Perfect Love

Robin Lunn
Jan 29
4 min read

Like many of you, I have been carrying the weight of the recent shootings in Minneapolis, and the steady stream of violent news that continues to reach us on our phones, computers, TVs, and radios. Each new story lands on top of so many others we already hold. Grief piles up. Anger flames. Fear settles into our bodies and nervous systems. And the exhaustion of holding all of this feels like a weight to great to bear.

I want to say this plainly: fear is a human response to real harm. It does not mean we lack faith. It does not mean we have failed spiritually. Fear arises because we love, because we are paying attention, because we know life is precious and fragile.

Alongside fear, many of us are also carrying anger.

Anger at systems.

Anger at leaders.

Anger at neighbors.

Anger at ourselves.

And sometimes—if we are honest—anger at God.

Anger that God is not fixing this mess. Anger that prayers feel unanswered. Anger that suffering keeps repeating. That anger, too, belongs in the life of faith.

And in this moment, I keep returning to a familiar line from 1 John: “Perfect love casts out fear.”

I do not hear this as a command to eliminate fear, or as a demand that we become perfect. I do not hear it as spiritual bypass—pretending everything is fine when it clearly is not. I hear it instead as an invitation.

Not: You must stop being afraid.

Rather: There is a Love large enough to hold you while you are afraid.

There is no fear in love. Instead, perfect love drives away fear. That’s because fear has to do with being punished. The one who fears does not have perfect love. 1 John 4:18

In Greek, the phrase translated “perfect love” is teleia agapē. It does not mean flawless love or morally spotless love. It comes from a word that means complete, whole, or brought to its intended fullness. It points to love that has come into its purpose. In other words, this verse is not talking about love we manufacture through spiritual effort. It is talking about God’s own love, made at home in us. It is the kind of love allowed to take up residence, allowed to deepen and mature within us. Even the phrase “casts out” is present tense—ongoing.

Love keeps working our fear out toward the edges, again and again.

Perfect Love is not something we achieve. Perfect Love is something we lean into. Perfect Love is the steady, abiding presence of God. Perfect Love is the love we encounter in Christ. Perfect Love is the love that holds the universe together and refuses to abandon it.

And this Perfect Love is also large enough to hold our anger at God.

Sometimes faith looks less like serene trust and more like a child pounding on a parent’s chest saying, “Why haven’t you fixed this? Why are you letting this happen? I’m hurting.” Good parents do not withdraw their love in those moments. They do not shame the child for being upset. They stay. They absorb the cries. They hold the child close, even when the child is pushing away.

Scripture is full of this kind of relationship: psalms that rage, prophets who argue, saints who protest, and Jesus himself crying out, “Why have you forsaken me?” Perfect Love does not require us to tidy our emotions before approaching God.

Perfect Love meets us inside them.

Our fear is held.

Our grief is held.

Our anger at God is held.

Nothing we bring disqualifies us from this Love.

When fear surges, we are invited to lean into that Love. We lean into it the way we lean into a strong tree during a storm. We lean into it the way a child leans into a trusted caregiver. We lean into it not because fear disappears, but because we no longer have to carry fear alone.

Something subtle but powerful happens when we practice this. When we root ourselves in Perfect Love, we become a little less reactive, a little less consumed, and a little more spacious inside. That inner spaciousness becomes a gift we offer the world.

We often talk about changing the world through visible actions that matter deeply. We donate, march, organize. We call legislators. We speak truth. We show up. And alongside all of that, we also do spiritual work.

The practice of welcoming Perfect Love into our own fear and anger changes the emotional and spiritual field around us. It changes the tone of our presence. It shifts what we bring into conversations, relationships, and public life. When we are grounded in Love, we make space for other people’s fear without being overwhelmed by it. We can listen without hardening. We can speak without dehumanizing. We can resist injustice without becoming consumed by hatred.

And this wisdom is not unique to Christianity.

Across traditions we hear similar invitations: Judaism speaks of chesed, steadfast lovingkindness. Buddhism teaches metta, lovingkindness toward all beings. Islam names God as Ar-Rahman and Ar-Rahim, the Infinitely Compassionate and Merciful. Hindu traditions speak of bhakti, devotional love resting in the heart of the Divine. Different languages. Different theologies. A shared intuition: love is a force that counteracts fear and transforms suffering.

In a fractured world, one of the most hopeful things we can do is collaborate across traditions and communities to intentionally increase this field of love—through shared prayer, shared silence, shared service, shared presence, and shared commitment to human dignity.

This is not passive. This is not small. This is not symbolic. This is formative work. This is resistance work. This is healing work. Every time each person chooses to turn toward Love instead of despair, something in the fabric of the world subtly bends toward life.

None of us can hold everything alone. None of us can fix everything alone. But each of us can practice making room for Perfect Love—again and again—especially when fear and anger feel loud.

If it is helpful, I offer a simple breath prayer as a practice you can return to:

On the inhale say: Perfect Love, draw near.

One the exhale say: Hold my fear.

Inhale: Perfect Love, draw near.

Exhale: Hold my grief.