Through the Water. Through the Fire.

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind” (2 Tim. 1:7).

Amy tentatively stepped down into the baptismal tank. Her eyes were downcast, tears rolling down her cheeks. I took her hand and helped her down the last step. She was shivering. I assumed it was because of the water temperature or a nervous response to the gaze of the audience. Then I heard her whisper, “I’m so scared. I’m so scared. I’m so scared.”

This was a first.

Up to that point in our baptismal service—culminating a weeklong evangelistic series at our public university—the emotions I had encountered from individuals in the water ranged from joy to peace to relief. But I had never encountered fear. At least not like this. Her voice trembled with something raw and deeply honest, and it struck a chord in my being, forcing me to admit something I had long been avoiding:

I was scared too.

Love Steps Into the Fire

As a campus minister tasked with articulating the gospel as a worldview, a way of life, and a path to personal transformation, I had internalized an unwritten rule: always be confident. Believe in what you’re offering. Let your life serve as proof that the message works. But underneath the confidence were moments—some fleeting, others lingering—where fear made its way in.

Fear that I might miss some vital truth in my preaching that someone desperately needed. Fear that my own inconsistencies could stunt the growth of the students under my care. And then, deeper still, a darker fear: what if it doesn’t work? What if this whole thing—faith, church, gospel—is little more than well-constructed comfort? a placebo wrapped in poetry? What if I’m not just wrong—but leading others astray?

I wrapped my arms around Amy, and she buried her head in my shoulder. Her trembling body and hushed words reverberated through my soul. “I’m so scared.”

And without thinking, without any preplanned theology or speech, the words poured from my lips: “Jesus loves you so much.” Again. “Jesus loves you so much.” And again. “Jesus loves you so much.”

There we stood, caught in something sacred. I don’t know how long it lasted. The crowd, perhaps unaware, watched on as heaven whispered love into fear.

That’s what love does. It doesn’t always stop the fire. It joins us in the middle of it and refuses to leave.

Jesus met us both in the water that day. Not necessarily to erase fear, but to hold us in it. To remind us that love is stronger than fear. The fear didn’t vanish in that moment, but something changed. We were reminded that when fear arises, we can retrace our steps to that place where Love stood beside us.

It’s the same love that stood in the fire.

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego faced a furnace for refusing to bow. Their answer to the king wasn’t a bravado performance. It was calm and sure. “The God we serve is able to deliver us. . . . But even if He does not, we will not serve your gods” (Dan. 3:17, 18, NIV). That wasn’t fearlessness—it was trust that had been tested. Their confidence came not from certainty of outcome, but from confidence in relationship. And when they were thrown into the fire, Jesus stood with them. Not before it. Not after it. In it.

That’s what love does. It doesn’t always stop the fire. It joins us in the middle of it and refuses to leave.

Louder Than Fear

What if the real test of faith isn’t whether we’re afraid, but whether we let love speak louder than fear? What if the Spirit’s work isn’t always to calm the storm, but to anchor us within it?

Amy graduated and moved on from that college town. She’s doing beautiful kingdom work now. Not long ago she sent me a card thanking me for being there when she needed God most.

But I wish she knew what she gave me.

She gave me the courage to admit that I don’t have to be unafraid to be faithful, that trembling doesn’t disqualify trust, that I can love God even while questioning Him and myself, and that He still loves me while I do.

I hope that one day Amy and all the students I’ve ministered to over the years will understand how every sermon preached, every prayer whispered, came from a heart just as fragile as their own. How every time I said, “Jesus loves you so much,” His Spirit echoed back to me: “Don’t fear. My love is for you, too.”

We are nearing the end of time. The signs are being fulfilled. The furnace will burn again. And when it does, I hope we remember the water. I hope we remember the whisper. I hope we remember the fire—and the One who stood in it.

Because perfect love doesn’t cast out fear by pretending it’s not there. It casts it out by showing up in the middle of it.

I hope we remember that perfect Love is more than a feeling or a force. Perfect Love is a person. And His name is Jesus.