For centuries, both scholars and the uneducated have tried to untangle the enigmas of the Bible. That goes for both people of various faiths and those outside of religious affiliation. We’ve wrestled with sovereignty vs free will, a loving God vs a loveless hell, New Testament grace vs Old Testament legalism, Jesus’ countercultural elevation of women vs Paul’s inconsistent misogyny. Despite all of the content I’ve watched, listened to, and read that attempts to shed clarifying light on these tensions, I still don’t have those mysteries totally settled in my head. I’m not sure if I ever will. In fact, I wonder if finite humans were ever destined to figure out an infinite being.
One specific paradox in Scripture has captivated my attention for years. Hundreds of times in the Bible, readers see the command, “Don’t be afraid,” or “Fear not.” At the same time in Habakkuk, Romans, Galatians, and Hebrews, readers are told, “The just shall live by faith.” These imperatives might not seem incongruent to you. But as an adrenaline junkie, I bump into these opposing declarations a lot.
See, you don’t need faith if you’re certain. I get nervous about a skydive or bungee jump only if I doubt the equipment will work. I update my life insurance when I question the reliability of the harness or the physics involved in my next stunt. You don’t need faith if you thoroughly understand how something works. You don’t need faith when everything is running smoothly. In an ironic way, you can’t express faith unless you have some doubt, some fear, or both. So how do you or I live by faith without some degree of uncertainty?
Jesus’ little brother, James, said we demonstrate our faith by doing what proves we have it. Like Abraham following God’s wild command to sacrifice his son until God called it off, we apparently get credited for our faith only after we act on it. When we do scary things for God, we prove that we love him. Our faith becomes official when we don’t understand where we’re going but follow anyway.
That brings us back to the question: why would holy messengers and even Jesus himself tell us not to fear? Why would we be asked (1) to lean into what only faith can empower but also (2) not to fear, doubt, or worry? Those seem like contradictory assignments.
Between you and me, I don’t know the answer to those questions. I definitely can’t tell you Heaven’s official statement or refer to one from Sovereignty’s legal team. I can, however, explain how jumping off airplanes, buildings, and mountains has clarified this paradox for me.
I walk on the wings of old biplanes in flight or hang hundreds of feet off the ground from a cliff because it scares me. Several times a year, I do things that make my hands sweat, my knees shake, and my bladder scream for release. I put myself in situations where fear pulses in my thumbs and throbs in my eardrums. I regularly pull the fire alarm that engages my fight-flight-fawn-or-freeze response system. I let uncertainty yell right next to my face like a 1980s college basketball coach.
And then I disobey those voices.
I jump anyway. I climb higher. I push the accelerator further. I know that my body will soon fill with reward chemicals and that my conversations will soon be filled with another story of adventure. I hear the detractors, but I move toward the call to adventure.
Jesus said his sheep know his voice and follow him. In situations where the Holy Spirit’s voice is being heckled by fear and doubt and worry, he’s asking us to move toward The Way, The Truth, and The Life. So, when I read, “Fear not,” I hear, “Obey my voice instead of theirs.” I’m not sure that the library of Scripture is claiming that fear is unreasonable from a human perspective or that doubt doesn’t make sense for a finite being. To me, Sovereignty asks us to believe his heart is good for us and that he knows something we don’t.
Scores of times in my life now, I’ve disobeyed fear—harkening instead to the voice of adventure. Every single time, I’ve been rewarded in some way. That streak has convinced me to focus on the prize. That pattern of reward has made it easier for me to lean into new and bigger challenges. A similar pattern has proven true in my faith. I’ve found that the call of a Good Shepherd leads me to healing encounters, beautiful moments, and sovereign appointments.
Both physical and spiritual adventures have cost me—sometimes dearly. In both realms, I’ve walked with a limp every once in a while after disobeying fear. I’ve been underwhelmed a few times by how I feel afterward, but I’ve also felt connected to something larger than my little life. I’ve seen discomfort overmatched by exhilaration. I’ve looked at a bruise and smiled because of what came with it. I’ve found purpose, meaning, and even redemption on the other end of surrender.
After being upside down in a glider, I’m grateful that I didn’t acquiesce to my doubts. After I rappel over the edge of a precipice, I’m thankful I didn’t succumb to fear. And after I complete a spiritual assignment, I luxuriate in the love of a Good Father.
I’ve learned that when uncertainty and Certainty both beckon me to follow them, the voice that bids, “Fear not,” is the one I should trust.
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