dancing in fear

I read this passage in Psalm 33 a few days ago:

From heaven the Lord looks down and sees all mankind;
from his dwelling place he watches all who live on earth -
he who forms the hearts of all,
who considers everything they do.
No king is saved by the size of his army;
no warrior escapes by his great strength.
a horse is a vain hope for deliverance;
despite all its great strength it cannot save.
But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him,
on those whose hope is in his unfailing love,

In him our hearts rejoice,
for we trust in his holy name.
May your unfailing love rest upon us, O Lord,
even as we put our hope in you.


In my first entry, I acknowledged my fear of being considered a failure (I used the term “loser”) and suggested that this fear may hinder my ability to walk in the way of the kingdom. One way I typically respond to this fear is to put my strengths on display and to keep my weakness under the bed as much as possible. I want others to recognize the best aspects of who I am, and may even exaggerate these when the opportunity presents itself. And, I want others to miss the worst parts, the things of which I am ashamed or about which I feel insecure. Often, I do this without even consciously deciding to. It is so natural for me; an impulse that acts on its own without requiring any thought or direction.

But, this need to convince others of my value and keep them blinded to my limitations is really a form of slavery in my life. It exercises influence over so much of what I say and do that, at times, it is difficult to tell what actions and words are really coming from my genuine self. Did that statement really reflect who I am, or was it a projection of what I would like others to think about me? Did I do that because I really wanted to, or was that action driven by some sense of expectation or some inclination to confirm or correct another person’s perception about me? It is not hard to see why a life lived in this kind of captivity could so easily be void of real satisfaction.

And I think this is one reason why I am so drawn to the way of the kingdom. Walking in the kingdom way requires a person to be more true to themselves, to who God made them to be, and less controlled by the opinions and expectations of others. Whenever I catch glimpses of this in the lives of saints who have walked before me, or in a few who live this way today, something within me stirs in recognition of the obvious freedom that they seem to enjoy.

The kingdom way invites folks to do the opposite of what they are predisposed to do; to boast in weakness and consider as garbage those “strengths” that they once boasted in. As the Psalm says, the size of the king’s army and the strength of the soldier are of no use to him when he stands beneath the watchful gaze of the all-powerful God. In a society that is so consumed with size, and strength, and beauty, and riches, and fame, and visible forms of success, our greatest hope is that others would notice any evidence of these in our lives. But the one who walks in the way of the kingdom rejoices in the absence of these things in his life experience, knowing that they are fools gold.

I am amazed at how concerned I can be about the opinions of men, when these opinions shift so quickly and are rooted in false values and empty ideals. But the kingdom invites me to change the stage upon which I perform. Much of my life has been lived on the stage of public opinion, being fed by the cheers of the audience and starved by their boos (or even worse, their disinterest). The kingdom invites me to a new stage for an audience of one: from heaven the Lord looks down and sees . . . he watches . . . he considers everything I do. The Psalm tells me that “the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him, on those who hope in his unfailing love.”

And so I find myself dancing in a new kind of fear. I once danced in the fear of a fickle crowd of men and women whose satisfaction with my performance never lasted long. That dance was an attempt to display the best of what I had to offer; to reach heights of achievement that might inspire awe in those who observed me. This new dance requires that I abandon the best of my old repertoire. It is a dance of lowliness requiring an entirely different technique. It is a dance best performed away from the spotlight. It is a dance that often leaves me flat on my back. And yet, I’m finding already that there is joy in this dance of an entirely different kind.