Recovering the Fear of God
Somewhere along the way, modern Christianity quietly decided that the fear of God was an Old Testament idea, a hangover from a sterner era of faith that we have happily evolved past. We talk about God’s love, His grace, His friendship, His nearness. All of it true. All of it precious. But we have largely stopped talking about His fear.
And I think we are paying for it.
Because when you take the fear of God out of the Christian life, you do not get freer Christians. You get smaller ones. You get a faith that fits comfortably in our own image, a God who exists to serve our preferences, a Jesus who never disturbs our plans, a Spirit we feel free to ignore. You get the version of Christianity that has not quite worked out why, despite all our worship songs and conferences and content, we still feel hollow.
“Take the fear of God out of the Christian life and you don’t get freer Christians. You get smaller ones.”
So I want to talk about the fear of God. Not because I want to scare anyone. Because I want to recover something the Bible says is the beginning of wisdom (Proverbs 9:10), the foundation of a life well lived (Ecclesiastes 12:13), and the secret of intimacy with God Himself (Psalm 25:14).
What the Fear of God Is Not
Let’s clear something up first. The fear of God in scripture is not the fear that paralyses. It is not the cowering of an abused child waiting for the next blow. It is not constant anxiety about whether God is pleased with you. It is not the fear that you might say the wrong thing in prayer and lose your salvation. It is not the dread of a tyrant.
Many of us carry that kind of fear, often inherited from teaching that mishandled God’s character, or from family-of-origin wounds projected onto Him. That fear is not what scripture is talking about. And that fear, frankly, is what 1 John 4:18 says perfect love casts out.
The fear of God in scripture is something else entirely. Something deeper, warmer, and more beautiful than the way it has often been taught.
What It Actually Is
The fear of God is the right-sized response to a being who is actually God. It is the awareness that He is holy.
That He is unlike us. That He spoke galaxies into existence. That He sees every secret thing. That He is utterly, completely, breathtakingly other.
It is the response of Isaiah when he saw the Lord high and lifted up, with the train of His robe filling the temple, and the seraphim covering their faces, and the foundations shaking. Isaiah’s response was not casual. He cried, “Woe is me, for I am a man of unclean lips” (Isaiah 6:5). That was the fear of God.
It is the response of Job after God spoke to him out of the whirlwind. After chapter upon chapter of demanding answers, Job’s posture changed. “I have heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you; therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes” (Job 42:5-6). That was the fear of God.
It is the response of Peter when, after a miracle catch of fish, he fell at Jesus’ knees and said, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord” (Luke 5:8). That was the fear of God.
It is the response of John, the disciple Jesus loved, who had leaned his head on Jesus’ chest at the Last Supper, when he saw the risen Christ in His glory on Patmos. “I fell at his feet as though dead” (Revelation 1:17). Even John, the closest of friends, fell at His feet.
“The fear of God is the right-sized response to a being who is actually God.”
Here is what I have come to understand. The fear of God is not the opposite of intimacy with Him. It is the precondition for it.
Because you cannot truly know someone you have shrunk to your own size. You can have a vague affection for them. You can use them as a comfort object. But you cannot be in awe of them, you cannot be transformed by them, you cannot give your whole life to them, unless they are actually, undeniably, larger than you.
Psalm 25:14 says, “The secret of the Lord is for those who fear Him.” Friendship with God in scripture is not for the casual. It is for those who tremble. Those who have seen, even a little, who He actually is. Those whose hearts soften because they finally understand who is in the room.
The most intimate believers I have ever met are also the ones with the most reverence. They speak of God carefully. They wait in His presence. They take their shoes off, metaphorically, before they enter prayer. And out of that reverence comes the most extraordinary closeness. Because they are not relating to a friend they have flattened. They are relating to the living God.
When the fear of God fades from the Christian life, certain things creep in to fill the space.
We start to treat the Bible casually, picking and choosing what we like, dismissing what makes us uncomfortable. We start to treat sin as a personal preference rather than a serious offence against a holy God. We start to treat church as something we attend rather than the body of Christ we belong to. We start to treat prayer as something we squeeze into spare moments rather than approach with wonder. We start to treat God’s name lightly. We start to talk about Him the way we talk about anyone else.
None of this is malicious. It happens slowly, almost imperceptibly. But the effect is real. We end up with a small God who fits our lives. And a small God cannot save you, transform you, or carry you through the seasons that will eventually undo everything you thought you knew.
Proverbs 1:7 says, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge.” Not the end. The beginning. Without it, the whole foundation is wrong.
“You cannot give your whole life to a God you have shrunk to your own size.”
The fear of God is not summoned by effort. It is recovered by seeing Him as He is.
Spend time in scripture, especially the parts that confront you, not just the parts that comfort you. Read Isaiah 6, and Ezekiel 1, and Revelation 4 and 5. Read the parts of the gospels where Jesus rebukes the religious or stills the storm or transfigures on the mountain. Let yourself feel the weight of who He actually is.
Sit quietly in His presence without an agenda. Stop talking long enough to remember that you are small. Worship without performing. Pray with the awareness that the One you are speaking to is the same One who spoke the universe into being and called it good.
Confess your sin slowly and specifically. Not to wallow, but to remember that He is holy and that the only reason you can come near at all is the blood of Christ. The fear of God and the gospel are not in tension. They are joined together. The cross is the place where we see most clearly both how holy God is and how loved we are. The reverence and the intimacy meet there.
And spend time around people who carry the fear of God in their bones. Old saints. Mature believers. People whose words about God are not careless. You will catch from them something the modern Christian conversation has often lost.
Why This Matters Now
We are living in a season where the church desperately needs the fear of God recovered. Not the fear that abuses and controls and weaponises God’s name. Real fear. Reverence. Awe. The kind of fear that produces obedience, repentance, humility, worship.
Because the alternative is what we are seeing in plenty of corners of the church already. Casual sin. Casual leadership. Casual worship. Casual living. A faith that no longer has the weight to disrupt anything, including the believer.
If you sense in yourself a quiet drift toward casualness with God, this is the invitation. Not to be afraid in the wrong way. But to be in awe in the right way. To remember who He is. To let that knowledge resize everything else in your life.
“A small God cannot save you, transform you, or carry you through the seasons that will eventually undo everything you thought you knew.”
The fear of God is not the enemy of love. It is the soil love grows in. It is not the absence of friendship with God. It is the depth of it. It is not a backward-looking, joyless religion. It is the beginning of wisdom, the start of every truly beautiful thing in the Christian life.
If you have lost it somewhere along the way, you are not alone. Most of us have. But it can be recovered, and when it is, everything else, your prayer, your obedience, your worship, your joy, becomes stronger, deeper, weightier.
Take your shoes off. You are standing on holy ground.
About the Author
Sabrina is a devoted pastor and trained psychologist, passionate about helping people live whole, Christ-centred lives. With over two decades of ministry experience, she combines biblical truths with clinical insight, fostering spiritual and emotional maturity.
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This article reflects my personal Christian beliefs and worldview. It is shared to encourage reflection and is not intended to impose beliefs, or serve as professional psychological advice. I respect that each reader may hold different beliefs and invite you to engage with the content in a way that honours your own values.