the people saw the thunder and the flashes of lightning and the sound of the trumpet and the mountain smoking, the people were afraid and trembled, and they stood far off and said to Moses, “You speak to us, and we will listen; but do not let God speak to us, lest we die.”

Exodus 20:18–19

The people’s distance from Sinai was already the plan: Moses and Aaron going up the mountain to hear from God and bring the words back, while the people remained at a safe distance (Ex 19:23–25).

So perhaps we should think this is a rare glimpse of the Israelites wholeheartedly agreeing with God’s means of dealing with them?

Nope. What they’re asking for is not quite aligned with what God was doing. 

“Moses, when you speak, it’s not fire and thunder and earthquakes. What you have to say is manageable. We like hearing from you.” 

[Except for all the times they didn’t.]

“But God…if he speaks to us, we’ll die. So you go talk to him and then just tell us what he said. We’ll listen to you. We can’t listen to God. His words are terrifying.”

They trembled in fear and kept their distance, from God and his words. They expected the words to be different, safer coming from Moses.

How do we know this fear wasn’t righteous? Moses responds, “Do not fear.” 

Wait…I thought fear was the point of the boundary around the mountain and the earth-shaking trumpets and the lightning and all. So why does Moses now tell them not to be afraid? 

This fear was unrighteous, because it would keep them from hearing God’s words. They think they’ll be safe if they can just get Moses to be the one who speaks to them. They’re missing the point, so Moses spells it out:

“Do not fear, for God has come to test you, that the fear of him may be before you…”

Wait… “Don’t fear…because God is doing this so you will fear him…”? How does that make sense?

Do not fear, for God has come to test you, that the fear of him may be before you, that you may not sin.

Exodus 20:20

The point is not to be afraid and turn from hearing the words of God. The point is to be afraid and turn from sinning

Fear functions as a defensive measure: we are afraid when we identify a threat, and we engage to avoid it.

The Israelites’ fear identified God and his words as the threat. Their solution was to avoid hearing from him.

Righteous fear identifies God’s holiness as the most foreboding threat that sinners face, but the solution is not to avoid God. The solution is to avoid sin.

What does this story have to do with us? The God who revealed himself to Israel in fire and storm on Sinai reveals himself to all nations in flesh and blood on Calvary. 

The nature of God has not changed since Sinai. He is still holy, and he still judges sin.

Our God is a consuming fire.

Hebrews 12:29

But in Christ, God has provided a way that sinners can be made righteous and so come near to him without being consumed: faith in Jesus, whose self-sacrifice absorbed divine judgment and offers forgiveness for all who trust him. 

You have not come to what may be touched, a blazing fire and darkness and gloom and a tempest and the sound of a trumpet and a voice whose words made the hearers beg that no further messages be spoken to them. . . . But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, . . . and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant.

Hebrews 12:18–19, 22, 24

God is to be feared. He is holy and punishes sin. And awareness of his holiness should evoke fear: there is a threat to be avoided. Like the Israelites, though, we often think we can handle the threat by hiding from God, coming up with a solution that will keep us safe.

It will never work. When all is said and done, “our God is a consuming fire.” You don’t hide from fire. It finds you.

The fear of God identifies sin as the thing to avoid and runs to Christ as the refuge. So don’t be afraid and run from the words of God. Be afraid and run from sin, to God, who himself has provided safety.

Yes, God’s wrath on sin is fierce and fearful. And God’s mercy for sinners is abundant in Christ.

Still

“I messed up again…why do I still do this? I thought I’d grown more and made more progress, but when the same challenge came again, I just fell right back into the same reaction.”

I feel that. Faced with a familiar temptation, I follow a familiar pattern away from rest in God’s presence which would empower actions of loving service.

“Why do I still struggle like this? Why do I still fail to trust God like I know I should, and like I want to? Will I still be doing this when I’m 70?”

Maybe answers to those questions wouldn’t actually bring us peace…because the truth is, if I’m turning 70 in the wilderness of this life, I really might still be wrestling against the same opponent. The perfect rest of perfect faith doesn’t come until we get home, to the promised land of the Father’s unmediated presence.

So what questions should I ask? What questions have answers that can settle my heart when I feel bound by old patterns? What will give me hope, nurturing my faint faith after my failures? Colossians 1 gives us a good starting point.

Jesus is the one who works to present you holy and blameless, above reproach before the Father. He’s the one who made you right, bringing you into relationship with the Father. His body of flesh, broken in death, was the cost—and it’s paid in full, by the blood of his cross.

So what’s the “if” for us? What are the conditions of our final status, holy and blameless and above reproach in God’s sight?

“Continue in the faith, stable and steadfast, not shifting from the hope of the gospel that you heard.”

Do you still trust that Jesus shed his blood to deliver you from the domain of darkness and place you in his kingdom?

Do you still hope in Jesus alone for redemption, the forgiveness of sins?

Do you still love the Father—even with the faintest flicker of affection—who reconciles all things, including his people, through the Son?

Do you still cast yourself on his grace as the guarantee of your salvation?

Then be confident that he’s still continuing his work that he purchased on the cross. You are continuing in the faith, stable and steadfast, not shifting from the hope of the gospel you heard. THAT is the hope that will still get you home. Those are the better questions to ask yourself about yourself: the questions that assume the state of your soul is not dependent on your responses…questions about you that are actually questions about Jesus.

Is Jesus’s blood still powerful enough to forgive you, keeping you in his kingdom?

Is the Father still at peace with you, lavishing grace on you?

Does the Spirit still dwell in you, loving you?

Maybe our ongoing struggles are meant to center our confidence on these realities, when we’d otherwise expect to find confidence by measuring our faith in terms of our performance. I received Jesus by faith, and Jesus is still saving me as I walk with him by faith. That’s a reason to give thanks.

“Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.”

Colossians 2:6–7

As for Who?

[Warning: this reflection makes reference to Super Bowl LIX. Sorry, Chiefs fans.]

“I waited patiently for the Lord;
He inclined to me and heard my cry.
He drew me up from the pit of destruction,
Out of the miry bog,
And set my feet upon a rock,
Making my steps secure.”

Psalm 40:1–2

I’m Reformed, which means I affirm the dismal view of the human condition known as “total depravity.” When I read this intro to David’s psalm, my heart sings in agreement: “Yep. That was me, stuck in a pit of destruction. God lifted me from a miry bog I could not climb out of myself.” Salvation only comes from the Lord, and I contributed nothing but the sin and misery I needed saving from.

But…if I’m honest…

I often think of my neediness in past tense. I WAS totally depraved, so I desperately needed divine intervention. Now that I’m alive in Christ, I’ve pretty much got it together. School, work, relationships, growth in godliness—if I plan and work and pray enough, I can figure things out and make things happen. 

As for me, I am capable and resourceful. I can basically trust myself to order my life and accomplish my goals. God’s involved, of course, mostly to provide that energy so I can get stuff done. Like, I’ve gotten the ball to the goal line, and I just need God to give that last boost of power: a little “tush push” to get us into the end zone.

Except that’s not how David sees himself in Psalm 40…and that’s not how God sees his children.

“As for me, I am poor and needy.”

I’m less like the Eagles at fourth and inches, and more like Patrick Mahomes getting demolished over and over because the offensive line keeps disintegrating in the face of a superior force. 

My poverty and neediness didn’t end when God brought my soul to life. Yes, I am abundantly rich now, but that’s not because I have secured something for myself. As for me, I am still poor and needy.

“As for you, O Lord, you will not restrain your mercy from me. 
Your steadfast love and your faithfulness will ever preserve me.”

Lord, as for you, well, you point your boundless benevolence right at me. Your unrestrained mercy fills the caverns of my need. Your covenant love and faithfulness will always be the force that preserves me from the poverty I couldn’t escape. My only hope of rest or peace or joy or security is that you take thought for me. And you do, and you won’t stop. Trusting that, trusting you, is to love your salvation in past and present tenses. The only greatness to celebrate is yours.

So…

“May all who seek you rejoice and be glad in you;
May those who love your salvation say continually, 
‘Great is the Lord!’”