PILGRIMS OR PREPPERS?

They lived every day like the end was near and Jesus’s return was imminent. They met in basements and hidden rooms, signaling their faith with secret symbols like the Ichthys. They were at odds with the government and the elites, facing persecution at the hands of the Romans and Jews alike. Many of them sold all their belongings and lived communally to further the mission. Even Jesus planned escape routes and the disciples carried swords.

It is easy to forget that churches haven’t always had steeples and stained-glass windows. Despite how privileged we are today, Christians are still called to be prepared for persecution. Peace must not be interpreted as permanence. The Great Commission is not contingent on clear skies, cultural approval, political climate, or economic stability.

It is true; this world is not our home, and we are but pilgrims passing through a foreign land. God is far more concerned with the state of our heart than the state of our bug-out bag. And you’d be hard-pressed to find a verse justifying a fallout shelter stockpiled with ammo and MREs. But that doesn’t mean our emergency plans should start and stop with our employer’s insurance package.

Perhaps the distance between pilgrim and prepper isn’t as great as some may think. Readiness does not have to be a rejection of faith; it can be an expression of it. Preparing for hard times does not have to be based on fear. It can be based on love—for neighbor, for calling, for the Gospel itself. After all, the measures taken by the early church were to better serve the world, not flee from it. Looking to Scripture, we see time and time again that spiritual faithfulness demands physical readiness.

Arguably, the most iconic depiction of preparedness is the Ark. The greatest disaster in history demanded the greatest endeavor of preparation. Instead of fear, the key to Noah’s preparedness was obedience. He trusted God even though no one around him saw any reason to act. Decades were spent getting ready for something that was, by human understanding, entirely unprecedented.

What makes Noah’s example powerful is not the size of the ark, but the patience of the builder. Preparedness is rarely glamorous. It is slow and it lacks the instant gratification we have become so fond of. But if he waited until the rain had started, it would have been too late. And the same is true for us. Not unlike the time of Noah, people today live in apathy. During a disaster, when the others are drowning in fear, Christians ought to be the ones with lifeboats. But they must be built before the rain comes.

Another portrait of preparedness in Scripture is Joseph’s tenure as advisor to Pharaoh. After interpreting Pharaoh’s dream—seven years of plenty followed by seven years of famine—he didn’t curse God, he didn’t flee Egypt, and he didn’t hoard food for himself. Joseph began to prepare. He built storehouses and put away a fifth of the harvest. By saving grain, he was saving lives.

For Christians today, Joseph’s example shows that preparedness can be a means of participating in God’s providence. He recognized that the position he held was not for his own benefit, but for the benefit of others. His preparation was an act of stewardship instead of an act of self-preservation. We too must be stewards of whatever position God has placed us in. Certainly, the abundance in our land and our lives today dwarves that of Joseph’s.

Scripture also makes it clear that we are responsible for carrying out God’s will no matter what obstacles we face. When Nehemiah heard Jerusalem’s walls had fallen, he embraced both prayer and action. He prayed and fasted to discern the will of God, then he left everything behind to rebuild the walls. Threats loomed on every side, and the work was slow and vulnerable. So, he worked with a trowel in one hand and a sword in the other. He organized his people, assigned tasks, prepared supplies, and set defenses. He trusted that the work was God’s, but he also took responsibility for defending it.

Christians show that same resolve today when we prepare thoughtfully for disruption. Not to escape difficulty, but to remain present in the midst of it. If we wait until it is convenient to share the Gospel, then we may lose the opportunity, or never even get started. Like Nehemiah, we are called to be servants of the Lord, even when the work is contested. Preparedness means equipping ourselves to move forward despite resistance—to take up the work God has given us and not abandon it in the face of adversity.

Even though we know these stories well, there is still good cause to approach preparedness with discretion. Today’s prepper stereotype exists for a reason (and it’s not their altruism). It is dangerously easy for prudence to curdle into fear and for wisdom to rot into worriment. In Luke 12, Jesus tells His disciples not to worry about what they will eat or wear, pointing to the ravens and the wildflowers that neither toil nor store, yet are sustained by the Father.

He doesn’t tell us that planning ahead is sinful, just that anxiety can masquerade as foresight. What begins as stewardship can become self-reliance, and we run the risk of replacing trust in God with trust in gear. Jesus asked, “Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?” Fear corrupts, and it always demands more—more stockpiling, more suspicion, more withdrawal from the world.

Yet faith demands just the opposite. It moves us outward, into the world. It loosens our grip. It lets go of the illusion that we can be our own saviors. “Seek the Kingdom of God above all else,” Jesus said, “and he will give you everything you need.” Here he calls us not to ignore reality, but to root ourselves in one deeper. Faith is the foundation on which preparedness must rest. But faith without works is dead.

When we find ourselves caught in a crisis, Jesus’s mandate to clothe the naked, feed the hungry, care for the sick, and above all proclaim the gospel can’t take a backseat. In fact, that’s when it is most urgent. Preparedness, then, is work that enables our faith. Is there a better opportunity to share the good news than when those around us have no hope for the future? Is there a greater need for a helping hand than when those around us have lost everything?

But if we are destitute alongside them, our capacity to serve is severely diminished. We cannot offer tangible grace if we ourselves are overwhelmed and empty-handed. To store what may be needed is to love those who will need it. In order to witness through faith and works, we must be ready spiritually and physically.

Looking out for others is a vital part of preparedness, but keeping ourselves alive is no less noble. Throughout the Apostle Paul’s ministry, he faced beatings, shipwrecks, imprisonment, and constant threats from enemies of the Gospel, yet he fought to survive everything thrown his way. Paul did not cling to life out of fear, but he endured hardship so that he might continue serving, preaching, and growing the Church. Preparedness serves to extend our calling, not our comfort.

Paul also acknowledges another facet of preparedness the Christian must contend with. He wrote in 1 Timothy 5 that those who do not provide for their relatives and the members of their household have “denied the faith” and are “worse than unbelievers.” Again, we are not absolved of these obligations when caught off guard by disaster. If we love those whom God has entrusted to our care, then we will be prepared for their sake.

It is no secret we live in a fallen world marked by uncertainty, fragility, and pain. We know that trials and tribulations are not exceptions, but certainties in a world groaning under the weight of sin. Crises, disasters, and emergencies are all constants of the human condition. In just the past few years, we have seen hurricanes tear apart cities, floods swallow communities, wildfires scorch millions of acres, conflicts abroad displace entire populations, and a pandemic suffocate the entire planet—all reminders that we inhabit a world that is broken.

And yet, for the Christian, this broken world is not our home. Our hope is not anchored in the stability of this life, but in Christ’s promises of restoration, redemption, and resurrection. However, that hope does not excuse us from the present. It equips us for it. While we wait for the fullness of God’s kingdom, we are called to serve, to build, to love, and to endure. We ought not simply be spectators to the world’s pain, but rather, stewards of God’s mercy within it.

Preparedness is the natural outworking of a heart that takes seriously the brokenness of the world, the urgency of the Gospel, and the call to love our neighbors in both word and deed. The early Church understood this. They lived as outsiders, outcasts, and extremists, focused on the reality that the Son of Man is drawing near. They were undeterred by persecution and unwavering in their mission. If we dismiss preparedness as paranoia, then we forget what came before us and ignore what could come after us. Thus, a Christian ought to be both a pilgrim and a prepper: focused on eternity, but ready for the dangers at hand.