Trust or Cynicism?
The fork in the road after disappointment
We live in an age of cynicism.
Most of us know what it feels like to be let down. A friend may have walked away when we needed them most. A parent or leader we admired may have been living a double life. We may have prayed for relief, only to feel as though God were silent—as if He were ghosting us.
After enough experiences like these, cynicism begins to feel like the only safe option. If I expect the worst, I can’t be hurt again, we tell ourselves. In a world like ours, cynicism often masquerades as wisdom. But it always comes at a cost.
Understandable though it may be, cynicism slowly eats away at us. It replaces hope with suspicion. It shields us from further pain, but it also keeps joy at a distance. The question we must all face is this: after being disappointed by God or others, is it possible to trust again?
Jesus says yes.
He invites us to move from suspicion to faith, from guardedness to openness. He does not ask us to be naïve or to make ourselves doormats to unsafe people. But He does call us to a hope that faces our wounds head on and believes those wounds can be redeemed in Him.
The world we live in makes it easy to treat distrust as a virtue. Confidence in leaders and institutions is at an all-time low. Headlines feed us a steady stream of scandal and corruption, not to mention partisan bias everywhere we turn.
In such a climate, cynicism can feel like the smartest, safest response. But carrying cynicism with us everywhere we go is like refusing to eat because some food might make you sick. You may avoid certain risks, but you also cut yourself off from the nourishment you need—relationships, meaningful connection, and ultimately, your life as it is meant to be lived. This kind of guardedness may keep us from getting hurt, but it can also keep us from being healed.
It is like a porcupine raising its quills whenever it feels threatened. The quills succeed in keeping predators at a distance, but they also make it nearly impossible for friendlier, safer creatures to come close.
Our cynicism works like the porcupine’s quills. It shields us from new wounds but also blocks us from receiving the actual love, grace, and renewal that God wants to give and that our hearts need most.
The late American writer and philosopher David Foster Wallace once gave a sobering warning in a commencement address at Kenyon College:
“There is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And pretty much anything you worship will eat you alive.”
Cynicism, in its own way, is a form of worship. It places our deepest trust in our own biases, suspicions, and interpretations of reality. And like every false god, it devours us instead of delivering us. It keeps us from recognizing real goodness, real intimacy, and real wonder—even when they are right in front of us.
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The good news for us is that the Bible neither sugarcoats our disappointment nor scolds us for feeling it.
Remember the two disciples on the road to Emmaus after Jesus’ crucifixion. They had believed He was the Messiah, but now their hopes seemed buried with Jesus in the tomb. “We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel,” they said. You can hear the cynicism and defeat in their words.
Then the resurrected Jesus Himself appeared to them. At first, they didn’t recognize Him. He asked them questions. He listened carefully to their grief. He walked alongside them. And little by little, He rekindled and revived their faith. By the end of the journey, they said to one another, “Did not our hearts burn within us?”
Based on a personal encounter with the Living Christ, their hope came alive again.
Notice what Jesus didn’t do. He didn’t shame them for doubting. He didn’t scold them for misinterpreting recent events. Instead, He met them, instructed them, and reassured them in the face of their disappointment.
The same was true for Thomas, who flatly refused to believe unless he could see and touch the wounds himself. When Jesus appeared, He did not speak down to him. He showed Thomas His scars. And Thomas, overwhelmed by the grace of that moment, declared, “My Lord and my God!”
Jesus did add, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believed.” But first, He met Thomas in the hurting place where he was. The risen Christ, still bearing His scars, became living proof that even the worst pain and betrayal—the cross of brutality and death—will be overturned by God.
Jesus meets us in our disappointment, too. He does not dismiss our pain or shame us for wrestling with doubt. He walks with us—scars, doubts, hangups, and all—and restores our hope as He reminds us of the many reasons He has given us to trust Him.
So how do we move from cynicism to trust? Scripture points us toward several small but significant steps:
First, bring your disappointments directly to God. Real faith doesn’t avoid God or pretend everything is fine; it starts with honesty. The Psalms are filled with lament, anger, questions, and confusion. These are prayers God Himself inspired and welcomes us to pray back to Him, again and again, as if they were our own. God is neither insecure nor defensive nor easily offended. He can handle our raw honesty—and He invites it.
Second, practice active gratitude. Cynicism trains us to see only what is bad and broken. Gratitude trains our eyes to see what is good, and how God works all things—even the hardest and ugliest things—together for good for those who love Him. Writing from prison, Paul urges us to dwell on what is “true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, and commendable.” Gratitude doesn’t deny harsh and ugly realities; it simply refuses to give them the final word.
Third, take small risks in community. Cynicism says, “Never trust again.” But healing comes through connection and restored trust in healthy, safe relationships. The early Christians were far from perfect, yet they were united by the gospel and the Spirit. When we risk reaching out, serving, and showing up again, we give God space to heal us through those connections.
Choosing to trust in a cynical age is not easy. But it can be an act of courage. Trust is not blind optimism; it is the decision to place our pain, our confusion, and our future into God’s hands.
The prophet Jeremiah, who lived through one of Israel’s darkest seasons and was treated harshly by people in his own community, wrote:
“Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail” (Lamentations 3:21–22).
Hope is not pretending that reality isn’t broken. Hope is believing that God’s grace is greater than what is broken in people, places, and things.
If cynicism has become your shield, try setting it down—maybe not all at once, but inch by inch. Take one small risk of faith, even if it feels a little scary. What would that one step be?
Then take another, and another.
As you do, I pray the same Jesus who met Thomas in his doubt and the Emmaus travelers in their disillusionment will meet you as well. The Lord does not promise a life free of disappointment or hurt. But He does promise never to leave you or forsake you (Hebrews 13:5).
And that promise is strong enough to help you learn, slowly over time, to trust again.
How Can I Encourage You?
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Gratitude to God for merely allowing us to share in His glory - let alone any people, comforts, or other gifts He provides - is somewhat of a master key to avoiding the depths of multiple negative emotions. If I’m not putting Christ and His will for me first, gratitude is difficult. If I am, it’s second nature. And in my ongoing conversation with Him, I can recognize many blessings and provide thanks in real time. Praise Him!