How Certainty About the Bible Became a Weapon and Why Humility Matters

I think we need more humility from church leadership. From Christians all around. A posture that can actually say something like this. Here is what I think right now. But as I continue to grow and learn, I may think something different tomorrow.

That sentence alone would heal a lot of damage.

Because so much of what has wounded people is not the Bible itself. It is what we have done with it. It is the way certainty about scripture has been used as a tool of power. We have built systems where having the right answers is treated as the same thing as being faithful. Doubt becomes dangerous. Curiosity becomes suspicious. Questions feel like threats. Over time, people stop asking not because they stop wondering, but because they learn it is not safe. And when safety disappears, faith does not deepen. It contracts.

I have been thinking about certainty a lot, especially after spending time reading Pete Enns and his work around how certainty can quietly become a kind of spiritual death. Not because truth does not matter, but because the demand for certainty flattens the text, flattens people, and eventually flattens faith itself. What begins as devotion can turn into control. What begins as a sincere desire to trust God can turn into a desperate need to never be wrong.

You can see this play out in the way we structure faith communities. Most denominational spaces are built around statements of faith that function like boundary markers. This is what we believe. This is where we stand. If you fall outside of that, belonging becomes difficult. Sometimes you are told that directly. Sometimes it is just implied. Either way, the culture is shaped by it. Churches end up built on certainty as the foundation, and then we wonder why people feel like they are suffocating.

And this is usually where the pushback shows up. Are you saying we cannot know anything? Are you saying truth does not matter? Are you saying belief is just whatever you want it to be?

No. That is not what I am saying.

I do think it matters that we understand what we believe. I think it matters that we wrestle honestly with the person of Jesus, his life, his death, his resurrection, and what all of that means. I think it matters that we can articulate the hope we claim to live by. The problem is not conviction. The problem is the kind of certainty that becomes rigid, defensive, and weaponized. The kind that says if I cannot prove I am right, everything falls apart. The kind that needs every question answered immediately and has no room for mystery.

That is where the Bible stops being a sacred space and starts becoming a battleground.

You can see this clearly in modern Christian apologetics. Apologetics is not inherently bad. I understand why it exists. When people feel threatened, they want a defense. When belief feels fragile, they want something solid to stand on. In the early 2000s, this surged again as Christians responded to the new atheist movement. Big debates. Big arguments. Big intellectual showdowns. The goal became proving the Bible is right, proving Christianity is true, proving faith is rational.

But this is where apologetics often falls short. It tends to live and die by certainty. It assumes the Bible must answer modern challenges on the challenger’s terms. And that is where things start to go sideways.

Take the creation conversation as an example. A skeptic says science shows the earth is millions of years old, therefore Genesis 1 is wrong, therefore the Bible cannot be trusted. Christians then respond by trying to defend Genesis 1 as if Genesis 1 is trying to answer a modern scientific question. But what if Genesis 1 is not interested in that debate at all? What if the Bible is not trying to tell us how old the earth is or explain the mechanics of creation? What if it is doing something completely different, telling a story about God, identity, purpose, vocation, and the relationship between the Creator and the world he calls good?

If that is the case, then we are fighting the wrong battle and missing the point of the text entirely. It is like arguing with someone who is not even trying to have the same argument back. We keep demanding answers to questions the Bible is not asking. And when faith is built on that kind of certainty, it becomes fragile. It holds until it does not.

This is where certainty turns into a weapon. Once you believe the Bible exists primarily to give you correct answers to modern challenges, the person who disagrees with you is not just wrong. They are dangerous. Winning becomes more important than listening. Defending boundaries becomes more important than pursuing wisdom. Scripture becomes a tool to divide instead of an invitation to become more human, more loving, more rooted in God.

If you want to see how far this can go, you do not even have to stay in modern examples. You can watch it unfold inside scripture itself.

In Numbers 22 through 24, Israel is camped near Moab, preparing to enter the land. The king of Moab is terrified, so he hires Balaam to pronounce a curse on Israel. What is striking is that Israel does not even know this is happening. They are a side character in a drama unfolding around them. The curse fails because God protects them. Then in Numbers 25, the strategy shifts. Moabite women enter the Israelite camp. Israelite men are drawn into sexual relationships and eventually into worship of Baal Peor. The text frames this as covenant unfaithfulness, almost like spiritual adultery. God’s anger flares. A plague begins. Moses is told to act.

Then, in the middle of grief and mourning, an Israelite man openly brings a woman into his tent in full view of everyone. Phinehas sees it. He grabs a spear, goes into the tent, and kills them both. The plague stops. It is a disturbing story, and it is meant to be. Because that moment becomes a theological justification for violence.

Centuries later, under Roman occupation, Judaism splinters into groups trying to figure out how to remain faithful. You have the Sadducees working with Rome. The Pharisees pushing strict Torah observance. The Essenes withdrawing from society. Baptizing movements calling for repentance. And then you have the Zealots. The Zealots believed the only way God’s kingdom could come was through force. And they had a hero to justify it. Phinehas. He became the prototype. The proof text. The permission slip.

If Phinehas acted violently in the name of faithfulness, then violence could be righteous.

Does that sound familiar? Have you seen scripture used to justify harm? Have you seen certainty used to excuse cruelty? Have you seen faith turned into a weapon?

This is not new. It is ancient.

For Christians, the way forward is found in Jesus. Jesus consistently redirects the imagination away from violence. In Matthew 26, as Jesus is being arrested, Peter draws his sword and strikes. Jesus stops him and tells him to put the sword away. All who take up the sword will die by the sword. Jesus is redefining what faithfulness looks like. The kingdom of God does not advance the way empires advance. Violence only multiplies violence.

What makes this even more striking is that Jesus had a Zealot among his disciples. Simon the Zealot is named explicitly. Jesus gathered people who would never have shared a table otherwise. Tax collectors. Zealots. Fishermen. Regular people. He formed a community out of difference and invited them into a new way of being. Not uniformity enforced by certainty, but unity shaped by love.

And yet, church history shows us how certainty keeps creeping back in. Early Christianity was catholic in the sense of universal. Over time, divisions formed. East and West. Orthodox and Roman. Schisms and splintering. The Reformation. Protestantism. Denominationalism. Thousands upon thousands of expressions, each convinced it has finally gotten it right. What caused all that fragmentation? Certainty. The belief that boundaries must be defended at all costs. The idea that being right is more important than being faithful.

Here is the quiet tragedy. The moment you think you know, you stop. The moment you are certain, growth stalls. Wonder fades. Curiosity disappears. A living faith slowly becomes brittle.

So where do we go from here? How do we move forward?

I believe the way forward is humility. Not a humility that pretends nothing matters. Not a shrug at truth. But a humility that says I have convictions and I am still learning. I believe deeply and I am still growing. I hold my understanding with open hands.

This is why I believe we need more humility from church leadership and from Christians everywhere. A posture that can say here is what I think right now, but as I continue to grow and learn, I may think something different tomorrow. I get asked questions all the time about faith, theology, and scripture. Sometimes I have an answer that feels grounded. Sometimes I have an opinion worth sharing. But I never want to hold those answers as finished. Growth comes from listening. Growth comes from being corrected. Growth comes from realizing how much there still is to learn.

Humility keeps certainty from turning into power. Humility keeps the Bible from becoming a weapon. Humility keeps faith alive.

If we want a living faith, a faith that actually grows into love of God and love of others, we have to reclaim the ability to say I am still learning. I am still listening. I am still becoming.

That is not weakness. That is maturity.