How to Repent: Turning Toward God with Awe and Honesty

Most of us misunderstand repentance. We either wallow in guilt, punishing ourselves emotionally, or we brush sin off like it’s no big deal—just part of being human. Some of us hide behind grace, saying, “God forgives,” as if that excuses never changing. But genuine repentance doesn’t start with guilt or dismissal. It begins with awe. It begins with reverence for the Triune God.

Repentance is a response to something—Someone—bigger than our failures: a holy and merciful God who sees everything in us and still invites us near. Before we can truly turn from sin, we must first recover something modern hearts have largely forgotten: the fear of the Lord.

The Fear That Frees Us

Scripture gives us unforgettable moments when people encountered the living God—and their only response was awe and repentance. Isaiah saw the Lord high and lifted up and cried, “Woe is me! I am undone. I am a man of unclean lips…” (Isaiah 6:5). Peter, after witnessing the miraculous catch of fish, fell at Jesus’ feet and said, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord.” (Luke 5:8). John, the beloved disciple, saw the glorified Christ and wrote, “When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead.” (Revelation 1:17).

In each of these stories, an authentic encounter with God did not produce casual reverence. It produced trembling wonder. These moments weren’t about God crushing them—they were about God revealing Himself in a way that revealed the truth about them. And in every case, He responded not with rejection, but with mercy.

Proverbs 9:10 says, "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding." In Hebrew, the word for fear, yir'āh, doesn’t mean panic. It means reverent awe. It’s a heart posture that says, “You are God, and I am not.”

This isn’t the kind of fear that makes you hide. It’s the kind that makes you drop to your knees, undone, and yet somehow safe.

In the Ancient Near East, kings demanded awe. Subjects bowed low because they feared the consequences. The Old Testament redeems that instinct. Yahweh is no tyrant. He is righteous, just, and shockingly kind. To fear Him rightly is to see Him clearly.

Scholar Tremper Longman III writes, "Fear in this context is not a cringing terror, but rather a deep respect and awe that results in humble obedience."¹

Jesus says the same thing—more bluntly—in Luke 12: “Don’t fear those who can kill the body. Fear the One who can cast into hell.” (vv. 4–5)

But then, just a breath later, He adds: “Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God. Fear not; you are of more value than many sparrows.” (vv. 6–7)

Fear and love. Judgment and mercy. God is holy and near. And when we see Him rightly, repentance becomes more than confession—it becomes worship.

When My Pride Masqueraded as Faithfulness

After seminary, I carried a quiet sense of accomplishment. I had learned the languages, the theology, and the church history. But deep down, I knew something was off. I wasn’t studying to know God. I was studying to be seen as someone who knew.

That same old pride flared up again years later as I began writing and posting online. I wanted to help people. But I also wanted to sound wise. I wanted to be useful—and admired.

Then one day, I sat with my journal and finally named what had been true for too long: I was performing for God and others. I wasn’t repenting. I was polishing.

Repentance came like a cool wind. Not all at once. But slowly. Gently. I wrote this prayer: “Lord, I don’t want to use You to build my name. I want to know You. Help me want You more than approval so that I build up your name, not mine."

In that moment, repentance didn’t feel heavy. It felt freeing. I was reminded of the old Tim Keller line: “The gospel is this: We are more sinful and flawed in ourselves than we ever dared believe, yet at the same time we are more loved and accepted in Jesus Christ than we ever dared hope.”

That’s the paradox of the fear of the Lord. You see yourself rightly and yet aren’t crushed. You see God clearly and want nothing more than to draw near.

What Repentance Looks Like Now

Now, before I study, I pause. I ask God to help me seek Him, not just insights. Not a tweetable quote. Him.

I no longer rush to share what I’ve learned. I sit with it. I ask how it reshapes my heart, my marriage, my posture toward others. And if I eventually share it, I pray it’s out of love, not pride.

Repentance is no longer a single moment for me. It’s a rhythm. A recalibration.

Repentance Is a Return

The Greek word for repentance, metanoia, means “a change of mind.” But in the biblical narrative, it’s more than mental. It’s directional. To repent is to turn.

You can stop sinning and still not love God. You can be polite, disciplined, and even admired—and still walk in the wrong direction.

Repentance is not behavior management. It’s a return to a relationship.

Paul says in Romans 2:4, “Do you not know that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance?” God’s kindness doesn’t ignore our sin. It invites us to step away from it.

The fear of the Lord wakes us up. The kindness of the Lord draws us home.

Try This

Take ten minutes today.

• Sit somewhere quiet.

• Ask God: Where am I trying to be good instead of being near?

• Listen. Don’t rush to fix. Just notice.

• Then pray: “Lord, I fear You. I trust You. Help me want You more than anything else.”

You don’t need a speech. You just need to turn.

He’s not far.

¹ Tremper Longman III, Proverbs (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2006), 94.