The Sin of Certainty
Thank you, Peter Enns
I recently read a book by Peter Enns entitled The Sin of Certainty. I read it not because it was written by Peter Enns — I had no idea who he was — but because I was drawn to the title of the book.
The word “certainty” — that word that, in traditional thought, should cause a settling — is somewhat of an irritation to me.
It wasn’t always so.
In an earlier life, as in five years ago or so, I assumed that to every question there was an answer, and if I just read, or studied, or prayed enough, I would find it.
Right?
That’s what we’re supposed to do. Seek and you shall find. Knock and the door will be opened to you. (Matthew 7:7)
Sometimes I was seeking certainty because I felt my sanity depended on it— certainty would be my solid ground, my security.
Sometimes I was seeking it simply for the sake of knowing, for the accomplishment of it. How empty, unfulfilling, and embarrassing that can be.
Would I rather be right or righteous?
Since then, I’ve come to know that when I find myself certain of something, either as my lifeline or the sign that I’ve arrived, I’m standing on the edge of a big surprise. And not the friends jumping out from behind the couch shouting “Happy Birthday!” kind of surprise. No, the kind that rocks my world, throws me out of kilter, and invites me to reconsider what I believe.
So when I saw “The Sin of Certainty” calling from the cover of the book, I knew I had to have me a copy.
Not only did Mr. Enns have me nodding, he had me grimacing too, because regardless of all the questions I carry around in my head, I still have some pat answers tucked away in my back pocket.
Homeostasis
When climbing, our natural tendency is to seek the most stable footing. It’s a part of our survival instinct.
When hiking in the mountains of Croatia, I couldn’t enjoy the view because I was busy watching my feet. The trails were rocky, constantly shifting, so I was continually looking down.
That same survival instinct kicks in to protect status quo in our intellectual life. We don’t like instability. We want to walk on solid ground, all questions answered, cuddled up in certainty.
We love closure.
We in the West esteem our knowledge-driven society. We in the Western church aren’t much different.
Got a question? Grab your Bible! Dig until you find an answer that seems to fit and then hang on. You have your “faith confession.”
But certainty is not faith. Certainty hardens our hearts and dulls our ears to what the Spirit is saying. Or it steals the strength found only in God’s silence. It works against a God-breathed faith.
When we walk in certainty, we limit our capacity for revelation.
Certainty can be a sin.
The story of Job well demonstrates what I’m saying. If you enter the book of Job looking for an answer to the question, “Why do the righteous suffer?” you’ll come out sorely disappointed.
Thirty-nine chapters of Job are a question-and-answer session between Job and his “friends.” In eighteen chapters Job asks “Why?” and in twenty-one, his friends answer, “Because.”
In the final three chapters, God speaks up, not to hand Job an answer, but to ask some questions of His own — 77 of them, in fact. All to make the point, “Job, you don’t know who you’re talking to. Let me introduce Myself.”
And Job’s questions?
They went unaddressed — totally unanswered.
Yet in the middle of God’s barrage of questions, Job learned this:
His limited, earthly revelation, his knowledge and logic, though valuable and even valid, could not restrain, explain, or contain God.
Simply, there were things he did not know, and — listen now, this is the point: there was no shame in not knowing.
It was when he stood dumbfounded before the face of God that he entered into a more intimate knowledge of Him.
Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know.
“You said, ‘Listen now, and I will speak; I will question you, and you shall answer me.’
My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you. (Job 42:3b-5a, NIV)
As for the friends?
The ones who were certain they had all the answers? They are the ones that got the tongue-lashing.
They are also the ones who received mercy and forgiveness because, well, that’s just who God and His righteous man, Job, were.
The story of Job well demonstrates what I’m saying. If you enter the book of Job looking for an answer to the question, “Why do the righteous suffer?” you’ll come out sorely disappointed. Wow! I've never thought about this, Lori. It makes sense now. I happen to be in Job right now in my reading shedule.
Great job on the formatting and buttons, by the way. 👍👏👏👏