Every now and then, God calls us into a bigger world.

In my hometown there was a local grocery store with an oversized parking lot. The extra space would often be used by various vendors – fireworks in the summer, Christmas trees in December. When we would drive by I would often look to see what was being sold. My favorite offering was when someone would set up a small go-kart track. They laid out tires to form a short, oval track with a small pit lane. There were two or three karts, obviously intended for kids and not real karting enthusiasts. I would always ask my mom or dad if we could stop so I could drive the go-karts. The answer was always no. So we would drive by the store and I would watch as other kids raced around the track.

But one day my dream came true. I was with my friend Eric and his dad when he took us to that little track in the parking lot. For the first time I was going to have the opportunity to race a go-kart. I was going to be one of those kids that others would watch as they drove by. But as soon as I climbed behind the wheel my excitement turned to fear. I had no experience driving anything that was not propelled by my own feet. No matter how much NASCAR I had watched, I did not have the first clue what to do behind a steering wheel! What if I crashed? What if I somehow lost control, left the track, and ended up in the street – which was probably over 50 yards away? What if…? I could not articulate exactly what my fears were. But, nevertheless, I was afraid. My heart began to beat rapidly as the manager started the small engine on my kart. It was probably an old lawn mower engine but to my young ears it might as well have been an 800hp V8. What was I doing?

I decided to take it easy. I kept my right foot on the gas pedal but would not dare push it down all the way. Meanwhile my left foot rested on the brake – and, just in case, I gave it a little squeeze to keep myself from speeding out of control and to ensure I could stop quickly should I find myself careening into the tire barrier.

Eric and I began to make our laps around the track. I stuck to the inside lane all the way around. Meanwhile, Eric, with his foot mashed to the throttle,  flew around my outside lap after lap. I putted away on the inside, trying to work up the bravery to go a little faster each lap. That was when I looked up and saw Eric’s dad. He was trying to tell me something and –  to make up for the noise of the engines – was yelling. I am sure he was telling me to go faster, to let off the brake while going down the short straights. He was wanting me to get the most out of my time – and probably the most out of his money. But I could not hear what he was trying to tell me. All I was able to understand was that he was yelling…at me.

My fear turned to shame. Here I was, finally with my opportunity to drive a go-kart, and I was squandering the opportunity. I began to say quietly to myself: “I’m doing bad.” Again and again, lap after lap, as Eric soared past on my outside I repeated: “I’m doing bad.”

When our allotted time was up and the checkered flag waved, I was no longer thinking about what I was doing. I was too busy berating myself for my failure. With my lack of concentration I ended up hitting the back of Eric’s kart as we pulled into the pits. The track manager said what I imagine was a four letter word under his breath and shook his head. Thus ended my long awaited opportunity to drive a go-kart.

Unholy Fear

I was raised to be cautious, careful. The world, as I saw it, was a frightening place full of danger and sin, recklessness and error. I likely would have tried to sanctify my timidity: my carefulness was a sign of holiness. I wanted to keep myself from bad and dangerous behavior, I wanted to ensure that I was always under control – because that is what God would want. But, of course, my caution also caused me much failure – such as with my little go-kart race with Eric. Error was not acceptable. Error was too close to sin to be accepted. So it was met with self-scolding. “I’m doing bad”.

But there was nothing holy about my timidity or self-ridicule. It was a sign of a deeper problem and sin: fear. My fear convinced me that God was small, that danger and evil were too large for God to deal with, that sin was greater than God’s ability to forgive. My fear kept me from living with bold confidence in the vastness of God. My fear made me much more like David’s brothers – fearful of the Goliaths that came my way. As a boy, I would have considered myself far more “righteous” and “spiritual” than my peers – but on that day my friend was not only lapping me on the track, he was lapping me in faith. He knew something that I did not: Goliaths fall.

God is Bigger Than Giants

The book of 1 Samuel tells the story of the rise and fall of King Saul (the first king of Israel) on the one hand and the rise of David on the other. Saul (whose name means “The-Asked-For-One”) is the image of the kind of king we often ask for: big, strong, handsome. But despite his appearance and occasional bravado, Saul is a coward. When he is first selected as king, he cannot be found because he is hiding. Later, when the Philistines begin to assemble and his soldiers begin to flee in terror, Saul only then comes to the realization that he ought to seek God’s help and counsel. Saul’s primary attention is on the Philistine army and his fleeing soldiers. God is secondary in his thought. When Goliath begins breathing out his murderous threats, Saul never once considers the possibility that he could face the giant in battle.

In Saul’s world, everything is bigger than God: the kingship, the people, the enemy armies, the giants. 

But then we meet David. David is the youngest of his brothers. His father calls him haqatan (essentially meaning, “the runt”). Yet David does not live through the lens of his own smallness but with the understanding of God’s largeness. In his years tending the sheep, protecting them from lions and bears, he has learned that God is bigger than his foes. So when he hears Goliath, his question is not, “What are we going to do?” but, “Why is no one standing up to this Philistine?” His brothers mistake his questioning for arrogance. But David’s confidence is not found in himself but in God who is bigger than giants.

May We Have Ears to Hear

I want to live with the faith of David, not with the cowardice of Saul. I want to live boldly and with passion. I want to live free, free of burden, free of fear. Do I really believe that God can catch me when I fall? I am not saying I want to live recklessly. Recklessness is no holier than timidity. To live cautiously and to live recklessly both reduce God to something smaller than God. To live cautiously is to believe that God cannot catch me. To live recklessly and test God is to believe that God only lives as a good luck charm to protect me from harm. Both attitudes are blasphemous.

To be bold is not to be reckless, nor is it to be arrogant. It is to be confident in God. The preacher to the Hebrews tells us to approach God’s throne with boldness (Hebrews 4:16). We do not have to go before our God timidly and fearfully, but boldly, with the confidence that God can handle the obstacles in our way, with assurance that God can graciously forgive our sins and shortcomings. We do not have to demean ourselves for our failures, we can pray to the one who is bigger than our weaknesses.

As I think back to that day on the track, I realize that my friend’s dad was not yelling at me because I was doing something wrong or “bad”. He was inviting me into a larger world, telling me it was okay to live for a moment. He was calling me to take a step in faith.

God, give me ears to hear.