Perhaps the most important question a human being can ask is, “What is God like?”
This came to me recently when an atheist friend said, “Well, if it turns out that I’m wrong and there is a God, I guess I will just shrug and say, “Hey, God, I did my best, and I was basically a good guy, so I hope you let me in.” It’s a cute approach, and I’ve heard it from atheist friends before. This most recent occasion, however, made me feel uncomfortable, because I realized that underlying the comment is a certain image of what God is like.
Perhaps God is like a gentle old grandfather who indulges his grandchildren’s every whim? (I am a good example of this.) Perhaps God is a super-intelligent, middle-class being rather like us, and as tolerant of human shortcomings as we try to be—only more so? You can see how the atheist’s preconceptions about God shape what he hopes will be his approach to God—and God’s response to him—on the last day.
But what if he is wrong? The traditional Christian belief is neither the fond, foolish old grandfather, nor the tolerant, middle-class Canadian who is just a smarter version of ourselves. There is a phrase repeated many times in the Bible that should give us pause when we think of God. That phrase is “the fear of the Lord,” which occurs nearly a hundred times in the Bible.
The most usual way to explain this is to say that it just means respect for God, and that’s not a bad beginning. But it’s not enough. After all, I try to respect other human beings. I acknowledge that their value to God is precisely the same as mine. I acknowledge that their role in this world is no less important than my own. Obviously, respect is a good thing, since it creates the potential for a relationship—but in itself it does not create a relationship.
So that cannot be what is meant by “the fear of the Lord”—merely allowing space in our lives for God to exist—allowing God to get on with his business while we get on with ours. Respect may be a good foundation for love, but this hardly counts as loving the Lord your God “with all your heart and soul, mind and strength.” That’s a lot stronger than simple respect.
Of course, we don’t want to go to the extreme of saying that we fear God because God is all-powerful: God gets mad at evil, and unless we give up on sin, God will punish us, so we better fear him and shape up. That’s hardly a basis for love, either.
Is there another way to think about this? I think there is, and it is to be found in a surprising place—a children’s story. Kenneth Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows was a much-loved staple of my childhood reading—and I still have the battered old hardback version I was weaned on, which once belonged to my mother, and which she also loved.
There is a chapter in there—it’s called “The Piper at the Gates of Dawn”—which I used to find puzzling as a child. Apparently, adults have also found it puzzling because I have come across more recent editions which have the temerity to omit it! But to me, puzzling simply means we need to take time to think about it—not that we ignore it.
In this chapter, the Rat and the Mole are helping to look for Portly, a lost baby otter. They row up and down the river, searching all night with no success. Then at dawn, as the sun is rising behind a mist, they hear a faint music. “Such music,” says Rat, “I never dreamed of, and the call in it is stronger even than the music is sweet! Row on, Mole, row! For the music and the call must be for us.” They come across an island in the river, and realize this is where the mysterious music is coming from. “This,” says Rat, “is the place of my song-dream, the place the music played to me. . . Here, in this holy place, here if anywhere, surely we shall find Him!’
They approach cautiously and, to their amazement, find the baby otter, safe and sleeping—between the hooves of the great god Pan, who has been summoning them by playing his pan pipes. How do they react?
“Rat!” Mole found breath to whisper, shaking. “Are you afraid?”
“Afraid?” murmured the Rat, his eyes shining with unutterable love. “Afraid! Of HIM? O, never, never! And yet—and yet—O, Mole, I am afraid!”
Then the two animals, crouching to the earth, bowed their heads and did worship.
Kenneth Grahame understood something about what God is really like. He understood what is meant by the fear of the Lord, what it feels like, why it is irresistible when we grasp something of what God is truly like. It is not the terror of a violent God, but neither is it merely the respect we offer to another human being. God is beyond all that—and maybe such a reality can be conveyed only by poetic fiction like Graham’s. “The fear of the Lord” is a gift.
The Fear of the Lord: What the Rat and the Mole Teach Us
Perhaps the most important question a human being can ask is, “What is God like?”
This came to me recently when an atheist friend said, “Well, if it turns out that I’m wrong and there is a God, I guess I will just shrug and say, “Hey, God, I did my best, and I was basically a good guy, so I hope you let me in.” It’s a cute approach, and I’ve heard it from atheist friends before. This most recent occasion, however, made me feel uncomfortable, because I realized that underlying the comment is a certain image of what God is like.
Perhaps God is like a gentle old grandfather who indulges his grandchildren’s every whim? (I am a good example of this.) Perhaps God is a super-intelligent, middle-class being rather like us, and as tolerant of human shortcomings as we try to be—only more so? You can see how the atheist’s preconceptions about God shape what he hopes will be his approach to God—and God’s response to him—on the last day.
But what if he is wrong? The traditional Christian belief is neither the fond, foolish old grandfather, nor the tolerant, middle-class Canadian who is just a smarter version of ourselves. There is a phrase repeated many times in the Bible that should give us pause when we think of God. That phrase is “the fear of the Lord,” which occurs nearly a hundred times in the Bible.
The most usual way to explain this is to say that it just means respect for God, and that’s not a bad beginning. But it’s not enough. After all, I try to respect other human beings. I acknowledge that their value to God is precisely the same as mine. I acknowledge that their role in this world is no less important than my own. Obviously, respect is a good thing, since it creates the potential for a relationship—but in itself it does not create a relationship.
So that cannot be what is meant by “the fear of the Lord”—merely allowing space in our lives for God to exist—allowing God to get on with his business while we get on with ours. Respect may be a good foundation for love, but this hardly counts as loving the Lord your God “with all your heart and soul, mind and strength.” That’s a lot stronger than simple respect.
Of course, we don’t want to go to the extreme of saying that we fear God because God is all-powerful: God gets mad at evil, and unless we give up on sin, God will punish us, so we better fear him and shape up. That’s hardly a basis for love, either.
Is there another way to think about this? I think there is, and it is to be found in a surprising place—a children’s story. Kenneth Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows was a much-loved staple of my childhood reading—and I still have the battered old hardback version I was weaned on, which once belonged to my mother, and which she also loved.
There is a chapter in there—it’s called “The Piper at the Gates of Dawn”—which I used to find puzzling as a child. Apparently, adults have also found it puzzling because I have come across more recent editions which have the temerity to omit it! But to me, puzzling simply means we need to take time to think about it—not that we ignore it.
In this chapter, the Rat and the Mole are helping to look for Portly, a lost baby otter. They row up and down the river, searching all night with no success. Then at dawn, as the sun is rising behind a mist, they hear a faint music. “Such music,” says Rat, “I never dreamed of, and the call in it is stronger even than the music is sweet! Row on, Mole, row! For the music and the call must be for us.” They come across an island in the river, and realize this is where the mysterious music is coming from. “This,” says Rat, “is the place of my song-dream, the place the music played to me. . . Here, in this holy place, here if anywhere, surely we shall find Him!’
They approach cautiously and, to their amazement, find the baby otter, safe and sleeping—between the hooves of the great god Pan, who has been summoning them by playing his pan pipes. How do they react?
“Rat!” Mole found breath to whisper, shaking. “Are you afraid?”
“Afraid?” murmured the Rat, his eyes shining with unutterable love. “Afraid! Of HIM? O, never, never! And yet—and yet—O, Mole, I am afraid!”
Then the two animals, crouching to the earth, bowed their heads and did worship.
Kenneth Grahame understood something about what God is really like. He understood what is meant by the fear of the Lord, what it feels like, why it is irresistible when we grasp something of what God is truly like. It is not the terror of a violent God, but neither is it merely the respect we offer to another human being. God is beyond all that—and maybe such a reality can be conveyed only by poetic fiction like Graham’s. “The fear of the Lord” is a gift.
John Bowen is Professor Emeritus of Evangelism at Wycliffe College in Toronto, where he was also the Director of the Institute of Evangelism. Before that, he worked a campus evangelist for Inter-Varsity Christian Fellowship. For over thirty years, John has been a popular speaker, teacher, and preacher, on university campuses, in churches and in classrooms, and at conferences, across Canada and the USA. His most recent book is The Unfolding Gospel: How the Good News Makes Sense of Discipleship, Church, Mission, and Everything Else (Fortress 2021).
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