Daniel: Alright, Sophia, pop quiz. What’s the one emotion every self-help guru, therapist, and motivational speaker tells you to conquer? Sophia: Oh, that’s easy. Fear. It’s public enemy number one. Fear of failure, fear of public speaking, fear of spiders… fear of everything. Daniel: Exactly. We're told to be fearless, to crush our fears. Well, what if the secret to a truly fearless life isn't getting rid of fear, but choosing to be terrified of the right thing? Sophia: That sounds completely backward. Like telling someone the cure for their headache is a bigger, more targeted headache. I'm intrigued, but very skeptical. What are we diving into today? Daniel: We are diving into a book that makes exactly that argument. It's called The Awe of God: The Astounding Way a Healthy Fear of God Transforms Your Life, by John P. Bevere. Sophia: John Bevere… I know that name. He’s a pretty major voice in Christian circles, right? Known for being… let's say, direct. Daniel: That’s a polite way of putting it. He’s known for a bold, uncompromising approach to his topics. His ministry, Messenger International, has distributed something like 60 million translated resources globally. So when he tackles a subject, he doesn't pull any punches. And this book is no exception. It’s been highly rated but also stirred up some debate precisely because of this central idea. Sophia: I can see why. So this book is basically an argument for fear? In a world obsessed with safety, comfort, and eliminating anxiety, that feels like a tough sell. Daniel: It’s the toughest sell. And the book leans right into that. Bevere starts by acknowledging our modern aversion to fear. He even quotes FDR: "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." But then he flips it. He argues that this blanket condemnation of fear is a huge mistake. Sophia: How so? Isn't fear what holds us back? Daniel: The book proposes there are two kinds of fear. First, there are destructive fears. Think of the fear of poverty. It sounds sensible, but it can twist someone into a miser who hoards wealth, trusts no one, and dies alone and miserable, like the old story of Silas. Or the fear for your child’s safety, which can turn a parent into an overprotective controller who stifles their kid's independence. These fears, while seemingly logical, lead to ruin. Sophia: Okay, I can see that. Fear that constricts and diminishes your life. But what’s the other kind? Daniel: Constructive fears. The fear that keeps you from stepping off a cliff. The fear that makes you pull your hand back from a hot stove. These fears are a form of wisdom. They protect you. They preserve life. Sophia: Right, so it’s the difference between paranoia and prudence. Daniel: Precisely. And Bevere’s entire argument hangs on this next question: what if the "fear of the Lord" belongs in that second category? What if it's the ultimate constructive fear, the one piece of wisdom that, once you have it, protects you from everything else?

Sophia: I have to be honest, Daniel, the phrase "fear of the Lord" just conjures up images of a wrathful old man in the sky with a lightning bolt, ready to zap you for the slightest mistake. It feels like a relic from a much harsher time. Daniel: And that is the exact misunderstanding the book is written to dismantle. Bevere argues we’ve conflated being scared of God with a holy fear for God. The first one makes you run away and hide. The second one is a profound, magnetic awe that draws you closer. Sophia: Awe is one thing. I can get behind awe. I feel awe watching a meteor shower or a brilliant performance. But the book deliberately uses the word fear. Why stick with such a loaded, uncomfortable term? Daniel: Because, according to the book, "awe" has become too soft. It's become a word we use for a good sunset or a clever movie. Bevere wants to reclaim the weight, the gravity, of the original concept. It’s not just about appreciating beauty; it’s about understanding magnitude. He tells this fantastic story in the appendix that makes it really clear. Sophia: Oh, I love a good story. Lay it on me. Daniel: So, about twenty-five years ago, he and his wife were with their three sons, who were completely obsessed with a famous NBA superstar at the time. They were in awe of this guy's talent, his fame, his whole persona. Sophia: I can relate. I had posters of my favorite bands all over my walls. It’s a normal part of growing up. Daniel: Totally normal. But Bevere felt their awe was misplaced, or at least, out of proportion. They were staying in a hotel right on the Atlantic coast, and the ocean was particularly rough that day. He took the boys out to play in the waves, and they were just getting tossed around, completely humbled by the raw power of the water. Sophia: I know that feeling. You feel incredibly small and powerless against a big wave. Daniel: Exactly. Later, back in the hotel room, he points out the window at this massive, churning ocean stretching to the horizon. He asks them, "Guys, how big is that ocean?" And then he drops this idea on them from the Bible: God holds all the water in all the oceans of the world in the palm of His hand. He then tells them about the universe—how the nearest star is over four light-years away, and our galaxy is just one of billions—and that God measures the entire universe with the span of His hand. Sophia: Wow. Okay, that’s a perspective shift. Daniel: It was for them. The book says the boys were just captivated. And in that moment, the NBA superstar, with all his incredible human talent, shrank back to his proper size. Their unhealthy awe of a man was replaced by a healthy, mind-bending awe of God. That’s the feeling the book is trying to capture. It’s not terror. It’s a re-calibration of what is truly worthy of our ultimate respect and wonder. Sophia: That’s a great story, and it makes the concept of 'awe' much more tangible. But it still feels… distant. It’s a big, cosmic idea. How does this awe, this holy fear, actually intersect with our messy, day-to-day lives? What's the payoff for recalibrating my sense of wonder? Daniel: That’s the perfect question, because it leads directly to the book’s second major point. This awe isn't just a feeling or a philosophical idea. It has tangible, and sometimes shocking, consequences. It fundamentally changes your reality.

Sophia: Alright, let's say I'm convinced. I've mentally replaced the scary word 'fear' with this profound 'awe.' What actually changes in my life on a Tuesday morning when I'm stuck in traffic and stressed about a deadline? Daniel: The book argues that the first thing that changes is your access to God's presence. Bevere makes a crucial distinction between God's omnipresence and His manifest presence. Sophia: Okay, break that down for me. Daniel: Omnipresence means God is everywhere, all the time. He's in this room, He's in the traffic jam, He's on the moon. That's a theological constant. But His manifest presence is when He "shows up" in a tangible, palpable way. It's the difference between knowing the sun is in the sky on a cloudy day versus feeling its warmth directly on your skin when the clouds part. Sophia: And the book is saying this 'awe' is what parts the clouds? Daniel: Precisely. It argues that God's manifest presence is drawn to atmospheres of reverence. Where He is honored and esteemed, He reveals Himself. And where He is treated casually or with irreverence, He remains hidden, even if He's still omnipresent. This is where the consequences get very real, and the stories get much more intense than the one about the ocean. Sophia: More intense how? Are we talking about modern-day miracles? Daniel: Sometimes, yes. He tells an incredible story about being in Brazil, where an entire arena experienced the sound of a mighty wind and a sense of God's presence so overwhelming that people were weeping and trembling. But the book also uses biblical stories to show the other side of the coin—the consequences of irreverence. The most chilling one is the story of Ananias and Sapphira. Sophia: I've heard the names, but I don't remember the details. It sounds ominous. Daniel: It's from the Book of Acts, right at the beginning of the early Christian church. The community was incredibly close-knit, sharing everything they had. People would sell property and give the money to the apostles to distribute to those in need. It was a beautiful, radical expression of community. Sophia: Sounds idealistic. What went wrong? Daniel: This couple, Ananias and his wife Sapphira, sold a piece of property. But instead of giving the full amount, they secretly kept some of it for themselves. The problem wasn't that they kept some of the money—the book is clear that the money was theirs to do with as they pleased. The problem was their motive. They brought the partial amount and presented it as if it were the full amount. They wanted the public reputation for being radically generous without actually making the full sacrifice. Sophia: Ah, so it was about hypocrisy. They were curating their image. That sounds… disturbingly modern. Daniel: Exactly. It’s about what the book calls our "projected image" versus our "actual image." Ananias comes before the apostle Peter, who confronts him. Peter says, "How is it that you have conceived this deed in your heart? You have not lied to man but to God." And the moment he says this, Ananias falls down and dies. Sophia: Whoa. Just… on the spot? That's… intense. Daniel: It gets worse. Three hours later, his wife Sapphira comes in, not knowing what happened. Peter asks her if the price they brought was the full price for the land, giving her a chance to tell the truth. She repeats the lie. And Peter says to her, "Behold, the feet of those who have buried your husband are at the door, and they will carry you out." And she immediately falls down and dies, too. Sophia: That is terrifying. Honestly, that story feels like it's from a different universe than the gentle, 'God is love' message we hear everywhere today. How does the book even begin to reconcile that? Daniel: It reconciles it by saying both are true. God is love, but He is also holy. The book argues that we've created a "fictional Jesus" that suits our modern sensibilities—a Jesus who is only loving and never judging, who is our buddy but not our Lord. Bevere's point is that the early church understood both aspects. And the outcome of this shocking event? The Bible says, "Great fear seized the whole church and all who heard about these events." Sophia: I'll bet it did. It sounds like that 'great fear' was a course correction. It wasn't about making them scared of God in a paralyzing way, but about reminding them of the gravity of what they were part of. It's a reminder that you don't play games with the holy. Daniel: You've just perfectly summarized the book's argument. That fear wasn't destructive; it was clarifying. It burned away the hypocrisy and entitlement that were creeping in. It restored a healthy, reverent awe that protected the integrity of the entire community. It made them take their faith, and God's presence, seriously.

Daniel: So you have these two seemingly opposite ideas. On one hand, the awe that comes from seeing the ocean and realizing God's infinite greatness, which draws you in. On the other hand, the fear that comes from the story of Ananias and Sapphira, which warns you not to treat God's holiness lightly. Sophia: One pulls you closer, the other keeps you from straying. It’s like the two forces that keep a planet in a perfect orbit. You need both the gravitational pull and the forward momentum. Without both, you either fly off into space or crash into the sun. Daniel: That’s a perfect analogy. The book is arguing that a healthy spiritual life requires both. The love of God draws us to Him, but the fear of God keeps us from the evil that seeks to destroy us. Bevere quotes the famous preacher Charles Spurgeon, who said, "The fear of God is the death of every other fear; like a mighty lion, it chases all other fears before it." Sophia: I like that. It brings us right back to where we started. The idea that the goal isn't to be 'fear-less' in the sense of having no fear, but to have one, ultimate, rightly-placed fear that makes all the smaller, destructive fears—the fear of man, the fear of failure, the fear of the future—seem insignificant by comparison. Daniel: When you are in true awe of God, the opinions of your boss or the anxieties of the stock market lose their power over you. You're anchored to something infinitely larger. Sophia: So the ultimate question the book leaves us with isn't whether we will fear, but what we will fear most. It’s a challenge to examine where we place our ultimate reverence. Daniel: Exactly. It's a call to give our deepest awe to the one thing that is truly awesome. Sophia: That really makes you think. What would change in your life—your decisions, your priorities, your anxieties—if your greatest awe was reserved for something truly ultimate, instead of the daily worries that so often consume us? It's a powerful question. Daniel: It is. And it's a challenging one. We'd love to hear what our listeners think about this. The idea of "fearing God" can be a difficult topic, so head over to our social channels and let us know your thoughts. Does this reframing resonate with you, or does it still feel uncomfortable? Sophia: It’s a conversation worth having. This has been a deep one, Daniel. Daniel: It certainly has. A lot to ponder.