The Fear of the Lord and Humility

Today I've been reading The Rule of St. Benedict, concentrating on Chapter 7, Humility. In this chapter Benedict asks me to enter, understand, and thoughtfully introduce myself (perhaps with some qualifications) to twelve indicators that signal the emergence of humility in someone's life. Benedict believes these twelve markers to be indices, manifestations, and signs that point to the presence of humility in one's life.

The first indication as to one’s movement toward humility is one's fear of God. As I consider what Benedict says about the fear of God in one's life, I'm quite aware that various external [medieval] expressions of humility . . . are cultural forms and, as such, may not necessarily translate into the milieu of the twentieth century . This observation may well be applicable as I try to unpack Benedict’s insistence that humility begins with one’s “fear of God.” Quite frankly, “the fear of the Lord” is bluntly a medieval sounding phrase, at least to my ears. As a youngster growing up in a Lutheran parsonage, I knew something of the fear of God. When I was in the sixth, seventh, and eighth grades as a Lutheran catechetical student (three hours of study and memorization of Luther’s Small Catechism each Saturday for three years!), I was taught that the meaning of each of the Ten Commandments certainly involved the fear of God. Here, for example, is what Luther’s Small Catechism says about the first commandment:

THE FIRST COMMANDMENT
“You shall have no other gods.”
What does this mean?
Answer: We should fear, love and trust in God above all things.

The use of the three verbs—“fear, love, and trust”—together as the initial sentence in explaining the meaning of each commandment made it impossible for me as a young Lutheran to think of “fearing” God apart from “loving” and “trusting” at the same time. My catechetical teacher (actually my father) always pointed out to me the distinction between “filial” and “servile” fear (a distinction I later learned he got from The Apology of the Augsburg Confession, XII, 38).

My fear of God is to be filial; that is, I am to fear God just as I fear a loving father who knows when and where I need punishment for my own good. I was not to cringe before God in some servile fashion, full of dreadful anxiety as a slave might find it necessary to quiver and cower before a menacing master. In our synod’s “expanded” edition of the Catechism, this understanding of the first commandment was re-enforced with numerous Scripture texts.

Furthermore, it was made quite plain to us twelve-year-olds that the English word fear does not quite catch the original Hebrew word which is best translated as reverence and awe. “Reverence for God” is a better way of expressing the biblical concept of faith and trust in God, we were told, so that in the progression of things, we turn from sin and evil and trust in God’s promises centered in Christ.

As Terrence Kardon notes, all of us who live in post-Vatican II, have been encouraged (as in my Lutheran tradition) to place our first emphasis on the love and faithfulness of God, rather than in the so-called “fear of God.” As a consequence, when Benedict says “we must constantly recall the commandments of God, continually mulling over how hell burns sinners before God,” Kardong finds it necessary to make this observation:

This ferocious verse . . . is exactly the kind of religious sentiment most people today no longer accept. . . . We have to accept that on some questions our religious sensibilities may be quite different from those of the ancient monks—and from our grandparents! (Day by Day with Benedict, January 10)

Yet in spite of these differences, it seems to me that there is something in the older way of understanding the “fear of the Lord” that is necessary for a firmly grounded Benedictine way of life. While it is true that the phrase “fear of God” is used only once in the New Testament (Acts 9.31), nevertheless much of what our Lord says to us (for example, his insistence that we will be judged by our actions in Matthew 25) ought properly give us serious hesitation about any day-by-day assumptions we may have about the quality and quantity of our presumed Christian behavior. Under no circumstances may grace afford us casual or easygoing comfort simply to walk as always. We will be judged and that judgment may well be harsh, if not damning. Here Psalm 36 (sung in my breviary during Morning Prayer on the seventh day of each month) is a telling reminder as to how the fear of God either works well or, if absent, fails to work in my life:

There is a voice of rebellion deep in the heart of the wicked;* there is no fear of God before his eyes.

He flatters himself in his own eyes* that his hateful sin will not be found out.

The words of his mouth are wicked and deceitful;* he has left off acting wisely and doing good.

He thinks up wickedness upon his bed and has set himself in no good way;* he does not abhor that which is evil.

When the fear of God is absent, I am out of touch with the importance and opportunities of life, and I neglect considering the consequences of decisions. And if even if aware of decisions, I may deliberately and maliciously enjoy the effect they will have on others—-to their harm. It is a serious problem when I decide to have no regard for God—-either by complacency or deliberate
decision.

By completing with faith the rest of the Psalm, we sing that whatever disasters not fearing God may produce, God Himself moves us toward recovery, that is, a fearful and reverent awareness of His presence; in God's light, we see light:

Your love, O LORD, reaches to the heavens,* and your faithfulness to the clouds.

Your righteousness is like the strong mountains,your justice like the great deep;* you
save both man and beast, O LORD.

How priceless is your love, O God!* your people take refuge under the shadow of your wings.

They feast upon the abundance of your house;* you give them drink from the river of your delights.

For with you is the well of life, * and in your light we see light.

Continue your loving-kindness to those who know you,* and your favor to those who are true of heart.

Let not the foot of the proud come near me,* nor the hand of the wicked push me aside.

See how they are fallen, those who work wickedness!* they are cast down and shall not be able to rise.

To live in the fear of God is be aware of the significance of life; it guarantees wide-eyed robust living. We need “the fear of the Lord” so that we can be fully alive. And lest we imagine that we generate any such fear by our own effort, it too is a gift of God, encouraged by the Holy Spirit (Acts 9.31). It is, as Proverbs says, a builder of confidence, “making a world safe for [our] children,” “a spring of living water” that keeps us from “drinking from poisoned wells” (14.26-27).

Our fear of, love of, and trust in the Lord frustrates, demobilizes, and deconstructs whatever incipient tendencies we possess toward egotism, self-conteredness, haughtiness, smugness, complacency, and self-righteousness so endemic and pervasive in one’s daily life. The fear of God is, as Benedict reminds us, the first step toward humility, a deep appreciation for all of life.

Image: Julie Deane, Reverence, pastel. About this work of art, the artist writes, "During a music and praise session one evening [on a mission trip to Peru], the man in the foreground of the painting came into the church and stood next to me. He was obviously very weary, but he stood for hours that night, worshipping quietly. The scene was a highlight of my trip."