Dan Olinger

"If the Bible is true, then none of our fears are legitimate, none of our frustrations are permanent, and none of our opposition is significant."

Dan Olinger

 

Retired Bible Professor,

Bob Jones University

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On Political Panic, Part 2 

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Part 1 

One more observation. 

Political fights often appear existential, and the fans on each side will almost inevitably speak in apocalyptic terms. “This may be the last election of our lifetimes!” “This is our last chance to save the country!” “This is a threat to our democracy!” 

I first heard that kind of talk in the Johnson / Goldwater campaign of 1964, and as a 10-year-old boy I believed it. What I didn’t know at the time is that the same kind of talk had been going on since well before I was born—in fact, since Adams / Jefferson in 1796. And that’s just in my country. There were elections in other countries long before that. 

Now, history tells us that at some point, these statements will be true. But it also tells us that those times are extremely rare—think Hitler in 1933—and that any given use of the statements is deeply unlikely to be true. 

It particularly troubles me to see self-identified believers saying these kinds of things. The Bible tells us very clearly that earthly rulers—even the really awful ones, like Nebuchadnezzar and Cyrus and the Herods—are not as powerful as they appear to be, because they are under the sovereign and omnipotent hand of the Almighty God. He has his way not only in the whirlwind and the storm (Na 1.3), but also in the affairs of peoples and nations. He raises up kings, and he sets them down again (Da 2.21). His throne is in heaven (Ps 11.4). And he is not only powerful—his will is done—but he is also good. He shepherds his people (Ps 23.1); he knows when the sparrow falls (Mt 10.29). He gives us peace (Ps 27.1-6). 

When we screech publicly and parade our fear—“scary!”—we effectively deny all that. 

FWIW, let me apply all this to the current situation. 

We’ve had a significant change in political philosophy, strategy, and tactics since this most recent election. Trump’s supporters are trying to clear the road for his plans, and his opponents are trying to frustrate those plans at every turn. For many of his tactics, his opponents will seek legal remedy; many already have. Sometimes the courts will support him; sometimes they’ll stop him. And in the end, I’m convinced, the system will work. He’ll get some of what he wants, and where some of his wishes are illegal, or even unconstitutional, they will have no ongoing life. 

And all the screaming and shouting, at least that on social media, will have accomplished nothing  toward the outcome; it will merely (!) have encouraged us to hate one another all the more. 

And much more importantly, the harsh invective and behavior of some Christians will become lifelong roadblocks to the work of the Holy Spirit in the lives of others who need him. 

I’m aware, of course, that there’s a spectrum of belief in evangelical theology about how that all works out. Calvinists will say that the work of the Spirit cannot be made ineffectual, and that no eternal harm will have been done by the despicable actions of those believers. 

But Jesus warns about people who get in the way of others’ salvation, whether children—that’s millstone territory (Mt 18.6)—or those trusting their unreliable religious leaders (Mt 23.1-4). We should take heed. 

And most especially, for our own spiritual health, we should live in peace within our own hearts and with one another. 

One more thing: no comment gets posted to my blog without my approval. The last thing I want is for these posts to become a platform for the same lack of peace that I’m trying to oppose. Take that somewhere else—or better yet, exercise some self-discipline and keep it to yourself. 

Though the nations rage, kingdoms rise and fall, 
There is still one King reigning over all. 
So I will not fear, for this truth remains– 
That my God is the Ancient of Days. 

None above Him, none before Him, 
All of time in His hands, 
For His throne, it shall remain and ever stand. 
All the power, all the glory— 
I will trust in His name, 
For my God is the Ancient of Days. 

-CityAlight; performed by David Wesley 

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On Political Panic, Part 1 

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I don’t very often post political things on social media or on this blog. There’s plenty of noise out there already, and I’m no more qualified to speak on political issues than the next guy. I also find that in the current polarized environment, taking a public political position results in half the country refusing to listen to anything you say for the next forever, and my effectiveness at carrying out the Great Commission, and at ministering to hurting people in other ways, is infinitely more important to me than my preferred candidate’s winning in this or that election. 

Some years ago I began a political-sounding post on Facebook with this statement: 

This is not a political post. It’s a discipleship post. 

The rest of today’s post is offered in that spirit. 

We all know that the US appears to be polarized, angry, and intolerant, across the political spectrum, and that this polarization is particularly evident on social media. Pretty much every post that takes a political position is soon followed with a string of comments filled with anger, name-calling, and invective, rehashing the same ideas that are in all the strings of comments on other posts. Some people seem to thrive on that, even to live for it. Eventually many others try to avoid it, either by unfriending or blocking certain people or just staying off Facebook or Twitter/X entirely. 

I’d like to offer a few observations on the situation, for what they’re worth. 

First, I try not to see comment threads as statistically significant. (That’s what my first post on this blog was about.) I have a lot of FB friends, plenty enough, and across the political spectrum, to be a statistically reliable database. And I note that my friends—and I do count them friends—who are making the most noise are relatively few; for a certain subset of my friends—and I do count them friends—I know what position they’re going to take, and how emotionally laden they’re going to be, before I read what they say. And I note, importantly, that not everyone making the most noise out there is an empty barrel. (Here’s looking at you, Paul. And Bob. :-) ) But most people stay out of the fray, I assume because they’re spending their time on efforts they view as more valuable for them. I conclude that the polarization and rage are not as pervasive as they appear. 

I’d also suggest some biblical insights that could help all of us find a higher degree of peace. 

Everybody’s a combination of two deeply powerful and effectual characteristics. First, everybody is in the image of God. Everybody. Including all the people you and I disagree with on social media. That means that everybody should be heard and respected. Taunting is a violation of this principle. So is posting something just to irk somebody else, to “stick it to the” whoevers. 

Respect. 

Secondly, everybody is an imperfect incarnation of God’s original design for humans. More commonly we say that everyone is fallen, is broken, is a sinner. We call that “original sin.” That includes me, and it includes you—and if the truth be told, we are the ones mostly likely to know how deeply that brokenness goes in us. We need to tell the truth to and about ourselves. 

Now, that means that every political candidate is a mixture of great good and great evil. Sometimes he (or she) is right, and sometimes he (or she) is wrong. Everybody’s like that. 

The tendency of political fans is to denounce everything “the other guy” says or does, and to affirm (or excuse, if you have to) everything “our guy” says or does. That’s unbiblical, and because it’s unbiblical, it’s foolish and doomed to make one look foolish in the long run, if not immediately. 

Next time, one further thought on the apocalypticism of it all. 

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On Danger, Fear, and God’s Care

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We all face challenges. Some people face genuine dangers from genuine enemies. And most of them face fear. 

God doesn’t experience any of these things. He faces nothing that could be described as a challenge to his omnipotence, and though he has powerful enemies, he is greater than them all, and their defeat is sure. And consequently, he is never afraid. 

So how does someone like that respond to someone like us? Does he understand challenge, and enemies, and fear? Does he care? 

King David, who had plenty of challenges and enemies and fears, had some thoughts on that in many of his writings. Today I choose to consider Psalm 6. 

David is facing a fearsome trial. He mentions physical issues (Ps 6.2), but I’m inclined to think his real concern is “enemies” (Ps 6.7). He clearly thinks his life is in danger (Ps. 6.5). 

And so he meditates and writes out his thoughts. 

The Psalm has three sections. He begins by presenting his appeal to God (Ps 6.1-5); then he lays out the anguish that his situation is causing (Ps 6.6-7); and then he finishes by describing the assurance he has in God’s care and deliverance (Ps 6.8-10). 

Appeal (Ps 6.1-5) 

David begins by admitting—implicitly—that God has reason to be angry with him (Ps 6.1). He doesn’t go into detail. Here we see someone who is in the same situation we are: we need deliverance by God’s hand, but we know we don’t come to him from a position of strength. We need grace; we need mercy (Ps 6.2). 

David’s situation is desperate; he expresses himself in broken phrases, in grunts (Ps 6.3). Interestingly, Jesus appears to use David’s words as he prays in the Garden of Gethsemane (Jn 12.27) before his arrest, trial, and crucifixion. 

David asks God to “turn” to him, as if he had turned away for some reason (Ps 6.4). The Hebrew word is shub, a word commonly used for turning from sin in repentance (e.g. Is 30.15; 44.22; 55.7). David asks God to change his mind. 

He cites two motivations for God to deliver him: God’s “mercies” (Ps 6.4), or hesed, and his glory (Ps 6.5)—that is, the thanksgiving he will receive for acting to deliver. 

Is that an appeal to some selfish motive in God? I don’t think so. First, God’s glory, unlike ours, is something actually deserved and appropriate; God is not like his limited creatures. And second, is there anything wrong with enjoying being thanked? Don’t we like to be thanked when we do something for someone we love? Is it selfish to revel in someone else’s joy? 

Anguish (Ps 6.6-7) 

David lays out the evidences of his anguish, which in turn is evidence of the seriousness of the danger he faces. 

  • He is exhausted by the constant pressure of the situation (Ps 6.6a). 
  • He weeps through the night (Ps 6.6b) 
  • His perspective is colored—poisoned—by the stress of the situation (Ps 6.7). 

Assurance (Ps 6.8-10)  

During his prayer, David receives assurance that the Lord has heard him and will answer (Ps 6.8-9). We don’t know exactly how this worked; it may be as simple as his believing God’s earlier promises to hear the prayers of his people (Ex 22.27), or knowing God’s character well enough to anticipate similar future promises (Is 65.24; Zec 13.9). 

For whatever reason, David knows. And so he begins to address his enemies directly, and he flips the situation against them. At the beginning of his prayer, he is the one who is deeply troubled (Ps 6.2); but now, his enemies find themselves in that situation (Ps 6.10). Earlier, he has asked God to turn, to change (Ps. 6.4); but now, he calls on his enemies to turn and change (Ps 6.10), with the same verb he used of God earlier. 

So what do we see here? 

  • God’s people call on him when they are afraid. 
  • He hears, even when they don’t “deserve” it. 
  • And he answers by reversing the situation, judging his enemies, and protecting his people. 

Timely advice whenever we’re afraid. 

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Continuous Improvement, Part 1: No Fear

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Thirty years or so ago, when I was working for BJU Press, my boss assigned me the task of researching what was then commonly called “Japanese-style management,” to see whether we could apply some of its principles to our production processes. For several years the Japanese car companies had been cleaning the clocks of the American manufacturers, and companies of all kinds were beginning to take notice.

So I did some research. Interestingly, the Japanese companies were following the advice of an American statistician named W. Edwards Deming, who argued that companies, particularly in manufacturing, should evaluate their processes statistically and make changes to their processes that were called for by the hard numbers, rather than just acting on hunches. Deming composed a list of fourteen principles to guide company management in this process of continuous improvement.

I was particularly influenced by two of these principles. The first was the absolute necessity of removing fear from the workplace. Every employee must consider himself an equal member of the team, whose input is valued. (In many cases, the line worker’s input is more valuable than the boss’s, because he’s closer to the details of the process and more likely to see where the problems lie.)

The second was the idea of continuous improvement. A company often tries to roll out a new process or organization or morale campaign, with lots of horn-blowing and pom-pom shaking and fancy new slogans, but nothing about the process and the team dynamics really changes; it’s all just pomp and circumstance. Work harder! Try more! Rah rah rah!

Deming says you can’t become a perfect organization just like that. There’s no program or reorganization that is the magic solution to your problems. Instead, you must empower everybody in the organization to notice imperfections and to speak up about them. In the case of the Japanese automakers, they empowered every worker on the assembly line to pull the chain and stop the line if he saw a problem. Yes, it costs money to stop the line; but if you see a problem, stop the line.

Because management has removed fear from the workplace (see previous principle), the employee knows he won’t get cut off at the knees when he notices and immediately reports a problem.

And quality goes up, just a little bit.

And day after day, it goes up just a little bit more.

These days that approach to management is called continuous improvement, or total quality management.

And it works.

It’s interesting to me that God’s treatment of his people reflects both of these principles.

First, God removes fear from the relationship. He does this in a couple of ways. First, he begins the relationship by assuring the believer that although he was angry at his sin before salvation, that is no longer true. He is propitiated: the enmity has been removed, and he will never be angry at the believer again.

A friend of mine, a pastor, heard me say that in class once and challenged me on that. Isn’t God angry at us when we sin? Doesn’t he chastise his people (He 12.5-9)? Yes, he chastises us, but as a perfect father, out of restorative and corrective love, not out of anger. Christ’s sacrifice propitiated the Father, and he is no longer angry. For him to become angry at us, I would suggest, would devalue the sacrifice of his Son. Was Christ’s work effective, or not? Has he propitiated the Father, or not? I said to my friend, there are Christological implications in seeing the Father as ever angry at his children.

A lot of Christians continue to live under the fear of their Father. They know that their sin continues, despite all their efforts to eradicate it. Paul admits this of himself (Ro 7.14-24). But Paul ends that confession with a shout of triumph:

I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord. … There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit (Ro 7.25a, 8.1).

And he has already said, “We have peace with God” (Ro 5.1).

The second way he has removed fear is by assuring us of a good, and eternal, outcome. We will persevere (Jn 10.27-29); God’s enemies will be defeated (Re 20.10); and we will have abundant life eternally (Re 21.1-7), as well as in the present (Jn 10.10). Confidence, like love, casts out fear.

We’ll address the second principle next time.

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Part 2: Inch by Inch

When You’re Really Scared, Part 4: Response

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Part 1: Background | Part 2: Panic | Part 3: Presence

Now David moves from God’s presence to God’s action. God is not just an observer here; he responds to what he sees.

David says that God distinguishes between his people and his enemies (“the wicked”), and he acts to accomplish different outcomes for the two groups. In the situations that frighten his people, he is “trying” us (Ps 11.5a)—not in the sense that he needs to know how things will turn out for us, or how we will respond to the fear; God is omniscient, and he doesn’t need to “find out” anything. No, he is putting us to the test in that sense that he is exercising us for our own betterment.

We all know how this works with athletes; a coach puts them through hard things to make them stronger, better athletes. So God exercises us with hard things, sometimes scary things, to make us stronger, more like his son. Paul talks about that process in Romans 5:

We glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; 4 And patience, experience; and experience, hope: 5 And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us (Ro 5.3b-5).

Hardship brings endurance; endurance brings experience of success; experience of success brings confidence of success the next time.

So God’s intention for us is entirely benevolent, even when things are hard.

But for the wicked, things are very different. The hard things they experience are warnings of judgment, which they must anticipate.

Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone,
And an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup (Ps 11.6).

The word snares is a bit surprising; why would God rain down animal traps? Is he speaking of sending destructive things their way?

Could well be. But readers of the Hebrew text have noticed that if you swap a couple of vowels in the word for “snares” (pachim), you get a word that means “coals” (picham), which makes a lot more sense in the context of “fire and brimstone.” (And since the vowels in Hebrew weren’t written during biblical times, the distinction could have been unnoticed at the time.) Several of the modern English versions (e.g. CSB ESV NIV) render it that way.

This kind of fiery judgment is what awaits the wicked. It happened to Sodom and Gomorrah; it will be the end of Gog (Ezk 38.22), and of the beast of Revelation (Re 14.10), and of the devil (Re 20.10), and of the wicked at the Great White Throne (Re 21.8).

The KJV’s “horrible tempest” is a “raging wind,” raging especially in the sense of “hot.” Mediterranean peoples are well aware of the sirocco, which blows sand from North Africa across the Mediterranean Basin. It’s hot, biting, and destructive to crops as well as just generally unpleasant.

In another Psalm, the same David writes,

If a man does not repent, God will whet his sword; he has bent and readied his bow (Ps 7.12).

It turns out that David’s enemies aren’t the only ones flexing a bow (Ps 11.2).

But David notes that God is not all anger. He is also love—and he loves his people thoroughly, truly, and perfectly.

For the righteous Lord loveth righteousness;
His countenance doth behold the upright (Ps 11.7).

The second line reads in Hebrew, “the upright shall behold his face.”

The Lord told Moses that no one could see his face and live. Moses was allowed to see his “back” (Ex 33.23).

But we have seen the glory of God in the face of Christ (2Co 4.6), and one day we shall see his face (Re 22.4).

David said in yet another psalm,

One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after;
That I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
To behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple (Ps 27.4).

May it be so for us all.

Fear not.

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When You’re Really Scared, Part 3: Presence

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Part 1: Background | Part 2: Panic

Verse 4 is the pivot point of Psalm 11. David has heard the warnings of his advisers, including the panic in their voices. Now it’s time for him to respond.

It’s important to note that David never denies the truth of what they are telling him. He never says, “There are no enemies; they’re not planning evil against me; you guys are just seeing things.” He has enough experience with opposition to know that what they’re saying is very likely true.

But he doesn’t take their advice, either. He doesn’t panic; he doesn’t run. And we should expect that of him, for he’s begun the psalm with his thesis statement, his life principle:

In the LORD have I put my trust (Ps 11.1).

Now he’s going to flesh out that principle.

4The LORD is in his holy temple,
The LORD’s throne is in heaven:
His eyes behold,
His eyelids try, the children of men (Ps 11.4).

Notice how the LORD’s name begins the first two lines. Readers of the Hebrew would say the name is “fronted”; it’s pushed forward in the sentence into an emphatic position. In English we would italicize or underline or circle it; if we said it out loud, we would punch the volume when we spoke his name.

This isn’t Baal or Chemosh or Dagon in the temple, or any of the gods of the other nations, who cannot see or speak or act in response to the prayers of their devotees. No. This is Yahweh, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the creator of heaven and earth, the covenant-keeping God, the one true God.

This is—and I say this reverently—the Real Deal.

And he is in his temple. Not just any temple, mind you, like the one Samson pushed down with his two hands. This is the holy temple.

At its most basic, the word holy means “unique,” “one of a kind,” “in a class by itself.” The LORD’s temple is like no other. Some four centuries later the prophet Habakkuk will quote this line of the psalm and add a line of his own to emphasize the necessary response to the holiness of this temple:

Let all the earth keep silence before him (Hab 2.20).

And so the enemies pale into insignificance. What possible threat can they be, here under the shadow of the Almighty?

Now David adds another line, another consideration:

The LORD’s throne is in heaven.

The LORD has the high ground.

A military veteran like David knows that the high ground is a significant tactical advantage. From the high ground you can see farther than your attackers, who are below you, can see. You can see where the enemy is, and you can shoot down on him, the force of gravity adding to the force of your spears and arrows and slingstones. You have all the advantages.

The LORD has the high ground.

Now, the ironic thing about that is that the LORD doesn’t need the high ground. In the light of his omnipotence, the enemy is insignificant, trivial. The battle is not close enough for any tactical advantage to throw the outcome to one side or the other.

But he does have the high ground.

And so, David continues,

His eyes behold,
His eyelids try, the children of men.

He sees. He knows. He notices.

Nothing escapes him.

You can do that from the high ground. Or even better with omniscience.

God would later tell Judah’s King Jehoshaphat,

The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to shew himself strong in the behalf of them whose heart is perfect toward him (2Ch 16.9a).

He knows who his people are, and he doesn’t just watch their battles play out; he takes action on their behalf. He knows as well who the enemy is; the foe is located, recognized, identified, and opposed.

What will he do next?

Next time.

Part 4: Response

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When You’re Really Scared, Part 2: Panic

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Part 1: Background

David begins with his thesis statement in verse 1. I’ll get to that eventually, but first I’d like to take a look at what his advisors are telling him.

They begin with the action item: Run!

Flee as a bird to your mountain! (Ps 11.1b).

They’re going to explain the danger in a minute, but it’s as if they need to call for action immediately—as if they’re in a panic. That idea is reinforced by their simile; birds skedaddle in a hurry. And where should the bird that is David skedaddle to? A mountain, a place of strength, high ground, with a tactical military advantage.

David knows about fleeing like a bird. The second time that he confronts Saul and refuses to harm him, he describes the king as “one who hunts a partridge in the mountains” (1S 26.20). He also knows about taking refuge in a mountain; earlier in his flight from Saul, he “lived in the strongholds of Engedi” (1S 23.29). Many scholars think this refers to Masada, the mesa-top fortress used as a refuge through the years of Roman domination around the time of Christ.

Now his advisors give him the reason: You’re in immediate danger!

For, lo, the wicked bend their bow,
They make ready their arrow upon the string,
That they may privily shoot at the upright in heart (Ps 11.2).

Here’s another sign of panic: Lo! Look! Pay attention! This is serious!

The wicked, David’s enemies, are “stepping on the bow”—that’s the literal Hebrew—and they’re notching the arrow. In modern terms, they’re pulling back the hammer, they’re racking the round. This is an act of naked aggression, and evidence that they mean to harm him.

And they’re preparing to shoot “privily.” This is an Elizabethan-era word that means “secretly.” ESV renders it “in the dark”; CSB and NIV render it “from the shadows.”

This is an ambush, a sneak attack. You may not be able to see them just yet, but the threat is real and imminent. This is no idle threat, and it’s certainly no joke.

David’s advisors wrap up their presentation with an assessment: It’s hopeless!

If the foundations be destroyed,
What can the righteous do? (Ps 11.3).

This is a scream, a cry of despair. AAAAGGGGGHHHH!

I’ve seen this verse used fairly frequently by Christians who mean it as a warning against apathy and complacency, a call for alertness and stewardship in the face of danger. I once spoke at a Christian school convention that chose this verse as their organizing theme that year.

I wouldn’t deny that the Scripture calls God’s people to alertness, to stewardship. God called Nehemiah to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem, and for much of the construction period the workers labored with a sword hanging from their belt, because of the imminent threat from the enemies of Israel (Ne 4.18). David himself chided Saul’s bodyguard for sleeping on duty during that second confrontation (1S 26.15-16). Paul tells Christians to “walk circumspectly [looking around], not as fools, but as wise” (Ep 5.15). Jesus himself repeatedly commanded his disciples to watch, to be alert (Mt 24.42; 25.13; Mk 13.37) and chided them when they didn’t (Mt 26.38-41).

But this is a different context, making a different point entirely. My friends at the conference were using the words of the godless to motivate the godly.

And David’s response to them tells us that. To this point I’ve skipped most of verse 1; it’s time to recall it here. David says to his advisors, “How can you even say this to me?! What are you thinking?! I have put my trust in the LORD! He is my refuge! How can I seek another?”

Of what use is a rocky Judean mesa when the Almighty God is your protector?

Here, halfway through the psalm, we already know where David is headed. We’ll see him develop his thesis more thoroughly in the next post.

Part 3: Presence | Part 4: Response

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When You’re Really Scared, Part 1: Background

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Last week I preached on Psalm 11 in my school’s chapel service. Since this passage of Scripture is clear, counterintuitive, and timely, I’d like to repurpose the message here.

What do you do when you’re really, really scared? Everybody gets scared; that’s no evidence of cowardice. The key is how you respond to being scared—and how you respond depends primarily on your worldview, specifically what you believe about God.

The Psalm reads as follows:

1      In the Lord put I my trust:


How say ye to my soul,
Flee as a bird to your mountain?
2      For, lo, the wicked bend their bow,
They make ready their arrow upon the string,
That they may privily shoot at the upright in heart.
3      If the foundations be destroyed,
What can the righteous do?


4      The Lord is in his holy temple,
The Lord’s throne is in heaven:
His eyes behold,
His eyelids try, the children of men.
5      The Lord trieth the righteous:
But the wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth.
6      Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone,|
And an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup.
7      For the righteous Lord loveth righteousness;
His countenance doth behold the upright. (KJV)

I’ve inserted vertical space to show the psalm’s three divisions: the opening thesis statement (Ps 11.1a), David’s report of the advice he’s getting (Ps 11.1b-3), and then his response to that advice with wisdom of his own. But we should begin by trying to figure out the historical context—why he’s getting the advice in the first place.

His advisors tell him that he’s in danger, that he has enemies who want to kill him. Anyone who knows the story of David knows that there were many times in his life when that would have been the case. Long before he became king, the nation’s prophet, Samuel, anointed him for kingship (1S 16.13)—while Saul was still king, and while this king was planning to have his son Jonathan succeed him (1S 20.30-31). We know that Saul pursued David for a decade, seeking to eliminate him as a claimant to the throne—during which time, ironically, David expressed no interest in seizing the throne and even passed up multiple opportunities to do so. On at least two occasions (1S 24.1-4; 26.3-12) Saul was within a few feet of David, unawares, and David was in a position to kill him on the spot.

This psalm could well have been written at almost any time during those final years of Saul’s reign.

We also know that David faced a rebellion from one of his sons, Absalom, which led to civil war, with David and his closest advisors being exiled from Jerusalem (2S 15.10-16) and from Israel (2S 17.22-24), to seek refuge across the Jordan River in northern Ammon.

The psalm could well spring from that period as well. While we can’t place it more narrowly than that, we can note that David was someone who knew what he was talking about when he spoke to personal physical danger; his experience made him a much more reliable judge of both the danger he faced, and an appropriate response to it, than his advisors were. Even if he weren’t inspired, he’d be well worth listening to.

Next time we’ll look at the psalm’s first stanza, which reports the counsel of his advisors; in the third post, we’ll consider the second stanza, in which he responds to them.

Part 2: Panic | Part 3: Presence | Part 4: Response

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Dealing with Intimidation, Part 2: No Panic

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Part 1: Facing a Giant

As he commissions “son Timothy” (1Ti 1.18) to a daunting task—one likely overwhelming to his timid constitution—Paul begins, surprisingly, by noting what God has not given him—and us. He’ll get to what he has given us in a moment.

But God’s “stinginess” is important to our success. He has not given us a spirit of fear.

For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline (2Ti 1.7).

This is not the usual word for fear (phobos); using that more common word, God has often reminded us that although we should not fear other people (Dt 31.3-6), we most certainly should fear Him (Dt 31.12-13); as Jesus put it,

Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell (Mt 10.28).

So it would not be true for God to say that He has not given us a spirit that is able to fear, for He has. Fear can be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on its object and its justifiability.

This word means something different. As the NRSV, which I’ve quoted here, makes obvious, this is the word for “cowardice”—being controlled by fear to the point that you cannot or will not do the things that you should.

Nobody likes a coward. We glorify heroes, because they do more than we expect; but we will not tolerate a coward. We don’t ask him to be a hero; we simply ask that he do right despite his fear.

Some years ago, I had the opportunity to participate in an exercise with the Greenville County Sheriff’s Office’s SWAT team. They wanted some practice clearing a fairly complex building in a terrorist scenario, and they asked for some volunteers to play the terrorists.

Well, of course.

The deputies and the volunteers met in a room and went over the procedures. Each of the volunteers was issued a handgun and blank rounds and instructed on various limits to the exercise. Then they took us to the building and told us to go inside, position ourselves however we liked, and in 30 minutes they’d be coming in.

Some of my fellow terrorists set up hostage scenarios to complicate the deputies’ situation. I decided to go off by myself. Found a room, evaluated hiding places, and eventually decided just to wait for them inside the door.

Counted my rounds. Seven. OK.

Something this SWAT team did surprised me: stealth was not on the menu.

They came in the end door of the building with a crash, a wave of shouting, and a volley of flash-bangs.

There was no doubt that they had arrived.

Then they began working methodically down the hall in my direction, coordinating movements, pronouncing rooms “Clear!” and moving precisely as planned.

It occurred to me that in a measurable number of minutes, they were going to arrive at my location—and dispose of me. Let me tell you, that was really intimidating. I was terrified.

Even in a simulation.

As they got close, I fired down the hall, and I’m proud to say that I stopped them briefly. But then I made a fatal mistake: I neglected to count my shots. On the eighth trigger pull, the “click” brought the shout “He’s out!” and down came Sennacherib’s Assyrian hordes on my little walled city.

I was surprised, on reflection, at how scared I was, even though I knew that this was make-believe and that these burly brutes weren’t going to hurt me.

Sooner or later, we all come face to face with the fact of our fear. We’re afraid of physical danger, of course, but we’re also afraid of less physical things. We’re afraid of rejection; we’re afraid of failure; we’re afraid of biblical confrontation; we’re afraid of saying the wrong thing at funerals. I’m afraid, and so are you.

But God has not given us a spirit of cowardice; He hasn’t given us a spirit that bails out in a crisis.

God has not given us a spirit that stops short of doing what we must do. Even when we’re afraid.

Part 3: Power | Part 4: Love | Part 5: A Sound Mind

Photo by Astrid Schaffner on Unsplash

Dealing with Intimidation, Part 1: Facing a Giant

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“It’s just too much!”

We hear people say that. Sometimes we say it ourselves. Sometimes we face a problem, or a frustration, or an opposition that just seems to overwhelm us.

I had an experience like that recently.

I’m not a mechanical person—mostly because I just don’t want to be. If there’s a problem with the car, or the house, or whatever, I’d rather pay somebody else, who knows what he’s doing, to fix it than put the time and energy into doing it myself.

A while back my riding mower broke down, right in the middle of my mowing the lawn—but then, when else would it? This was beyond my knowledge set, and I made plans to take it to a shop and have it fixed.

But no one would work on it. They’re swamped; they can’t get parts lately; they don’t work on this model.

Nobody wanted my money.

Well, Dan, you’re just gonna have to knuckle down and figure out how to fix it yourself.

It took a while—longer than it would have if the guy with the wrench had known what he was doing—but I’m happy to say it’s back to its old self again, and I have all my fingers as well as my sanctification.

Thank you, YouTube.

Over the decades I’ve faced bigger problems, longer-lasting ones, intimidating ones. And so have you. Since my life has really been relatively easy, chances are you’ve faced bigger ones than I have. I know that’s true for many of my friends.

A situation comes along that you just don’t know how to deal with. You don’t have the knowledge, you don’t have the strength, you don’t have the focus, you don’t have the emotional stability.

It’s all just too much.

There’s a discussion on social media these days over whether God ever gives you more than you can handle. I think the disagreement is largely a matter of definition—what does “more than you can handle” mean?

We do have Paul’s famous observation that everything that comes your way has been allowed—filtered, if you will—by God, and that there is a way of escape (1Co 10.13), though it may be difficult to find. We have Paul’s further assertion that all things eventuate well (Ro 8.28)—though many have observed that quoting that verse at the moment of crisis is not always the best pastoral care.

But when those hard challenges come, where do we turn? What’s in our toolbox? Where’s the instructional video?

There are several instances in the Scripture where God’s people faced significant challenges. We all know about David and Goliath (1Sa 17.40-54), and Joshua’s commission (Jos 1.1-9), and Solomon’s (1K 2.1-4), and Jesus’ farewell address to his disciples (Jn 14-16).

I think we can find some useful information in a lesser-known event, another transition.

Paul’s ministry is a wonder to behold. He achieved astonishing things in his few decades of service to Christ, moving the gospel from its first location outside Israel—Antioch (Ac 13.1-3)—to the extent of the Roman Empire, the world of his day. He planted successful churches all across Turkey (Ac 13.4-16.10), all across Greece (Ac 16.11-18.18), up into modern-day Albania (Ro 15.19), the length of Cyprus (Ac 13.4-12) and Crete (Ti 1.5), and (I’m quite sure) across Spain as well. Most pastors are doing well to plant one church; Paul seems to spin them off every few weeks.

But Paul, like everybody else, has limited time. Soon he is “Paul the aged” (Phm 1.9) looking to pass off his ministry to his proteges, most famously Timothy and Titus.

We know more about Timothy than Titus. It seems that Timothy was less than a natural leader; Paul once prodded him not to let others undercut his authority (1Ti 4.12) and admonished him to take medicine to settle his stomach (1Ti 5.23).

Timothy, apparently, felt too small for the job. He didn’t think he could do what the Word of God, from the mouth of the apostle, had ordered him to do.

In his final letter, Paul urged him on:

I remind you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you through the laying on of my hands (2Ti 1.6).

And then he lifted the haze of doubt and uncertainty and timidity and fear that welled up in Timothy’s heart by saying these words:

For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline (2Ti 1.7).

I’d like to take a few posts to consider how we can face the giants—and win—based on this brief sentence.

Part 2: No Panic | Part 3: Power | Part 4: Love | Part 5: A Sound Mind

Photo by Astrid Schaffner on Unsplash