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While reading, she was struck by this thought, which I am paraphrasing for purposes of this chapter:
For perspective’s sake, it takes someone a lifetime to work through the fear of man. Truthfully, we won’t be completely free from this sin until we meet Jesus. But you can mature through this stronghold. In my experience, it takes about one year of intentional one-to-one care, about five years of “normal care,” and the rest of your life doing intentional self-care while teaching others what you have learned.
The reader said she agreed, but expressed concern. She wondered, “Why doesn’t the local church seem to address this issue?” Her local church, she explained, was gospel-centered, Bible-based, and doctrinally sound. Yet, the majority of the congregation still lived under the burden of the fear of man. Like the four examples in the chapter, she was sensing how the gospel was more theoretical than functional, and experiences were shaping identity more than Christ. “We are gospel impotent,” she confessed. The need for one-on-one care seemed overwhelming to her. Then she asked a sincere question: Is this normal in churches today?
Although the term “fear of man” may not be commonly used in our culture, its synonyms are widely used: peer pressure, insecurity, and codependency are more familiar. These cultural terms offer glimpses into the issue but fall short of the theological accuracy and redemptive potential of the biblical language. The Bible also frames fear of man in terms of shame, a deeply-rooted voice that whispers, “Something is wrong with you.”
Many additional soul dynamics flow from this root: guilt, anxiety, harsh criticism, fear of rejection, manipulation, unkindness, mockery, and even shyness. These inflame our preexisting, Adamic shame, making this snare more than a psychological category; it is a theological one. After Adam sinned, shame, fear, and guilt became part of the human condition. These traces of fallenness live in all of us, though they manifest differently. No one is untouched.
A girl who was verbally or sexually sinned against by her father may recoil in male relationships. A boy constantly belittled may overcompensate through performance and control. Others mask their insecurities with their charm or overconfidence, while many hide in silence. But make no mistake: the root is the same. The solution is singular. Fear of man is an Adamic problem that only the gospel of Jesus Christ can transform.
This struggle lingers not because the gospel is weak but because we are still in these bodies of death. We live in the space between justification and glorification. Until we see Christ face to face, there will not be perfect sanctification. But that is no reason to despair. The gospel does change people, and God is at work. We are not hopeless. The Father is our Lord, Christ is our Redeemer, and the Spirit is our present help. We have more than enough to experience a satisfying transformation. Still, here’s the tension. Gather 500 people into a church building on a Sunday, and you are bringing together a crowd of image managers. All of us—staff and saints alike—walk in with some measure of fear.
To stare at that reality too long can be overwhelming. But the solution is not denial or paralysis. The key is to fix your eyes on Christ. One pastor put it this way: “For every look you take at your sin, take ten looks at your Savior.” Another said, “When I look too intently at my sin, I get discouraged. When I don’t look at it enough, I discourage others. Lord, help me to keep away from both extremes.” Ignoring our sin leads to dysfunction, and obsessing over our sin leads to despair. Gospel honesty—anchored in Christ’s sufficiency—is the way forward.
So why isn’t the church doing more? That’s the deeper question from my friend—and it is a crucial query. The answer is sobering: most churches simply don’t go deep enough. Relationships stay at the surface. People come to worship but don’t walk together. Honesty is rare. People fear rejection more than they desire transformation. Our problem isn’t primarily a resource issue. We’re not missing books.
In fact, we’re often overloaded with them. We have Bible studies, conferences, small groups, and Sunday sermons. Those can become distractions from what we need most: gospel-shaped relationships marked by truth and grace. Jesus didn’t hand out books on insecurity. He walked with people, spoke truth in love, and exposed hearts—gently and boldly. What if, instead of chasing new resources, we cast two clear visions in our churches?
“Fear not” is the most repeated command in Scripture. Fear is faith’s opposite. When Adam disbelieved, the root of fear sprang up in his soul. That same anti-faith lives in us. But the gospel offers something better: perfect love that casts out fear. When you are born again (John 3:7), you enter a tension—a tug-of-war between faith and fear, Christ and Adam, light and darkness. This tension is why clear teaching and gospel-centered honesty are necessary. Fear is spiritually crippling. It isolates us. It prevents love. It short-circuits disciple-making. We must confront it head-on. As one friend noted:
Our culture—even within the church—has become so individualized that soul care can seem impossible. The entire new covenant ethic is that of family, one another, and our interrelatedness. Yet what we see in practice is the opposite. It seems Christians would rather pay fees to a non-Christian “expert” than develop relationships in the local church. I believe part of the root of this problem is the emphasis on the individual rather than the body.
His observation is vital. Discipleship doesn’t happen in isolation. The more we talk about our problems, the more equipped the church becomes to address them. We must create contexts where people don’t just listen to gospel teaching, but learn to live it out together.
Historically, it usually takes two years for my small group to incorporate these concepts into our community’s DNA. Every person shows up with fig leaves hiding their shame—myself included. We’re all hiding something, hoping to be known, yet terrified of being exposed. Adam said it well, “I was afraid, because I was naked, and I hid myself” (Genesis 3:10). We are Adam’s sons and daughters. Even after the Lord regenerates us, we live in that strange in-between: desiring to walk in the light but still afraid of what it will reveal. It is akin to a private torment, which will not find restoration through the curriculum. It requires people.
When someone is gripped by fear of man, they need a discipler—someone to walk with them in everyday life over a period of time. This relationship could look like movie nights, breakfast meetings, errands, house visits, dinners—whatever it takes to build trust and connection. Over a year or more, the discipler pours gospel truth into that person’s life. Eventually, they begin to stabilize, and the discipler shifts into more of an encourager. Eventually, the discipled becomes the discipler, and they work together spreading the practical message of Christ (2 Timothy 2:2).
There are no extra programs needed—just intentionality in what we’re already doing. People are already gathering, the preacher is already preaching, and families are already attending all the events. So the question becomes: Will you be intentional about those you’re already spending time with? Most fear-of-man conversations do not have to be long, drawn-out counseling sessions each time you meet. You may only take five minutes talking about this issue or any other. The rest of your time will be about dinner or the movie. But imagine: if five honest minutes are embedded in gospel friendship, lives will change.
Ultimately, the core issue is not fear—it’s affection. Is the gospel beautiful enough to us that we will confront our fears and lean into discomfort for the sake of growth? Many professing believers live as if Christ is a part-time priority—an add-on, not a consuming joy. If the gospel had control of our hearts, the fruit would be unmistakable. We would see a church like Acts 2:42–47: joyfulness, generosity, boldness, transparency, and gospel movement. That community does not require new systems. It requires a deeper application of the gospel, God’s answer to the fear of man.
If I wanted others to think highly of me, I would conceal the fact that a shameful slaughter of the perfect Son of God was required that I might be saved. But when I stand at the foot of the Cross and am seen by others under the light of that Cross, I am left uncomfortably exposed before their eyes. Indeed, the most humiliating gossip that could ever be whispered about me is blared from Golgotha’s hill; and my self-righteous reputation is left in ruins in the wake of its revelations. With the worst facts about me thus exposed to the view of others, I find myself feeling that I truly have nothing left to hide. – A Gospel Primer by Milton Vincent
Rick launched the Life Over Coffee global training network in 2008 to bring hope and help for you and others by creating resources that spark conversations for transformation. His primary responsibilities are resource creation and leadership development, which he does through speaking, writing, podcasting, and educating.
In 1990 he earned a BA in Theology and, in 1991, a BS in Education. In 1993, he received his ordination into Christian ministry, and in 2000 he graduated with an MA in Counseling from The Master’s University. In 2006 he was recognized as a Fellow of the Association of Certified Biblical Counselors (ACBC).
