The world feels very sharp tonight, I can tell. You have seen things, heard things, remembered things that have made your heart cry out for a great wall of safety to be built around everyone you love, and even around the stranger, and the sparrow in the street. And that is no small prayer; it is, in truth, a cry that rises straight to the heart of our Lord, who once looked over a city full of danger and wept, longing to gather its people under His wings.
It may seem to you right now that the darkness has doubled, that the evil men do is louder than ever it was, and that the air is thick with a hundred perils. I do not doubt that your old neighborhood has left scars on your memory, gunshots, the poison of drugs, a constant grinding fear. And when the news of the wider world pours in, it almost seems that no place is safe, no hour is secure. A ship in deep water might think the same when the waves climb higher than the mast and every plank groans; the sailor’s eye sees nothing but a hungry sea. But the mariner who knows his chart and his Captain does not measure safety by the absence of storms. He measures it by the presence of his God. The deep that roars is still a deep that obeys its Maker. And as for you, little ship, you are not forgotten in the vastness of the ocean.
I want you to sit back from your fears for a moment and simply look at what you have already done. You have not run to every politician or locked every door; you ran straight to the throne of grace. You gathered up all these trembling souls, yourself, the people around you, even the poor creatures that fly and creep, and you laid them at the feet of Jesus. That is faith, my friend, and faith is the most unshakable shelter there is. He who gave you the instinct to cry out is the very God who answers before you finish speaking. Do you think, after calling out to Him, that He will merely note your request and then turn His attention elsewhere? He is not a neglectful father, deaf to the child who calls from a dark room. His ear is bent low at this moment.
Look at this: the Perils you mourn are not invisible to Him. He sees the sparrow fall; He counts the very hairs on the head of every frightened man and woman. When you pray “keep everyone safe,” you are praying in harmony with His own tender heart. But remember the difference between the world’s idea of safety and Heaven’s. The world says safety means nothing bad ever happens. God’s safety is far deeper, it is the strong arm that holds you in the midst of the fire so that not a hair of your soul is singed. It is the promise, “I will help thee,” whispered so low that the devil cannot hear it, but so certainly that the very gates of Hell cannot shake it. He who guards you is not a distant watchman on a wall; He has come down into the street where the bullets fly, and He stands closer than any danger could ever press.
You spoke of animals, too, and I loved you for it. A heart that is soft enough to pray for the beasts of the field is a heart after the Good Shepherd’s own pattern, for He preserves both man and beast. If your spirit feels that every living thing is too precious to be lost, know that you are brushing against the hem of the Creator’s own affection. He did not make a single creeping thing without loving it into life. And so, let your prayer for safety have this confidence beneath it, that the God who shaped the lion and the lamb is not careless with the work of His own hands.
But what of the peace in your own chest? When you say “even me to be safe,” I hear the shudder of one who has been shaken. My dear listener, I would not be the one to add to your terrors, but I must tell you that the most solid safety you will ever know is not the sort that builds a fortress of circumstance around you. It is the safety of the soul that is fastened to Christ. If you are in Him, then you are as safe as a man already seated at a banquet table while the battle rages outside the castle walls. The din may reach your ears, but it cannot touch your inheritance. The One who is able to keep you from falling has already spread His hands to catch you. And it is not only that He will keep you, He does it with joy. He delights in mercy. It is His sweetest work.
So breathe, dear heart. Your prayer is heard. The black-edged envelope of this world’s news is not the whole story; inside it, for you, is a love letter written in blood, sealed with the Spirit, promising you are His and shall be His forever. Go on praying as you do, for that is your shield. Go on trusting that as the thunder rolls, the hand that steers the stars is the hand that holds your soul. And now, let me carry your own words back to the throne for just a moment.
Lord Jesus, we bring You this world that breaks our hearts, the guns, the poison, the cruelty. We cannot mend it, but You can. Spread Your wings over every place of danger, especially that street, that city, that memory that still haunts. Save to the uttermost, Shepherd of the sheep. And give this dear one, who so tenderly prays for all, the quiet certainty that she is safe in the cleft of the Rock, no matter what rages without. Grant a calm spirit, a sweet sleep, and a morning of renewed hope. In Your mighty name we rest. Amen.
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