The Fear of Holiness

Many of the dynamics of sin in life can be explained by a simple idea: the fear of holiness.

Consider an example.

I slipped walking up the sledding hill.

The sandy soil wasn’t frozen yet. It gave way under the pressure of my foot in a most unexpected fashion. Suddenly my body was in free-fall towards the earth, no longer trustingly supported by my right leg.

We wouldn’t get far in life without deeply ingrained systems to deal with exactly this sort of problem. Without thinking, my left leg shot out to my right side to halt my downward trajectory. A fantastic flailing of limbs followed—I’m sure it was very graceful to see.

And I didn’t fall.

And I walked on up the hill.

Instead of falling, I earned some sore back muscles, a ligament on the side of my knee that was none-too happy about the sudden stretch, and a left hip that is still grumpy about the whole affair a few days later.

The irony of the whole situation? It wouldn’t have hurt at all to just fall over into the several-inch deep snow blanketing the hill. If only I had time to have a little conference with my instinctive fall avoidance system I would have reasoned it into submission: “Hey, look, you’re dressed in all kinds of padded outdoor clothes and there is a bunch of snow on the ground. Just let this one go, it’s not really going to hurt.”

But that instinctive fear of falling kicks in and works to protect the body at all costs.

Even when the costs are far greater than just falling over would be.

Fear

The instinctual fear of falling explains so much about why some sin hangs around so tightly.

The fear of falling triggers whenever you unexpectedly depart from normalcy. Sitting down is normal; you don’t flail limbs doing it. Sitting down and then missing your chair = limbs flailing. As soon as you move slightly outside of normal, the fear-driven instinct of self-protection hijacks your bodily systems and aims to protect normalcy at all costs.

Normalcy is key.

My life, your life, right now contains certain patterns of sin and brokenness that are so deep, so connected, so intertwined into who we are that to try to touch them sets off instinctual alarm bells: “protect this area at all costs—this is normal.”

Remove this sin, indeed, touch this sin, and what do you have? Something abnormal.

Never underestimate the power of normalcy.

A deep commitment to normalcy means that my body will sacrifice the health of my back muscles, my knee ligaments, my hip tendons, all to keep upright. Even when it is completely unnecessary to do so. Fear controls. Fear sacrifices to protect its own.

The gossip struggles with gossip because without it their life makes no sense. The porn addict continues on for the same reason. The father with explosive anger hates the explosive anger, but every time life tips slightly outside of normalcy, that is the way to right the ship.

Whatever the sin, those deep-seated ones are always monitoring the situation in life to hijack all systems and protect the status quo whenever any threat emerges. Departing from normal is scary.

Many of the dynamics of sin in life can be explained by a simple idea: the fear of holiness.

Stay tuned for more on fearing holiness.

3 Sentences to Understand Why Some Christian Teachings are so Hard for Us to Accept

“I can’t accept the traditional Christian understanding of hell and judgment because it’s not fair. It makes no emotional sense for God to condemn finite people in an infinite way. God’s love will certainly win.”

“I’m deeply sympathetic to the arguments you are using and the perspective which they come from, but I think you’re missing a bigger problem.”

That summarizes my perspective on a recent discussion I had with a gentleman at a retreat. He approached me and obviously wanted to talk about a subject near and dear to his heart: why the traditional doctrine of hell and judgement is wrong.

He’s read many books about it. Thought about it. Had a variety of points about the topic and a settled surety on his understanding.

It’s not my intention to defend or critique the traditional doctrine of judgment and hell at this juncture–that’s a major undertaking on its own. I want to consider a bigger picture issue about the way we understand ourselves. You see, the mere fact that there is a traditional Christian doctrine of hell and eternal judgment which has been well-articulated, embraced, defended, and trumpeted for centuries, indicates that there is nothing inherently unfair or emotionally unsatisfying about the idea. That we today feel it’s unfair and emotionally unsatisfying tells us something about us, not necessarily about whether the idea is true or not.

I think my interlocutor hasn’t deeply confronted his anthropological presuppositions.

Wait. Come again. Did I miss something? What are ‘anthropological presuppositions’ in plain English?

Certain truths are self-evident (to you)

Thomas Jefferson famously asserted that it is “self-evident” that all men are created equal, with certain inalienable rights.

Most people today scratch their heads at what that could possibly mean coming from the pen of a slave-holding aristocratic gentleman. Jefferson’s anthropological assumptions were on full display in the words flowing from his quill and in the simple fact that he held many human beings as slaves.

To good ole’ TJ, there was no conflict between saying all men are created equal with unalienable rights and holding slaves.

To us today in the West, we see this as an absurd contradiction in his assumptions about the nature of humanity.

That’s when you know you’re dealing with presuppositions. They make all the sense in the world when you assume them to be true, but upon closer inspection, they are shot through with ideas that might be true, but which can’t be proven and which are often mutually contradictory.

Commenting on how ‘fair’ Hell is/isn’t shows our assumptions about who we are

The claim that hell is not fair or emotionally satisfying will likely stop most discussions today.

That is because we have a radically different notion of who we are than most Christians through most of the history of the world have had. And that understanding of who we are makes all the difference in the world when it comes to thinking about what might await us in an eternal afterlife. How did we get to where we are today?

Here’s a 3 sentence summary of how the Western world has developed in our core assumption about the nature of humanity:

  1. God speaks, therefore I am.
  2. I think, therefore I am.
  3. I speak, therefore I am.

Each sentence represents a monumental shift in human self-understanding that we have inherited today.

Take a quick look at the self-understanding each sentence reflects.

View 1: God speaks, therefore I am

Most everyone in the ancient world assumed that humanity was created and/or governed by some higher power(s), be it God, the gods, Fate, the balance of good and evil, etc. Everyone shared the assumption that humanity exists in a world where the table is set by someone/thing greater than we are and we need to get in line.

In this view of life, punishment (and reward) at the hands of the Higher Power makes all the sense in the world. On this view, the idea that there would be no punishment for wicked people is emotionally unsatisfying.

View 2: I think, therefore I am

The French philosopher René Descartes famously wrote cogito, ergo sum, “I think, therefore I am.” (Somewhat ironically, this famous line that conveniently marks out modern man’s departure from God comes from Descartes attempt to prove the existence of God via reasonable argument). This simple phrase signals a sweeping change in human self-understanding.

The thinking person is responsive to the world around him/her, but not simply at its mercy.

In this view of life, punishment at the hands of the Higher Power is ambiguous. We’re still responsive to a Higher Power, but we get a hand in setting the table.

View 3: I speak, therefore I am

The current default views us as definers of our own reality. In place of a created servant, and in place of a thinker who responds, we become “man, the Speaker.” The speaker sets the table and the agenda. More than merely responding to reality, the speaker is a co-creator (or sole-creator) of reality.

In this view of life, punishment at the hands of a Higher Power is rather hard to swallow. Mostly, it is outright objectionable. We view ourselves like artists. Yes, people will probably critique our work at certain points–and maybe even God will–but it’s most important that we be true to ourself.

How we see ourselves affects what we think it is fair for God to do to/with us

These 3 simple sentences chart the course for why we struggle so much with the doctrine of hell and judgment today, even though most Christians throughout the ages have not.

We think about ourselves differently than they did.

I’m not sure which way of thinking about ourselves is right.

Each of the 3 views enhances some aspects of truth and obscures others. They are kind of like putting on 3 different pairs of glasses, each with a different color tint on the lenses. Through red lenses, you’re blinded to the presence of red; through blue glasses, blues become white, and so on. Each color lens privileges different aspects of the visible spectrum, and makes others harder to see.

And this phenomenon effects far more than how agreeable or disagreeable we find the idea of judgment and hell.

Why do people need salvation? Are we mostly good by nature? Do we actually need some influence from the Holy Spirit to walk in the right way, or will meditation and therapy suffice? Why can’t I do whatever I want with my sexuality?

Most of the difficult questions in our modern time emerge from our distinct way of viewing the world.

It would be folly to conclude that the answers to the great questions of humanity from the past–including judgement and rewards–are wrong simply because we assume different things to be true about ourselves today. Thus ensues the on-going need to check what we assume to be self-evident about the nature of humanity and what God can or can’t do with us.