Before Anyone Else Rejects Us...

Fear of rejection often convinces us to do the work ourselves before anyone has the chance.

Before You Read Today’s Reflection...

Want to hear something funny?

In an article about fear of rejection, I almost talked myself out of including an invitation to support this publication.

Seriously.

I wrote it.

Deleted it.

Wrote it again.

Deleted it again.

The irony was not lost on me.

After all, if today’s reflection is about the ways fear convinces us to stay hidden, it would be a little strange for me to spend 2,500 words encouraging all of you to step forward while I quietly stepped backward.

So here goes.

If Message From the Margins has become a meaningful part of your week, if these reflections have helped you think more deeply, pray more honestly, or navigate life with a little more clarity and hope, I would be grateful if you considered becoming a paid subscriber.

I believe that this work matters.

It matters to me, and judging by the messages I receive every day, I believe that it matters to many of you as well.

Paid subscriptions help fund the time, research, writing, technology, and future projects that allow this ministry to continue growing.

And if you’re already a paid subscriber, thank you.

Truly.

You are helping build something that reaches far beyond a newsletter.

Now, let’s talk about fear, hiding, and a woman who reached for the hem of Christ’s garment.

Your Brother in Christ,

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The Lie That Keeps Us Hidden

Fear of rejection does more than hurt us. It can keep us from the very places where God is trying to meet us.

As many of you know, the community we’re building here matters a great deal to me.

More than I probably admit.

This publication one year old on Wednesday, which honestly feels impossible.

What began as a handful of reflections has become a genuine community of people trying to live thoughtful, faithful lives in a noisy world. Every day I hear from readers who tell me these essays have become part of their morning routine, helped them through a difficult season, or given them language for questions they have carried for years.

I do not take that lightly.

When you tell me this work matters, it stirs me forward.

Which makes what I’m about to tell you even more ridiculous.

Over the past year, I have read article after article about how to grow a publication on Substack.

The advice is remarkably consistent.

Reach out to other writers.

Introduce yourself.

Build relationships.

Ask about reciprocal recommendations.

In other words, send an email to someone in a position similar to mine.

I have written that email approximately one hundred times in my head.

I have not sent it once.

Not once.

I could give you a long list of reasons.

Maybe they’re too busy.

Maybe they’ll think the publication is too small.

Maybe they’ll criticize my theology.

Maybe they don’t like my religious affiliation.

Maybe they’ll say no without a second thought.

But if I’m being honest, all of those explanations eventually collapse into one thing.

Fear of rejection.

Before another writer has the opportunity to reject me, I do all the work of rejecting myself.

The more I’ve thought about that, the more I’ve become convinced that fear of rejection is not merely an emotional struggle.

It is also a spiritual one.

God’s desire for us is always human flourishing.

Now… before anyone starts picturing yachts, private islands, and prosperity gospel promises, that is not what I mean.

Human flourishing is not a guarantee of comfort, wealth, success, or an easy life.

It is becoming more fully who God created us to be.

It is moving deeper into the heart of Christ.

It is growing into the vocation God has placed before us.

It is learning to love well.

It is learning to trust well.

It is learning to become fully alive.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve written about this idea because I believe it is deeply important.

God is always drawing us forward.

Not necessarily toward ease, but toward growth.

Not necessarily toward certainty, but toward faithfulness.

The story of the road to Emmaus captures something of this.

The disciples were heartbroken.

They thought they knew how the story would end.

They were wrong.

Christ was already walking beside them.

They did not recognize Him yet, but He was there all the same.

I sometimes wonder how many Emmaus moments we miss because fear convinces us to remain silent. We keep walking in our own personal disappointments rather than talking to the stranger beside us.

Not because Christ is absent.

Because we never engage.

We never ask.

We never reach.

We never step forward.

We stay where we are.

That word, stay, may be one of the most powerful words in the spiritual life.

Because from the beginning of Scripture, one of the enemy’s most effective strategies has been persuading people to hide.

Notice what happens after Adam and Eve eat the forbidden fruit.

God comes looking for them.

Adam responds, “I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked (exposed, vulnerable); so I hid.” (Genesis 3:10, NIV)

Fear.

Then hiding.

The serpent’s greatest victory was not convincing them to eat a piece of fruit.

It was convincing them that God could no longer be trusted.

It was convincing them to hide from the very One who was searching for them.

That pattern repeats throughout Scripture.

And it appears again in one of my favorite Gospel stories.

A woman suffering from chronic bleeding pushes her way through a crowd because she believes that if she can only touch the edge of Jesus’ cloak, she will be healed.

For twelve years she has lived with pain.

For twelve years she has lived with exclusion.

For twelve years she has carried the social and spiritual burden of being considered unclean.

Twelve years is a long time.

Long enough for disappointment to settle into your bones.

Long enough to stop expecting things to change.

Long enough to watch other people move freely through the world while you remain stuck at the margins.

Long enough for hope to become dangerous.

By the time she reaches Jesus, she has every reason to stay hidden.

And yet she reaches anyway.

She does not stand in front of the crowd and make a speech.

She does not demand attention.

She reaches from behind.

Almost as though she hopes to receive grace without being noticed.

Then Jesus stops.

Not to embarrass her.

Not to shame her.

Not to expose her.

He stops so that she can be restored not only physically but relationally.

And then He calls her “Daughter.”

Think about that.

A woman who had likely spent years feeling invisible, isolated, and unwanted is publicly claimed as family.

The enemy’s lie was never merely that she might be rejected.

The deeper lie was that she should remain hidden.

Many of us still believe that lie.

Some of us are hiding grief.

Some of us are hiding loneliness.

Some of us are hiding wounds we have carried for years because we are afraid that if people really knew us, they would step away.

Some of us are hiding gifts God placed in us long ago because somewhere along the way we became convinced nobody wanted them.

Some of us have become so accustomed to hiding that we mistake it for humility.

I wonder how many emails, conversations, prayers, friendships, ministries, and callings never happen because we do the work of rejection for everyone else.

We tell ourselves that if we step forward, we might be rejected.

So we never discover what waits on the other side of faithfulness.

Of course, there is an obvious objection.

What happens when rejection actually comes?

Because sometimes it does.

Sometimes the email goes unanswered.

Sometimes the relationship ends.

Sometimes the opportunity disappears.

Sometimes the answer is no.

Jesus understands rejection too.

In Luke’s Gospel, a Samaritan village refuses to welcome Him.

Most discussions of that passage focus on James and John wanting to call down fire from heaven.

Their reaction gets all the attention.

But I’ve become increasingly interested in Jesus’ reaction.

He simply leaves and goes to the next village.

No vengeance.

No self-pity.

No crisis of identity.

No conclusion that His mission has failed.

A village rejected Him.

He refused to let a village become a verdict.

That image has stayed with me.

Because if you’ve ever been rejected, you know the voice that often follows close behind.

Nobody wants you.

Nobody cares.

Stop trying.

Stop reaching.

Stop showing up.

Stop believing God has anything meaningful left for you to do.

That voice has existed since Eden.

And it is a liar.

The Christian life does not promise freedom from rejection.

Jesus never promised that.

The Christian life offers something far better.

It offers the assurance that rejection is not the end of the story.

The Samaritan village was not the end of Christ’s ministry.

The cross was not the end of Christ’s ministry.

And the rejection you have experienced is not the end of yours.

I suspect many of us spend far more time avoiding rejection than actually experiencing it.

We reject ourselves before anyone else gets the chance.

The woman with the hemorrhage could have remained hidden.

Nobody would have blamed her.

After twelve years, hiding probably felt safer.

Instead, she reached.

The Christian life often looks like that.

Not certainty.

Not fearlessness.

Not having all the answers.

Just reaching.

Again and again.

Reaching toward the Christ who has been moving toward us all along.

Fear says hide.

Christ says come with me.

And every time we choose to reach instead of retreat, we discover that grace has already arrived before we did.

Five Practices for This Week

1. Identify one conversation you’ve been avoiding because you’re afraid of the outcome. Have it.

Not perfectly. Not eloquently. Just honestly.

2. Read Luke 8:43-48 and pay attention to Jesus’ response to the woman, not merely her healing.

Notice how quickly He moves from miracle to relationship.

3. Spend five minutes in prayer asking one question:

“Lord, where am I hiding right now?”

Then listen longer than feels comfortable.

4. Reach out to one person you’ve been meaning to contact.

No elaborate agenda. No perfect words. Simply make contact.

5. At the end of each day, write down one small step you took toward faithfulness.

Not success.

Not achievement.

Faithfulness.

The two are not always the same thing.

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Now It’s Your Turn…

I’m curious what this reflection stirred up for you.

Have you ever talked yourself out of something before anyone else had the chance to say yes or no?

Was there a friendship, opportunity, calling, conversation, creative project, relationship, prayer, or act of courage that fear convinced you not to pursue?

Or perhaps you’re standing in front of one of those moments right now.

What is the “email” you haven’t sent?

What is the next step you’ve been postponing?

What would it look like to reach anyway?

I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

One of the things I treasure most about this community is that we learn from one another. Some of the most insightful reflections I’ve encountered over the last two years haven’t come from me. They’ve come from readers willing to share their own stories, struggles, and wisdom.

So tell us:

Where has fear tempted you to stay hidden?

And where have you discovered grace after deciding to step forward?

If today’s reflection brought someone to mind, consider sharing it with them. There is a good chance you know someone who has been carrying this particular struggle in silence.

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A Prayer

Lord Jesus,

You know every place where fear has taken root in our hearts.

You know the conversations we avoid, the risks we refuse, the wounds we carry, and the parts of ourselves we would rather keep hidden.

You know how easy it is for us to believe that rejection defines us.

You know how often we assume closed doors before we ever knock.

Teach us to recognize the difference between wisdom and fear.

Teach us to hear Your voice more clearly than the voices that tell us to stay hidden.

When we are tempted to withdraw from life, remind us that You walked among crowds, touched the wounded, spoke with strangers, and continued forward even when people turned You away.

Give us courage to take the next faithful step, even when we cannot see the whole path.

Help us trust that Your presence is not limited by our uncertainty, our mistakes, or our fears.

And when rejection comes, as it sometimes will, keep us from believing that it is the end of the story.

Lead us forward, closer to You, closer to the people You have called us to love, and closer to the life You created us to live.

Like the woman who stretched out her hand through the crowd, teach us to reach for You even when we are afraid.

Teach us to trust that Your grace is already moving toward us long before we ever begin moving toward You.

We ask this in Your holy name.

Amen.

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A Quick Behind-the-Scenes Note

As I mentioned at the beginning of today’s reflection, this publication turns one year old this week.

Honestly, that feels a little surreal.

When I started writing these reflections, I really only had one goal in mind. I was trying to create the kind of space I wished existed, a place where faith could be thoughtful without becoming academic, compassionate without becoming shallow, and honest without becoming cynical.

Over the past year, that small idea has become a real community.

Every day, people from different denominations, different backgrounds, and different life experiences gather here to wrestle with questions that matter.

That’s not something I take for granted.

In many ways, we’re still at the beginning.

There are more essays to write.

More conversations to have.

More resources to build.

More people who need to know they are not crazy for wanting a faith that can engage both the heart and the mind.

The paid subscribers make that possible.

They help fund the time, research, writing, technology, and future projects that allow this work to keep growing.

If these reflections have become part of your routine, if they’ve helped you see God, yourself, or the world a little more clearly, I would invite you to consider becoming a paid subscriber.

You’ll help build something that is already making a difference in people’s lives.

And if you’re already a paid subscriber, thank you.

You are one of the reasons this little corner of the internet still exists.

Now, onward.

We’ve got work to do.