The fear of the Lord leads us directly to God's love.
When reading Genesis 31, where Laban pursues and overtakes Jacob but God has muzzled Laban, the phrase "the Fear of Isaac" quietly calls for attention. It's a name for God that is only used twice in the Bible, and only in this passage.
When Laban shows his blind, stumbling ignorance of spiritual things by listing "gods" of Abraham, Nahor, and Isaac, Jacob counters by clearly stating the one God that matters: the Fear (or Dread) of Isaac.
Note: When others grope blindly for truth, we, who know the truth, must be clear.
Scholars say that Jacob might have said "the Fear of Isaac" instead of "the God of Isaac" because Isaac was still alive, and still working out his "salvation with fear and trembling." Maybe this is it, but this does not line up with the perspective of our non-linear God who already declared Himself "the God of Isaac" in a previous chapter (Genesis 28).
It is true that the people of the Old Testament do not call our God "the God of" someone until they die. But nowhere do we see "The Fear of Abraham" or "The Fear of Moses" or Joshua or whoever. I do not embrace the concept of an unintentional, temporary name for God. Instead, I find that everything in the Bible is intentional.
This leads me to ask: What is it about Isaac that makes his relationship with God—and God's dread-inducing holiness—that is so unique that it's referred to as "The Fear of Isaac"? What revelation did Isaac receive that would uniquely qualify him to fear God in such an identity-defining way?
Who is this Isaac, really? The long-awaited, miraculous heir to God's promises, designated sacrifice as proof of Abraham's singular obedience, and never allowed to leave the Promised Land. What would it have been like to see the final decision in his father's eyes to kill him? How was he eternally changed when the pre-incarnate Christ stopped Abraham's arm in its downward arc?
Is this what he contemplated in his long wasteland watches? We are told he often meditated in the wilderness. He seems like a man who is slow to move, slow to decide. But when he knew he had been tricked into blessing God's choice of son, he visibly trembled with great emotion, then realigned himself in obedience.
The scholars say the phase "And Isaac trembled very exceedingly" in Genesis 27:33 can be translated literally:
feared a great fear, to a great degree; shuddered in great terror above measure (Lange). "Wondered with an exceedingly great admiration" (Onkelos), emphasize the patriarch's astonishment, the first even suggesting the idea of a trance or supernatural elevation of the prophetic consciousness (Augustine); whereas that which is depicted is rather the alarm produced within the patriarch's breast, not so much by the discovery that his plan had been defeated by a woman's wit and a son's craft—these would have kindled indignation rather than fear—as by the awakening conviction not that he had blessed, but that he had been seeking to bless, the wrong person. (Pulpit Commentary)
In a moment of terror and great trembling, Isaac realizes he had almost blessed the wrong person out of disobedience to God. This is why he says nothing to correct his wife or son, but instead aligns himself with obedience to God and blesses Jacob with a more rich blessing as he sends him to Padan-Aram. Isaac demonstrates the fear of the Lord—whose holy purposes will not be thwarted—visibly or tangibly demonstrated to us and the result of immediate adjustment.
The fear of the Lord is a direct result of the revelation of God as God and His holiness.
Moses shows us a similar response when he hides his face from the revelation of God, burning in His glory, in the midst of the bush. Isaiah shows us a similar response when he sees the throne descend. Paul is knocked to the ground by the light of Christ. John is so overcome at the revelation of Christ in Revelation 1 that we are told he falls down "like a dead man."
When examining these revelations of God's holiness, the purpose is revealed. The revelation of God's holiness is meant to radically adjust our perspective to the proper sense of our place of reverence and awe for God. It instantly convinces every part of our idolatrous hearts that we are NOT God and we don't get to rule from our own definitions of right and wrong. Rightly encountered, the holiness of God crushes us, humbles us, and positions us in grateful reconnection to his life-giving holiness.
We're supposed to be knocked off our feet, like Paul when encountering Christ. We're supposed to become immediately convinced of our sinful, darkened state like Isaiah or Peter when we encounter Christ on His mission to reunite heaven and earth forever.
A coal takes away Isaiah's impurity, Christ's holiness does the same for everyone He touches, healing them from the side effects of living in and partaking of this impure world. Christ gives us His Body, His Blood, and His spirit instead of a coal—and we must partake of Him to be transformed.
Like the bush that appeared on fire but was not consumed by the fiery light of God's holy glory we must allow God's manifest presence to vitally transform us, not some mere addition to our current identity.
And though I am not Catholic or orthodox and do not embrace transubstantiation, I must do more than merely remember or celebrate what He did. In the moment of Eucharist, I must receive from the Holy Spirit the holy presence of God, reconnect or realign with the Giver of Life in gratefulness, and return the glory back to God in the form of undiluted worship.
Communion is sacred worship not a duty.
In that moment we should allow the full act of communion (receiving, partaking, and returning) to meld our hearts through the mystery of the Holy Spirit into Christ's heart, our hands becoming His hands, our feet, His feet.
This is how God's holy presence, alive in us, empowers us to live in a way that honors God and others, making God's love real, tangible. God's love becomes real to us when we give it away.
Grace make us holy.