Doomscrolling and Faith: Breaking the Cycle of Despair

What does it do to our spirit when we feast on fear?

It starts innocently—just a quick check of the headlines. But soon we’re knee-deep in tragedy, outrage, and conflict. One story leads to another, and before we know it, we’ve scrolled through war zones, political meltdowns, climate disasters, and cultural collapse—all before breakfast. The scroll never ends, and neither does the anxiety.

We tell ourselves we’re just staying informed. But information without peace becomes poison. Bad news becomes our daily diet, and fear becomes strangely familiar—an uninvited companion we’ve learned to tolerate. What we consume with our eyes begins to shape our inner world. The heart tightens. The mind races. Joy becomes elusive.

Today’s reflection explores why we’re drawn to this pattern—why it feels oddly comforting to immerse ourselves in the world’s worst—and what it’s doing to our hearts, our minds, and our faith. More importantly, we’ll explore how Scripture invites us into a different rhythm. Not one of denial or disconnection, but of deliberate renewal. A better way to think. A better way to live.

Because here’s the truth: we are not powerless in this age of constant crisis. But we are being formed—slowly, subtly, and deeply. Every scroll is shaping us in some direction. Every headline is a choice: faith or fear? Light or darkness? Hope or despair?

Let’s pause the scroll long enough to ask a better question: What is shaping my soul right now?

Paul wrote these words from prison—a place of isolation, restriction, and injustice. He wasn’t speaking from the comfort of peace, but from the reality of persecution. The early church faced violence from Roman authorities, division within their communities, and the constant pressure of survival in an empire that saw their faith as a threat. And yet, Paul’s instruction to the Philippians wasn’t to fixate on the crisis around them. It wasn’t to endlessly analyze the injustices or brace for the next wave of hardship. His invitation was far more radical: to choose a different mental diet.

This wasn’t denial—it was discipline. Not a rejection of reality, but a redirection of focus. Paul knew that what fills the mind eventually forms the soul. So he urged the church to dwell on what is true, honorable, right, pure, lovely, and admirable—not because the world lacked darkness, but because we don’t fight darkness by staring deeper into it. We resist by holding fast to the light.

Information Overload and the Illusion of Control

We live in an era where news never sleeps. A constant stream of alerts promises security: “If I just know everything, I can handle anything.” Yet the opposite often happens. Our peace erodes, our pulse quickens, and our prayers falter. The early church faced political upheaval too, but Paul urged them to “fix your thoughts” on what is honorable and lovely (Philippians 4:8). In other words, knowledge devoid of wisdom does not safeguard the soul; it suffocates it.

Neurological Hooks of Doomscrolling

Modern psychology shows that every startling headline triggers a hit of dopamine—our brain’s reward signal. That micro‑rush trains us to seek the next jolt, even if it spikes anxiety.^[1] Over time, the brain links distressing content with a sense of vigilance. We feel informed, but we’re being conformed—shaped into reactive, restless people rather than reflective disciples.

Spiritual Deformation

A.W. Tozer warned, “What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.”^[2] If our mental horizon is dominated by fear, then fear—not faith—becomes our functional theology. As C.S. Lewis noted, “The future is something which everyone reaches at the rate of sixty minutes an hour, whatever he does, whoever he is.”^[3] Doomscrolling cannot control tomorrow; it can only corrupt today.

The Call to Redirect Our Gaze

Scripture never denies evil, but it refuses to enthrone it. We are commanded to “set our minds on things above” (Colossians 3:2) and to guard the heart “above all else” (Proverbs 4:23). This disciplined redirection is not escapism; it is resistance. John Stott reminds us that the Word of God must “confront us, disturb our security, and reshape our thinking.”^[4] We fight darkness by feasting on light—meditating on truth until it becomes the default setting of the soul.

The world of the early church was anything but peaceful. Believers lived under the boot of Roman occupation, where corruption was embedded into law, executions were public spectacle, and allegiance to Christ was seen as treason. Following Jesus meant risking livelihood, community standing, and sometimes life itself. And yet—in that storm of injustice and instability—Paul wrote:
“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind” (Romans 12:2).

This wasn’t a call to withdraw—it was a call to resist. To resist being shaped by fear, power, and despair. Paul’s world had plenty of reasons to panic. But his message wasn’t shaped by headlines. It was shaped by heaven.

Fast-forward to today. The scroll of tragedy and outrage runs 24/7—right in our pockets. We don’t have to live under Roman tyranny to feel overwhelmed. Our oppression comes by information overload, chronic disillusionment, and a thousand flashing headlines that whisper: “The world is falling apart.” The tools may have changed, but the spiritual stakes are the same.

Every moment, our attention is being contested. The world shouts for our focus. Christ whispers for our renewal. The battlefield is our mind, and the weapon of resistance is not knowledge alone—but wisdom rooted in Christ.

As Dallas Willard once wrote:

“We live in a culture that has for centuries now cultivated the idea that the skeptical person is always smarter than the one who believes. But today we are suffering from the opposite problem: we believe far too much—and far too easily—especially what we consume passively.”^[5]

This is why Paul didn’t just say, “Don’t conform.” He said, “Be transformed.” That verb—be transformed—is passive in Greek. It means the work is something God does to us when we surrender to Him. We don’t renew our minds by sheer willpower—we allow the Spirit to rewire what the scroll has disordered.

Our ancient brothers and sisters didn’t have smartphones, but they had fears, empires, and endless reasons to despair. Their hope wasn’t in knowing every threat. It was in knowing Christ.

Let that be our hope too.

God doesn’t call us to live with our heads in the sand. He doesn’t ask us to be naïve about the brokenness in the world. But He does ask us to guard our hearts, “for everything you do flows from it” (Proverbs 4:23, NLT). In a culture of endless alerts and algorithmic outrage, our spiritual defenses are worn thin—not by swords, but by screens.

The steady stream of bad news may feel responsible or even noble to keep up with, but it’s not neutral. It shapes how we see the world. It conditions what we expect from life. And most dangerously—it can drown out the gentle, life-giving voice of God.

This is why Scripture urges us to meditate not on catastrophe, but on Christ. The Apostle Paul knew this when he wrote Philippians 4:8—not as a sentimental thought, but as a form of spiritual warfare. In a world trained to expect the worst, choosing to think on what is lovely is an act of holy defiance.

As theologian John Stott warned:

“We must allow the Word of God to confront us, disturb our security, undermine our complacency… and to reshape our thinking.”^[6]

The renewing of the mind is not a passive drift—it is an intentional discipline. As A.W. Tozer observed,

“The neglected heart will soon be a heart overrun with worldly thoughts; the neglected life will soon become a moral chaos.”^[7]

When our minds are saturated in fear, outrage, and cynicism, we lose our sensitivity to the Spirit. But when we fill our minds with what is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, and admirable (Philippians 4:8), we make space for the Holy Spirit to do the work we cannot: healing, renewing, anchoring.

It’s not that evil doesn’t exist. It’s that dwelling on it doesn’t deliver us from it. Only Christ does.

Recognize the Pattern

Every habit starts with a reward loop—what does doomscrolling give you? A sense of control? False preparedness? A distraction from deeper worries? Be honest: after a long scroll session, do you feel more at peace—or more panicked? Naming the emotional aftermath is the first act of reclaiming your mental space. Bring the pattern into the light so it can no longer operate in the shadows.

“Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts” (Psalm 139:23, NLT).

Reframe Your Input

What if the first voice you heard each morning wasn’t the headlines, but the heart of God? Before opening your news app or scrolling your feed, open Scripture. Choose a Psalm. Sit with one line. Let it frame your attention, your reactions, your lens. The world is loud, but God still whispers. Let Him set the tone for your day.

“Let me hear of your unfailing love each morning, for I am trusting you” (Psalm 143:8, NLT).

Set a Limit—Then Replace It

Breaking a habit without replacing it rarely works. Instead of simply avoiding your scroll time, use that space to feed your soul:

• Read one Psalm before checking the news.
• Step outside and take five deep breaths—let the air remind you that God is still holding the world.
• Send a text of encouragement to someone—replace passive intake with active compassion.
• Put on a worship song—let truth be louder than trouble.

We are always being formed. What we put in will eventually overflow. Choose inputs that cultivate peace, not panic.

Pray for Discernment

Not all bad news is yours to carry. Some stories are meant to call us to prayer or compassion—but not everything is yours to solve, share, or shoulder. Invite God to be your filter.

Pray honestly:
“Lord, show me what matters most to You today. Help me to see the world through Your eyes—not through the lens of fear, or headlines, or urgency. Teach me what to carry—and what to let go.”

Discernment is one of the quietest miracles of grace.

• Isaiah 26:3 (NLT)
  “You will keep in perfect peace all who trust in you, all whose thoughts are fixed on you.”
  → God’s peace comes when we fix our attention on Him—not when we chase every crisis.

• Matthew 6:22-23 (NLT)
  “Your eye is like a lamp that provides light for your body… but when your eye is unhealthy, your whole body is filled with darkness.”
  → What we focus on will shape our whole self.

• 2 Corinthians 10:5 (NLT)
  “We capture their rebellious thoughts and teach them to obey Christ.”
  → Doomscrolling must be confronted as a mental habit that can be brought under the authority of Jesus.

• Psalm 119:37 (NLT)
  “Turn my eyes from worthless things, and give me life through your word.”
  → Ask God to help you shift your gaze to what truly brings life.

The world is heavy—and pretending it’s not doesn’t help. Denial isn’t discipleship. But neither is despair. Letting the weight of the world consume us does not glorify God; it deforms our hearts, shortens our attention, and clouds our hope. We were not created to carry the sorrow of every nation, every hour, every scroll. That burden belongs to Christ.

God doesn’t call us to ignorance. He calls us to wisdom. To discernment. To peace that surpasses understanding (Philippians 4:7). He invites us not to escape the world, but to live within it as salt and light, anchored and undisturbed, even as the storm rages around us.

Every scroll is an invitation: will we be formed by chaos, or by Christ?

It’s time to stop letting the scroll steal our serenity. It’s time to retrain our gaze—to re-center on what is true, pure, and praiseworthy (Philippians 4:8). In a world that rewards urgency and outrage, the Spirit calls us to stillness, clarity, and courage.

As Henri Nouwen once wrote:

“In the midst of a turbulent, often chaotic life, we must keep returning to the center—that quiet, still place where God dwells.”^[8]

Let’s begin there.

Join the conversation using #FixYourThoughts or reflect quietly in your own space. Either way, let’s walk forward—anchored in truth.

Journaling Prompt: Fixing Your Focus

• When do you find yourself most likely to doomscroll?
Is it in moments of boredom? Of fear? When you feel out of control? Pay attention to the emotional doorway that leads you there.

• What would it look like to pause in that moment—redirect your thoughts—and re-center in Christ?
Imagine what might change if your first response was to breathe, pray, or open the Psalms instead of opening your phone. What would that do to your peace?

Footnotes

^[1] S. A. McNally, “Digital Doom: How Negative News Activates the Reward Circuit,” Journal of Behavioral Neuroscience 42, no. 3 (2024): 215–228.
^[2] A. W. Tozer, The Knowledge of the Holy (Harper, 1961), 1.
^[3] C. S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters, Letter 15 (New York: HarperOne, 1942).
^[4] John Stott, Basic Christianity (Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 1958), 11.
^[5] Romans 12:2, NLT. See also commentaries such as Douglas J. Moo, The Epistle to the Romans (Eerdmans, 1996), which emphasize the transformative aspect of mind renewal as surrender to God's reshaping power.
^[6] Dallas Willard, Hearing God: Developing a Conversational Relationship with God, 2nd ed. (Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 2012), 17.
^[7] A. W. Tozer, God Tells the Man Who Cares (Christian Publications, 1970), 24.
^[8] Henri J. M. Nouwen, Making All Things New: An Invitation to the Spiritual Life (HarperOne, 1981), 33.