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When the fear of the Lord fades, faith does not suddenly disappear.
More often, life simply grows smaller.

God remains part of our language. We still speak of Him with respect. We still pray, still read Scripture, still gather. But somewhere along the way, God stops being weighty enough to interrupt us. He becomes someone we consult rather than someone before whom we stand.

And when God is no longer allowed to interrupt, faith almost always fractures in one of two directions.

Two Ways of Avoiding Interruption

Some respond by tightening control. Rules multiply. Boundaries harden. Precision becomes proof of faithfulness. God is treated as authoritative—but only within carefully defined limits. Obedience is emphasized, yet it is often obedience without listening, conformity without surrender. This is legalism: a way of keeping God contained by deciding in advance where and how He may speak.

Others respond by loosening seriousness. Authority is softened. Demands are reframed. God is emphasized as gracious and affirming—but rarely interruptive. Scripture is consulted for encouragement rather than correction. This is liberalism: a way of keeping God harmless by ensuring He never presses too deeply or requires costly change.

These two paths appear opposed, but they share the same instinct.
Neither wants to be interrupted.

Legalism resists interruption by enforcing order.
Liberalism resists interruption by dissolving authority.

In both cases, God remains present—but no longer overwhelming. He is either tightly managed or gently sidelined. In neither case is He allowed to stand in the middle of life with the freedom to disrupt, confront, and reorder.

This is where awe is lost.

Fear of the Lord as a Way of Life

Scripture never treats the fear of the Lord as a religious mood or a posture reserved for sacred moments. It is not something we turn on once a week and then set aside. The fear of the Lord is a way of inhabiting the world—a settled awareness that God is present, holy, and authoritative in the ordinary flow of life.

When that awareness erodes, the loss shows up everywhere.

Silence becomes uncomfortable, not because it is empty, but because it might require listening. Interruption feels threatening because it disrupts momentum. Limits feel restrictive because they challenge autonomy. Obedience becomes something to negotiate rather than something assumed. God is still acknowledged—but only where He does not disturb our plans.

Where awe is lost, life turns to management.

When Awe Is Replaced by Management

In the absence of awe, reverence does not vanish—it hardens.

We begin managing our schedules so nothing presses too deeply. We manage our environments so nothing feels unpredictable. We manage our spirituality so God remains useful but not disruptive. Reverence becomes seriousness, and seriousness is mistaken for holiness.

This posture rarely announces itself as rebellion. It often feels responsible. Disciplined. Faithful. But beneath it lies a quiet anxiety: if God does not command attention on His own, then attention must be secured by structure and control.

Scripture never describes the fear of the Lord this way. Biblical fear arises from encounter, not enforcement. It flows from recognition—recognition of who God is and who we are not. Where awe is alive, reverence follows naturally. Where awe is absent, reverence must be manufactured.

Manufactured reverence is fragile. It depends on ideal conditions. It cannot tolerate disruption because disruption exposes how thin the center has become.

A God who must be managed is no longer feared.
He is tolerated.

When Love Loses Its Weight

Others, weary of control, move in the opposite direction.

They reject rigidity and reclaim warmth. God is near, forgiving, welcoming. But over time, nearness replaces holiness. Since God is loving, posture begins to feel unnecessary. Since grace abounds, restraint feels optional. Since God accepts us as we are, interruption feels intrusive rather than redemptive.

Life in this posture feels lighter—but also thinner.

Attention drifts. Conviction becomes uncomfortable. Obedience is reframed as preference. God remains present, but increasingly small. Faith becomes expressive rather than formative, sincere but easily shaken.

Love without awe cannot carry the weight of real life.
A God who never confronts cannot sustain courage.
A God who never interrupts cannot reorder desire.

Awe, Not Terror

These two paths—control and casualness—are not solutions. They are symptoms. Both emerge when awe disappears.

The fear of the Lord is not terror.
It is awe that rearranges life.

C. S. Lewis captured this with striking clarity in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. When the children first hear of Aslan, their excitement is tempered by an instinctive question: Is he safe? The answer they receive is not reassurance but revelation. No—he is not safe. But he is good.

Aslan is not cruel, but neither is he tame. He cannot be managed, negotiated with, or domesticated. His goodness does not make him small; it makes him overwhelming. And in his presence, characters are not silenced into compliance. They are sobered, awakened, called to courage, obedience, sacrifice, and joy.

That is biblical fear.
Near, but never manageable.
Loving, but unmistakably not small.

Why Awe Cannot Be Manufactured

Awe does not return through spectacle or emotional pressure. It cannot be scheduled or produced on demand. It returns when God is once again allowed to be God in daily life—free to interrupt, correct, confront, and reorder.

Awe grows when Scripture is permitted to challenge rather than merely inspire. When silence is allowed to linger. When limits are received as wisdom rather than threat. When obedience is assumed, not endlessly negotiated.

This is why Scripture reaches for images like wind and fire to describe the Spirit. A managed God cannot be feared. A caged Spirit cannot produce awe.

To recover the fear of the Lord is not to embrace chaos.
It is to repent of domestication.

A Diagnostic We Cannot Avoid

This becomes visible most clearly in the ordinary, unscripted moments of life—moments we do not control as tightly. Children, in particular, reveal this not because they are irreverent, but because they do not cooperate with the illusion that reverence can be sustained by atmosphere alone. They respond instinctively to what is real, not to what is performed.

Where awe is genuinely present—where God is expected to be active, interruptive, and authoritative—attention is patiently formed. It is taught, modeled, and invited over time. Where awe is absent, control rushes in to compensate. Behavior must be managed because orientation is no longer trusted to grow.

Children are not the problem.
They simply expose what we actually believe about God’s presence beyond religious language and designated times.

The Way Forward

The fear of the Lord is not recovered by stricter rules or looser boundaries. It returns when God is once again recognized as weighty enough to interrupt us—in our speech, our schedules, our work, and our desires.

Biblical reverence does not begin in a building or an hour.
It begins when life itself is reoriented around God.

And without that awe, wisdom cannot begin, obedience cannot form, and no sacred rhythm—however well intentioned—can endure.