Growing up, I remember more than one man who, when appointed to lead Sunday morning’s closing prayer, would always conclude the final benediction along these lines: “and keep us all safe until the next appointed time.” What innocent-sounding heretics we are.
Maybe I overstated that. But I want your attention.
There’s nothing wrong with praying for protection. The Bible is filled with those kinds of prayers. But the problem with praying for “safety” is that safety itself is an incredibly ambiguous thing. When you open the Bible and read the prayers of protection, they are almost always prayed in response to something specific—some clear and imminent peril.
David prays, “Rescue me from my enemies, O God” (Psalm 59:1a, NIV). He writes, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil” (Psalm 23:4, NIV). Paul asked the churches to pray “that we may be delivered from wicked and evil people” (2 Thessalonians 3:2, NIV). And Jesus himself taught his disciples to pray, “Deliver us from the evil one” (Matthew 6:13, NIV).
“The problem with praying for ‘safety’ is that safety itself is an incredibly ambiguous thing.”
These are not vague requests for comfort or insulation from difficulty. They are cries from people exposed to real danger—whose lives are on the line, whose souls are in anguish, whose feet are traversing the valley where long mortal shadows fall.
Praying for safety isn’t sinful—but it can easily become that.
After all, we’re living in a time when safety has become one of the last remaining moral absolutes. In a culture that relativizes nearly every value and even denies basic truths, there is little consensus left. But “safety”—that’s one thing nearly everyone agrees on. Religious, secular, pagan, atheist, agnostic—we’ve all quietly elevated safety to the level of supreme value. What the late Tim Keller would call an “ultimate thing.”
And when a good thing becomes the greatest thing, it becomes an idol.
“We’re living in a time when safety has become one of the last remaining moral absolutes.”
Without even realizing it, just think how often we organize our lives—and even our prayers—around the pursuit of comfort, control, and risk-avoidance. We stop asking God to make us holy and start asking Him just to make us “safe,” keep our kids “safe,” our grandchildren “safe.” We begin to think the goal of our faith is to be protected from suffering and preserved from discomfort, when in reality, Scripture tells us the goal is to be conformed to the image of Christ (Romans 8:29). And Christ’s path included suffering, rejection, and a cross.
Let’s not forget how the Bible pictures God’s protection. Psalm 91:4a (NIV) says, “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge.” It’s a tender and beautiful image—a mother bird sheltering her chicks under her wing. But the point of that wing is not to stay there forever. It’s to grow strong enough to fly. If the chick stays under the wing, it never matures. It never fulfills its purpose.
God’s protection is real. But it’s formative, not permanent insulation. He shelters us so that we can return to the world, taking flight: braver, wiser, stronger, and more faithful. He’s made us for adventure—for risk—for calling, to “mount up with wings like eagles” (Isaiah 40:31).
“He shelters us so that we can return to the world, taking flight: braver, wiser, stronger, and more faithful.”
Jesus told his disciples, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33, NIV). He didn’t say, “Follow me and you’ll be safe.” He said, “Take up your cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:23, NIV). That’s not the language of safety—it’s the language of sacrifice. That’s the language of love. And love always involves risk.
So yes—pray for protection when danger is near. God cares about your needs and hears your cries. Pray for God to protect your wee chicks. But don’t treat safety like it’s the goal of life. The goal is to know Christ and to make Him known (Philippians 3:10). And so often, it’s when we step out of safety—into the unknown, into obedience, beyond our place of comfort, out in the storm—that we meet Him most clearly.
What I’m saying is this: Don’t build your life on the shifting sand of “safety.” And don’t ask God to say yes to idolatrous prayers.
Build your life on the solid rock of Christ (Matthew 7:24–27). That’s the only refuge that lasts.
“For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 16:25).
