When Fear Meets Faith: Learning to Step Into the Unknown
Humans have a deep-rooted fear of the unknown; whether we call it instinct, nature, or nurture, it's a common feeling. We tend to create routines, seek comfort, and surround ourselves with what is familiar because it feels safe. I often joke that missing breakfast after church can throw off my whole week. However, genuinely significant moments in life often arise not from sticking to the familiar, but from taking steps into uncharted territory that we can't fully understand. That can seem risky at best.
The ancient tale of Abram and Sarai illustrates this same tension. In Genesis 12:1-9, God instructs Abram to leave behind his homeland, family, and father's household and journey toward a land he would later reveal. God did not provide a detailed map beforehand. The destination was unknown, and there was no specific itinerary. All God gave was a command to go accompanied by a promise: “Go, and I will be with you.”
Abram was seventy-five years old when he set out. He gathered his wife, his nephew, his belongings, and his entire life, heading toward an unseen destination. This was no simple task; it was an act of remarkable faith. Abram’s age is significant yet also not, because it highlights that he was already well beyond the average lifespan. Embarking on such a long journey at that age might seem unwise, but it reminds us that it's never too late to heed God’s call or pursue a new, unexplored path. At the same time, the specific age of 75 is likely more symbolic than literal, emphasizing the timeless nature of faith and new beginnings. Abram proves that age is just a number.
That one act of obedience started a story that would last for generations, culminating in the people of Israel, the lineage of Jesus, and the church's existence. Abram never witnessed the complete results of his faithfulness; he did not see God's promises fully come true in his lifetime. Nevertheless, he pressed on because faith isn't about seeing the entire journey; it's about taking the next step for those who will follow.
The Danger of Looking Back
Scripture cautions us against dwelling on the past when God directs us forward. A few chapters later in Genesis, after he and Abram parted ways, Lot is urged to leave his prosperous life in Sodom. As she escapes Sodom's destruction, Lot's wife takes one last look back, a moment that turns her into a symbol of that very desire. She becomes frozen, unable to move into what lies ahead because of her strong attachment to what she left behind. Genesis tells us that she turned into a pillar of salt, that you can go and see today; it's probably just a natural formation, but it looks cool.
This isn't just an ancient issue; we do it too. We mourn the way things once were, comparing the present to an idealized past and often feeling dissatisfied. Phrases like, "It was better before," are common, but they can prevent us from seeing what might be possible now. When someone makes such a statement, I usually ask, “Was it really as good as you remember?” because nostalgia can distort our view, making the past seem better than it actually was.
This doesn't imply that the past isn't worth honoring. Memory and tradition are important. However, there's a distinction between respecting our origins and being enslaved by them. When we concentrate too much on what was, we prevent ourselves from envisioning what might be. God is continually creating something new, but if we are looking backward, we might miss it.
The Stranger We Do Not Know
Fear of the unknown extends beyond circumstances and change. It also encompasses people. We tend to fear what we do not understand, often keeping our distance from individuals whose lives differ from ours. Different background, experiences, or perspectives. This lack of understanding can lead us from confusion to judgment, and from staying apart to hostility.
Here's the uncomfortable truth: when we fear a stranger, it often Reflects more about our own insecurities than their differences. Their differences alone don't hurt us; what hurts is our reluctance to engage, ask questions, listen, and learn. What harm does a stranger who lives differently than you really do to you? Nothing. 99% of the time, they are just living their lives, while we are stuck judging them.
The author of 1 John states this plainly. In 1 John 4:7-21, it’s clear: God is love, and anyone claiming to love God but hating their brothers and sisters is fundamentally contradicting themselves, our faith, and God. You can't profess devotion and love to a God you've never seen while looking down on and refusing to love a person right in front of you. These two ideas cannot coexist.
Scripture consistently points us toward curiosity over judgment, toward welcome over exclusion, toward love over fear. This is not a peripheral suggestion. It is central to what it means to follow Christ. It defines what it means to be a Christian.
What Philippians Teaches Us About Fear
Philippians 4:4-9 offers a practical framework for navigating anxiety and the unknown. Paul urges rejoicing, not because life is always easy, but because God is near. He instructs readers not to be anxious about anything, but instead to bring every concern to God in prayer, with thanksgiving. Keep in mind that Paul writes this letter while sitting in a prison in Rome, waiting for his execution. Paul, facing his own death, tells us not to be anxious.
That final word is crucial: Thanksgiving. It's more than merely petitioning or listing our needs before God; it's about approaching Him with thankfulness for what we already possess. This shift from focusing on scarcity to embracing gratitude is one of the most potent remedies against fear.
The passage goes on to instruct us to fix our minds on whatever is true, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, and commendable. In a culture saturated with anxiety-inducing noise, this is a radical act. To deliberately choose to dwell on what is good, what is worthy of praise, what reflects the character of God in a Roman society that praises wealth, power, and excess. This is not naive optimism. It is a spiritual discipline. And the promise attached to this practice is: the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard our hearts and minds. We do not face our fears alone.
The Next Faithful Step
Faith has always been rooted in trust rather than certainty. Abram did not have a clear destination, but he trusted the one guiding him. That difference is what truly matters.
Life rarely unfolds according to our plans. Circumstances shift. Seasons change. The path we mapped out in our minds turns out to look very different on the ground. And in those moments, we face the same choice Abram faced: stay where it is comfortable, or take the next faithful step. The invitation is not to have all the answers. The invitation is to move forward without them anyway, trusting that the God who calls us into the unknown is the same God who walks with us through it.
There is no fear in love. Perfect love drives out fear. And so the antidote to our anxiety about the future, and our discomfort with the stranger, is not more information or more certainty. It is more love. Love that is rooted in the God who first loved us, and who has never once stopped. Take the next step. You do not have to see the whole road.
Humans have a deep-rooted fear of the unknown; whether we call it instinct, nature, or nurture, it's a common feeling. We tend to create routines, seek comfort, and surround ourselves with what is familiar because it feels safe. I often joke that missing breakfast after church can throw off my whole week. However, genuinely significant moments in life often arise not from sticking to the familiar, but from taking steps into uncharted territory that we can't fully understand. That can seem risky at best.
The ancient tale of Abram and Sarai illustrates this same tension. In Genesis 12:1-9, God instructs Abram to leave behind his homeland, family, and father's household and journey toward a land he would later reveal. God did not provide a detailed map beforehand. The destination was unknown, and there was no specific itinerary. All God gave was a command to go accompanied by a promise: “Go, and I will be with you.”
Abram was seventy-five years old when he set out. He gathered his wife, his nephew, his belongings, and his entire life, heading toward an unseen destination. This was no simple task; it was an act of remarkable faith. Abram’s age is significant yet also not, because it highlights that he was already well beyond the average lifespan. Embarking on such a long journey at that age might seem unwise, but it reminds us that it's never too late to heed God’s call or pursue a new, unexplored path. At the same time, the specific age of 75 is likely more symbolic than literal, emphasizing the timeless nature of faith and new beginnings. Abram proves that age is just a number.
That one act of obedience started a story that would last for generations, culminating in the people of Israel, the lineage of Jesus, and the church's existence. Abram never witnessed the complete results of his faithfulness; he did not see God's promises fully come true in his lifetime. Nevertheless, he pressed on because faith isn't about seeing the entire journey; it's about taking the next step for those who will follow.
The Danger of Looking Back
Scripture cautions us against dwelling on the past when God directs us forward. A few chapters later in Genesis, after he and Abram parted ways, Lot is urged to leave his prosperous life in Sodom. As she escapes Sodom's destruction, Lot's wife takes one last look back, a moment that turns her into a symbol of that very desire. She becomes frozen, unable to move into what lies ahead because of her strong attachment to what she left behind. Genesis tells us that she turned into a pillar of salt, that you can go and see today; it's probably just a natural formation, but it looks cool.
This isn't just an ancient issue; we do it too. We mourn the way things once were, comparing the present to an idealized past and often feeling dissatisfied. Phrases like, "It was better before," are common, but they can prevent us from seeing what might be possible now. When someone makes such a statement, I usually ask, “Was it really as good as you remember?” because nostalgia can distort our view, making the past seem better than it actually was.
This doesn't imply that the past isn't worth honoring. Memory and tradition are important. However, there's a distinction between respecting our origins and being enslaved by them. When we concentrate too much on what was, we prevent ourselves from envisioning what might be. God is continually creating something new, but if we are looking backward, we might miss it.
The Stranger We Do Not Know
Fear of the unknown extends beyond circumstances and change. It also encompasses people. We tend to fear what we do not understand, often keeping our distance from individuals whose lives differ from ours. Different background, experiences, or perspectives. This lack of understanding can lead us from confusion to judgment, and from staying apart to hostility.
Here's the uncomfortable truth: when we fear a stranger, it often Reflects more about our own insecurities than their differences. Their differences alone don't hurt us; what hurts is our reluctance to engage, ask questions, listen, and learn. What harm does a stranger who lives differently than you really do to you? Nothing. 99% of the time, they are just living their lives, while we are stuck judging them.
The author of 1 John states this plainly. In 1 John 4:7-21, it’s clear: God is love, and anyone claiming to love God but hating their brothers and sisters is fundamentally contradicting themselves, our faith, and God. You can't profess devotion and love to a God you've never seen while looking down on and refusing to love a person right in front of you. These two ideas cannot coexist.
Scripture consistently points us toward curiosity over judgment, toward welcome over exclusion, toward love over fear. This is not a peripheral suggestion. It is central to what it means to follow Christ. It defines what it means to be a Christian.
What Philippians Teaches Us About Fear
Philippians 4:4-9 offers a practical framework for navigating anxiety and the unknown. Paul urges rejoicing, not because life is always easy, but because God is near. He instructs readers not to be anxious about anything, but instead to bring every concern to God in prayer, with thanksgiving. Keep in mind that Paul writes this letter while sitting in a prison in Rome, waiting for his execution. Paul, facing his own death, tells us not to be anxious.
That final word is crucial: Thanksgiving. It's more than merely petitioning or listing our needs before God; it's about approaching Him with thankfulness for what we already possess. This shift from focusing on scarcity to embracing gratitude is one of the most potent remedies against fear.
The passage goes on to instruct us to fix our minds on whatever is true, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, and commendable. In a culture saturated with anxiety-inducing noise, this is a radical act. To deliberately choose to dwell on what is good, what is worthy of praise, what reflects the character of God in a Roman society that praises wealth, power, and excess. This is not naive optimism. It is a spiritual discipline. And the promise attached to this practice is: the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard our hearts and minds. We do not face our fears alone.
The Next Faithful Step
Faith has always been rooted in trust rather than certainty. Abram did not have a clear destination, but he trusted the one guiding him. That difference is what truly matters.
Life rarely unfolds according to our plans. Circumstances shift. Seasons change. The path we mapped out in our minds turns out to look very different on the ground. And in those moments, we face the same choice Abram faced: stay where it is comfortable, or take the next faithful step. The invitation is not to have all the answers. The invitation is to move forward without them anyway, trusting that the God who calls us into the unknown is the same God who walks with us through it.
There is no fear in love. Perfect love drives out fear. And so the antidote to our anxiety about the future, and our discomfort with the stranger, is not more information or more certainty. It is more love. Love that is rooted in the God who first loved us, and who has never once stopped. Take the next step. You do not have to see the whole road.
Posted in Fear Not