“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear because fear has to do with punishment.” (1 John 4:18)

The Fear We Were Given

I don’t remember the first time I heard about hell. But I remember the first time I felt it – tightness in my chest, breath caught somewhere between dread and disbelief. It wasn’t fire or brimstone, but the hollow weight of realising that fear had just been dressed up as salvation.

It was during another long weekend of conference activities – volunteers rushing, visiting speakers pouring themselves out, all in pursuit of what we were told was a move of God.

And then came the altar call.

This time, with a twist:

“If you know that when the trumpet sounds today, you will be left behind, come out now… because tomorrow may be too late.”

I watched as people rushed forward. My heart broke. Not because they had found salvation – but because they had judged themselves unworthy.

It wasn’t conviction I witnessed – it was fear.

Faith, they said, was about certainty. Obedience. Getting it right. Because getting it wrong was daring. Costly. Dangerous.

They thought they were running toward God.
But weren’t they just running from fear?

The more I tried to silence the suspicion that something was off, the louder it grew.

“What if faith was never meant to feel like captivity?
What if love – true love – was never about control?
And what if the gospel we were given wasn’t the gospel at all?”

When Faith Is Built on Fear

Somewhere along the way, Jesus’ invitation – “Come, follow me” – became a warning:

“Enter, but remain at your own risk.”

God became the enforcer.
Heaven, the reward.
Hell, the consequence.
Love, a transaction.

The good news, they told us, was that we could be saved—from wrath, from destruction, from ourselves.

And yet, salvation felt like survival.

Faith became a tightrope, every step a test—one wrong move, and judgment waited below.

From Fear to Love

It’s a strange thing, living with fear as your foundation – because when love finally comes, it doesn’t feel safe. It feels reckless. Dangerous.

We were conditioned to believe that freedom was rebellion.
That questioning was betrayal.
That God’s love was as fragile as our obedience.

Is it any wonder we worked so hard to validate the calling?
To prove we were worthy?

So we built walls.
We called them doctrine.
We called them truth.

We thought they would keep us close to God.
But all they did was lock us inside ourselves.

Yet love was never inside the walls we built.

It was found in the spaces we were warned about.
In the questions that shook our certainty.
In the people, we were told to avoid.

The irony? It wasn’t doubt that kept us from seeing God.
It was fear.

What If We Got It All Wrong?

Jesus never led with fear.

He didn’t gather followers by threatening hell.
He didn’t manipulate through warnings of eternal loss.

He gathered them by showing them heaven – right there, in the mess of their ordinary lives. He called fishermen, tax collectors, and outcasts – not with fear, but with invitation. Not with warnings, but with welcome.

So what if faith isn’t about securing a future?
What if it’s about waking up to the present?
What if heaven was never meant to be a distant hope but a reality breaking in—here, now, within us?

And if perfect love drives out fear, then maybe the moment we stop being afraid is the moment we finally understand what faith was always meant to be.

Reflection

What parts of your faith have been built on fear?
And what happens if you let them go?

Maybe faith isn’t about running toward safety.
Maybe it’s about standing still – fully, freely, without fear – and realising that love is never waiting at the finish line.

Maybe love has been with you all along – waiting for you to stop running.