The Danger of Certainty
- Pastor Serena Rice
- 5 hours ago
- 5 min read
A sermon on Acts 9:1-20.
[for an audio recording of this sermon, click here. Photo by Kyle Glenn on Unsplash.com]
“Are you willing to consider that you could be wrong?”
A friend and fellow-pastor recently offered this question in the context of a theological disagreement with a person who was being very emphatic in presenting unsupported truth claims.
Now, although I am normally a big fan of using curiosity and questions as a way to open up dialogue in situations of disagreement,
And although I happen to think that a bit (or a lot) of judicious reconsideration was very much warranted in this case,
I am unsurprised that the debater in question was not interested in taking up the invitation to rethink his certainty.
I’m not surprised, because even though I have defensible reasons for thinking this man was wrong about much of what he was claiming, I also know that certainty FEELS GOOD!
Absolute moral certainty provides the thrill of getting to be impressed by our own goodness and discernment, a right to feel superior, an assurance that neatly divides the world between right and wrong and places our feet firmly on the right side.
Especially when it comes to certainty that God or righteousness or truth is on one’s own side.
Unfortunately, such seduction certainty also very easily convinces us that anything we do in defense of our position is justified… even that it is the holy and God-approved course of action.
Exhibit A: Saul the Pharisee.
Now, as church people, we are likely to have mostly negative associations with the title of pharisee, because the pharisees in the gospels are so often presented as hostile enemies of Jesus.
But in 1st Century Jerusalem, pharisee was a title that indicated an earned respect.
It meant being an expert in the religious law, a faith leader whom others looked to for guidance and wisdom.
In Philippians 3, Paul (as Saul is known after his conversion) describes his past self according to the reasons he had for confidence in his own righteousness. He includes the descriptions, “as to the law, a pharisee… as to righteousness under the law, blameless.” (Phil. 3: 5-6).
In other words, Saul knew God’s law and he followed it. By all the standards within his frame of reference, he was above reproach.
Interestingly, between those two claims, Paul adds another piece of evidence: “as to zeal, a persecutor of the church” (Phil. 3:6).
Now, the Philippian church was not likely to see zealous persecution as a foundation for bragging, but I think Paul is suggesting a connection between zealotry and self-righteousness:
I think he is subtly revealing how the latter makes us vulnerable to the kind of self-deception that, in reality, completely undermines our assurance in the rightness of our action… if only we could see beyond our certainty.
That connection is illustrated at the very beginning of today’s first reading:
Saul is introduced as, “breathing threats and murder.”
The very breath in his lungs is panting for blood – in clear violation of the fourth commandment, the center of the “law” on which Saul was such an expert – but he feels no shame about this mentality.
Fresh from the public murder of the church’s first martyr, Stephen, completely sure of the rightness of his cause, Saul proudly displays his zeal before the religious elites as a reason to further empower his work of persecution.
And in the same self-satisfied certainty, those with authority grant him the requested power.
“Threats and murder”: the consequence of an unwillingness to consider if they could be wrong.
At least until Jesus intervened.
It was an effective intervention, of course, but more than that, I think, it was a symbolic one.
A supernatural flash of light and a heavenly voice asking very accusatory questions probably would have been enough to shake Saul’s certainty.
But the vague instruction to go into the city and wait to be told what to do refused to replace one certainty with another.
And the following blindness forced Saul to confront his vulnerability, forced him to accept that he did not even know what direction to face or where to look, forced him to depend on others to even follow the limited instructions he had.
It’s such a pointed contrast that, I think, it HAS to be intentional.
From certainty so absolute that he could blithely ignore the very law he was supposedly defending in pursuit of his cause…
To dependence and suspense, waiting for a direction over which he has no insight or control.
It’s so in our face that we might miss the other warning against certainty in this story.
This second warning is much gentler, and it needs to counteract not self-righteousness but anxiety.
God commissions Ananias in a vision to go to Saul in fulfillment of the vision that God has sent to him, so that Saul might be healed.
Ananias recognizes God’s authority, saying, ‘Here I am Lord.”
But in response to the very clear instructions (God even gave him the street name!), Ananias hesitates.
He knows about this man, Saul, and what he knows is nothing good.
Saul has done evil, and he is here to do more.
So, there must be some mistake, right? God must not realize how dangerous it would be for Ananias to seek out a persecutor of the church. Surely God needs Ananias to explain the situation and God will reconsider.
Ananias’s certainty looks really different than “breathing threats and murder,” and it IS really different.
He’s not certain that he knows what to do.
He’s just certain that there is a threat… and that this threat is reason enough to question God’s commands because of the danger they might expose him to.
“But the Lord said, ‘Go.’”
God’s already a few steps ahead, as it happens,
and Ananias will get to be part of a miracle, not a trap,
and Saul, who now recognizes his blindness, will be shown what is ahead by God,
and we will get to understand through both of their stories why our certainty is so often a step toward sin…
either the sins of judgment and violence toward those who won’t conform to our rules and expectations…
or the sins of fear and withheld assistance because the costs might be too high…
When we retreat into our own certainty, we aren’t listening to Jesus.
That is why author Anne Lamott defines the opposite of faith as not doubt, but certainty.[1]
Because faith needs us to be open to God, open to being surprised, open to being challenged, open to being lead in a direction we would never go on our own.
And if we are certain we already know where to go… or even where NOT to go…that’s not faith.
It may be a cult, or it may be fear, or it may just be an unwillingness to let go of the illusion of control, but it is not the way of Jesus.
At least, that’s what I think. I try not to be too attached to certainty.
Because, for all that I know the question “Are you willing to consider that you could be wrong?” is very unlikely to sway an opponent in an argument…
I think it’s a really great question for us to ask ourselves.
Whenever we find ourselves slipping into self-righteousness,
or idolizing belligerent certainty in those we follow,
or even getting paralyzed by anxiety…
it is incredibly freeing to ask ourselves, “am I willing to consider that I could be wrong?”
Because, most of the time, God doesn’t send a blinding light to knock us off our horse and publicly rebuke us when we are wrong.
But if we are open to questioning, to learning, to trying something scary… God might just surprise us by showing up and leading us to something that can change our lives, or even the world.
Thanks be to God.
