The Real Safest place

 2026_03_14

Proverbs 18:10 (NKJV) The name of the Lord is a strong tower; The righteous run to it and are safe.

Psalm 46:1 (NKJV) God is our refuge and strength, A very present help in trouble.

Psalm 91:1-2 (NKJV) He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust.”

Galatians 5:1 (NKJV) Stand fast therefore in the liberty by which Christ has made us free, and do not be entangled again with a yoke of bondage.

 

Last week, while sending my daughter to gymnastics class, a thought suddenly dawned on me: the safest place is actually if we have a set of rules to follow. Sometimes, it really is our safest place. Humans like to find themselves in a very safe place. Sometimes when we follow the crowd, we feel very safe. Or sometimes when we have a set of rules to follow and we follow them, we find security in that. Or sometimes when we conform to certain practices, certain traditions, we feel very safe—because it gives us a certain identity, or it feels like a security blanket.

There is something deeper we often overlook: humans are drawn to conformity, much like ships staying close together through a storm. Psychological research—most notably Solomon Asch's experiments in the 1950s—demonstrates this clearly. Participants, faced with an obvious correct answer, still chose the wrong one when the group around them did. Roughly three-quarters conformed at least once, not out of conviction, but to avoid isolation or disapproval. In cultures that value harmony, such as Japan, this tendency grows even stronger. So we follow crowds, rules, traditions—not always from desire, but because it offers protection, a quiet sense of safety in numbers.

This instinct shows up even in some organizations—where, out of a deep desire to belong, we sometimes adopt practices or traditions passed down from those before us, often without fully understanding why they began in the first place. This is normal because we may not have the first-hand experience to start off with. However, some of us may continue with these practices, but may not have experienced the pioneering drive that led to this tradition in the beginning.

And when someone newly joins the organization, there is a natural, almost instinctive pull—just to fit in, to do what everyone else is doing. It is the easiest way to become part of the group. The person will feel safe when they do that.

Sometimes these practices and traditions can become so familiar, so much a part of our daily life, that they start to feel like a second Bible to us. We may even begin to think they are the very heart of our faith—because the apparent action looks more real than what we read at times. And everyone around us seems to be practicing one way or another, in a very similar way. So it can somehow—sometimes without us even realising—become a form of religious practice.

Take, for example, how the Spirit once moved people—think of those early believers in Acts, filled and fired up, ready to leave everything behind for the Kingdom. That passion drove whole generations in many places: careers paused, lives reshaped, all because the Holy Spirit was alive in them.

But over time, in some organisations, the focus shifts. The Spirit isn't spoken of as much—not because anyone meant to push Him aside, but because habits settle in. People keep doing the same things—serving, gathering, giving—because it's what they've always done. Human nature loves routine. And it feels very safe doing it... to the extent that we may have accidentally forgotten about the Holy Spirit.

Yet without the constant going back to God to be refreshed in His presence, without that ongoing advocacy of the Holy Spirit in our lives, the drive becomes ours alone. We push on with effort, with good intentions—maybe even with loud enthusiasm—because leaders rally us, because we've learned to be "on fire" as part of the culture. But it can turn mechanical. The same zeal starts to feel forced, rigid. Burnout may creep in. And sometimes, when we reach out—sharing faith, inviting others—we do it more out of habit than heart. It may look good on the surface, however, it may not even be driven by the Spirit to start off with at this point.

So here's what strikes me: the actions themselves can look exactly the same as when the Spirit first started them. Back then, it was all from the fire of God. But however, it may look the same on the outside—yet underneath, the basis may have changed. What used to be His Spirit that moves us may have become our own push, our routine, our effort. The outward manifestation is the same, however the basis behind it may differ.

And honestly, nobody can really look inside and say for sure: "This is the Spirit," or "This isn't." Even I can't—I'm not in a place to judge. But there are signs. When it's just us pushing, people start burning out. They get tired, rigid, maybe even quiet about it—like the joy leaks out. But when it's the Spirit? There's always renewal—fresh wind, even in the same work. People stay soft, stay open. They rest, they laugh, they keep going without forcing it. That's how we know. Not by pointing fingers—just by watching what happens over time.

And honestly, nobody can really look inside another's heart and say for sure: "This is the Spirit," or "This isn't." Even I can't—I'm not the one to judge, neither am I worthy enough to do it. But here's what I want to share: sometimes, without us noticing, the Spirit isn't the driving force anymore. It's more the comfort of doing the same thing over and over—because we're creatures of habit, because it feels right. And to some extent, unbeknownst to us, we have accidentally slipped into something religious. Not because we're want to—just because the familiar took over.

And honestly, this isn't new—even in biblical times, it happened. The Pharisees started with good intentions. They wanted to follow God and to keep His Law perfectly. They studied it, lived it, taught it—because it gave them a real sense of safety, a security they tied closely to pleasing God. With all that knowledge, they felt protected, because they were apparently doing the right thing. But knowledge became their security blanket—more than understanding God's intention, more than really knowing Him. They held the words tight, but missed the essence behind them.

And when Jesus came, showing mercy to the adulteress, healing on the Sabbath, eating with tax collectors and sinners, touching the unclean—things that looked like breaking the rules upfront—the Pharisees saw a threat. To them, He ended up looking more like a heretic, someone who didn't respect the Law they cherished. From their safe place, His actions seemed to topple all the “safe practices” they had been holding to all those years.

Jesus said He did not come to destroy the Law or the Prophets; He came to fulfill them (Matthew 5:17). On the surface, it feels like a contradiction—His actions appeared to set aside the very rules the Pharisees guarded so carefully. How could someone who seemed to disregard the Law so openly claim He was here to complete it? The tension was real for them. His ways shook the safe place they had built.

Jesus understood the heart of the Father perfectly. He knew how much the Father loves people—the adulteress, the sick, the outcasts, the sinners. He knew the Father wants them healed, restored, brought close again. So when Jesus showed mercy, healed on the Sabbath, ate with sinners, it wasn't breaking the Law. It was living the deepest reason the Law was given in the first place: to protect and draw people back to God's love and presence. The rules were never meant to keep people away from God! Jesus wasn't contradicting the Law; He was showing what it truly points to—the Father's heart for every person.

Paul later explained this. He said the law is good—holy and righteous and good (Romans 7:12)—but it served as our guardian until Christ came (Galatians 3:24). It kept us in place, showed us our need, and led us toward faith. The law was always pointing toward Him and to the heart of the Father.

And honestly, when I look at this, I see a parallel in us today. We—even I—may be guilty as the Pharisees sometimes, not because we want to be, but because it's so easy to fall back into that.

When we first received salvation, we experienced the joy and the freedom. We rested in His grace, in His love. But over time, we started to shift. Instead of staying focused on our salvation and relying on Him, we start leaning on our works, our routines, our good practices, because they may feel safer and easier, like a security blanket we can control.

This is not God's desire for us. He wants us to step out of this apparent safety net, this fake comfort zone, and take a bold step of faith into His true comfort—His embrace.

Romans 7:6 (NKJV) But now we have been delivered from the law, having died to what we were held by, so that we should serve in the newness of the Spirit and not in the oldness of the letter.

2 Corinthians 3:6 (NKJV) who also made us sufficient as ministers of the new covenant, not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.

 

To share an image: a person standing on a high concrete platform, solid and far above the ground. That concrete is like the security we cling to—the traditions, the routines, the culture, anything religious that makes us feel safe. It's cold, hard. On the outside it looks secure, but in fact there's no railing, no fence—just one center pole holding it up. It's subject to a lot of elements: when the wind blows, the person may feel cold; when rain comes, there's no shelter. Yet sometimes he feels very secure in it—the floor seems hard, firm. He may even think as if this is the best he can get, as if there's no better place. But he hasn't known what real security feels like yet—that's just his version of safety at that point of time.

Then the person realized: this isn't where he should be. He came to understand he needed to jump out of this religious comfort and into the hands of God.

But there was a lot of reservation. And honestly, that's normal. Even I tend to have it. Thought like "What if He doesn't catch me? What if I land somewhere worse?" or simply we lack the faith. We tend to hesitate, because letting go means giving up on our existing comfort zone. But God isn't impatient. He's loving. He will still gently wait for us to leap into His embrace.

Finally, he took the step of faith—and stepped out of the concrete platform.

Instead of crashing to the ground, he fell right into the loving hands of the Father. Those hands caught him—not hard like the concrete, but soft, warm, cushioning. The embrace felt better than anything the platform could ever offer. It was comfortable, safe, and real—free from the wind, the rain, the cold that used to reach him up there. In that moment, he realized: the true safest place is in the arms of the Father.

So likewise, in relation to the image, sometimes—including me—we fall victim to religiosity too. We have the illusion that our current practices and traditions are the safest place to be, but we do not realize that in fact they are not. The true safest place is in the presence of God. Wanting to jump out of religious practice isn't as easy as we say. But God urges us gently—because He doesn't want us to suffer under religiosity or lose out on the freedom of our salvation.

Galatians 5:18 (NKJV) But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the law.

And it's not about God pulling us out. He's already there, His hands waiting. All we need is to take the step of faith and step out. Yes, it's easy to talk about—but mentally, it's difficult. It's our choice. We need to make the conscious effort. But God didn't destine us to do it alone. He promised the Holy Spirit to empower us. So in partnership with Him, we surrender ourselves—let Him work in and through us. The question is: are we willing to let the Holy Spirit take control, or do we still want full control? Because only through His power can we find the supernatural strength to take this leap of faith He compels us toward. Let us embrace the power of the Holy Spirit in our life!

John 7:38-39 (NKJV) He who believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, out of his heart will flow rivers of living water. But this He spoke concerning the Spirit, whom those believing in Him would receive...

 

 

John 14:16-17 (NKJV) And I will pray the Father, and He will give you another Helper, that He may abide with you forever—the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees Him nor knows Him; but you know Him, for He dwells with you and will be in you.

John 16:13 (NKJV) However, when He, the Spirit of truth, has come, He will guide you into all truth; for He will not speak on His own authority, but whatever He hears He will speak; and He will tell you things to come.