When the World Feels Like It’s Falling Apart
If you follow the news for even a few minutes, it’s easy to feel like the world is unravelling. Tensions in the Middle East continue to rise as conflict involving Iran threatens to widen and destabilize an already fragile region. The language of war (retaliation, escalation, deterrence) fills our headlines. Meanwhile, here in America, many people feel a different kind of anxiety simmering just beneath the surface. Economic uncertainty, rising costs, political division, and fears about the future leave many wondering what comes next.
It can feel like we’re living in a moment where the ground itself is shifting. And when the ground shifts, people instinctively start looking for something solid to stand on.
Historically, human beings have tried to anchor themselves in power, in wealth, in political leaders, or in national strength. When the world feels dangerous, we want strong armies, strong economies, strong borders, and strong leaders. Strength promises safety. Control promises stability.
But the strange and unsettling message of Jesus is that the kingdom of God doesn’t operate on those terms. Jesus once said something that feels almost absurd in a world defined by power and uncertainty: ‘Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.’ (Mark 10:15)
Think about that for a moment. In a world dominated by empire, military might, and economic control, Jesus points to a child as the model of how God’s kingdom works. Children don’t control their environment. They don’t command armies. They don’t manipulate markets or political systems. They receive. They trust. They depend.
That doesn’t mean children are naïve about danger or pain, but their posture toward life is fundamentally different from the posture of anxious adults trying to hold everything together.
And that’s exactly where the tension lies for us today.
When war looms in places like Iran and economic uncertainty creeps into everyday life here at home, our instinct is to tighten our grip, to secure ourselves, to control outcomes, and to protect our future. But Jesus points us in another direction. He suggests that the kingdom of God is not entered through control, but through trust.
That doesn’t mean Christians ignore the realities of war or economics. The Bible never asks us to pretend that the world isn’t dangerous. Scripture is full of stories of exile, empire, famine, and conflict. But what the gospel does challenge is where we ultimately locate our security.
Is our hope rooted in geopolitical stability?
In the strength of the American economy?
In military dominance or political power?
Or is it rooted somewhere deeper?
The early Christians lived in a far more unstable world than most of us can imagine. The Roman Empire ruled through military force. Economic systems were fragile and exploitative. Persecution was a constant possibility.
And yet, those early followers of Jesus didn’t build their identity on the stability of Rome.
They believed something else was already happening in the world.
They believed that through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, a different kingdom had begun breaking into history, a kingdom not built on domination, but on reconciliation; not built on violence, but on sacrificial love.
That kind of belief changes how you live in uncertain times. It allows you to acknowledge fear without being ruled by it. It allows you to care deeply about the suffering of the world without collapsing into despair. And it frees you from the illusion that everything depends on your ability to control the future. The posture of childlike faith that Jesus describes is not childish ignorance. It is a radical act of trust in a world that feels unstable.
It is the quiet confidence that even when empires clash and economies shake, God’s kingdom is still moving beneath the surface of history. That’s hard for many of us to accept because we’ve spent our lives learning to depend on our own ability to manage risk and secure our lives. We build systems, plans, savings accounts, policies, and strategies – all good and responsible things. But at the deepest level, Jesus asks us a difficult question: What happens when the systems we trust start to tremble?
War reminds us how fragile peace really is. Economic anxiety reminds us how quickly financial security can shift. And moments like this reveal something about the human condition: we want control, but we rarely have as much as we think we do. That’s why Jesus points us toward a child. Because children know something adults forget. They know how to receive.
They know how to trust. And in a world constantly reminding us of our lack of control, Jesus invites us to rediscover that posture. Not as an escape from reality, but as a deeper way to engage with it.
Take a few moments to reflect on these questions (feel free to answer in the comments):
For more on this topic, listen to The Scandal of Childlike Faith - Episode 186 of the All Saints Podcast
It can feel like we’re living in a moment where the ground itself is shifting. And when the ground shifts, people instinctively start looking for something solid to stand on.
Historically, human beings have tried to anchor themselves in power, in wealth, in political leaders, or in national strength. When the world feels dangerous, we want strong armies, strong economies, strong borders, and strong leaders. Strength promises safety. Control promises stability.
But the strange and unsettling message of Jesus is that the kingdom of God doesn’t operate on those terms. Jesus once said something that feels almost absurd in a world defined by power and uncertainty: ‘Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.’ (Mark 10:15)
Think about that for a moment. In a world dominated by empire, military might, and economic control, Jesus points to a child as the model of how God’s kingdom works. Children don’t control their environment. They don’t command armies. They don’t manipulate markets or political systems. They receive. They trust. They depend.
That doesn’t mean children are naïve about danger or pain, but their posture toward life is fundamentally different from the posture of anxious adults trying to hold everything together.
And that’s exactly where the tension lies for us today.
When war looms in places like Iran and economic uncertainty creeps into everyday life here at home, our instinct is to tighten our grip, to secure ourselves, to control outcomes, and to protect our future. But Jesus points us in another direction. He suggests that the kingdom of God is not entered through control, but through trust.
That doesn’t mean Christians ignore the realities of war or economics. The Bible never asks us to pretend that the world isn’t dangerous. Scripture is full of stories of exile, empire, famine, and conflict. But what the gospel does challenge is where we ultimately locate our security.
Is our hope rooted in geopolitical stability?
In the strength of the American economy?
In military dominance or political power?
Or is it rooted somewhere deeper?
The early Christians lived in a far more unstable world than most of us can imagine. The Roman Empire ruled through military force. Economic systems were fragile and exploitative. Persecution was a constant possibility.
And yet, those early followers of Jesus didn’t build their identity on the stability of Rome.
They believed something else was already happening in the world.
They believed that through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, a different kingdom had begun breaking into history, a kingdom not built on domination, but on reconciliation; not built on violence, but on sacrificial love.
That kind of belief changes how you live in uncertain times. It allows you to acknowledge fear without being ruled by it. It allows you to care deeply about the suffering of the world without collapsing into despair. And it frees you from the illusion that everything depends on your ability to control the future. The posture of childlike faith that Jesus describes is not childish ignorance. It is a radical act of trust in a world that feels unstable.
It is the quiet confidence that even when empires clash and economies shake, God’s kingdom is still moving beneath the surface of history. That’s hard for many of us to accept because we’ve spent our lives learning to depend on our own ability to manage risk and secure our lives. We build systems, plans, savings accounts, policies, and strategies – all good and responsible things. But at the deepest level, Jesus asks us a difficult question: What happens when the systems we trust start to tremble?
War reminds us how fragile peace really is. Economic anxiety reminds us how quickly financial security can shift. And moments like this reveal something about the human condition: we want control, but we rarely have as much as we think we do. That’s why Jesus points us toward a child. Because children know something adults forget. They know how to receive.
They know how to trust. And in a world constantly reminding us of our lack of control, Jesus invites us to rediscover that posture. Not as an escape from reality, but as a deeper way to engage with it.
Take a few moments to reflect on these questions (feel free to answer in the comments):
- When you think about global conflict or economic uncertainty, what fears surface most quickly for you? What do those fears reveal about where you look for security?
- In what ways might Jesus’ invitation to receive the kingdom “like a child” challenge the way you normally respond to uncertainty or instability?
- What would it look like this week to practice trust in God in a practical way: through prayer, generosity, peace-making, or refusing to live in constant anxiety?
For more on this topic, listen to The Scandal of Childlike Faith - Episode 186 of the All Saints Podcast
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