When. Three times in the morning and three times in the evening, as part of the fixed daily remembrance. Many also reach for it at the moment something feels wrong — a road at night, a fever starting, news arriving — but its home is the two ends of the day, said before there is anything specific to fear.
The words. La yadurru ma'a ismihi shay'un — the verb is imperfect, a continuous present: nothing harms, is harming, will harm. And the crucial preposition is ma'a, "with, in the company of." Not bi-ismihi, by means of His name, as though the phrase were an instrument. The name is what one is in the company of; harm is what cannot come near while that company holds.
Earth and heaven. Fil-ardi wa la fis-sama'i is a merism: two poles named to mean everything between them. Arabic builds totality this way rather than by saying "anything at all," and the pairing has a further effect — it covers both the harm you can see coming along the ground and the kind that arrives from a direction you were not watching.
Two names at the end. As-Sami' and al-'Alim, the All-Hearing and the All-Knowing, are placed together deliberately. Hearing takes in what was said; knowing takes in what was not. So the one who hears these three repetitions also knows the fear underneath them that the speaker did not put into words.
Not an amulet. The sentence protects nothing by itself; it names the One who does. Read as a formula that works on its own, detached from the trust it expresses, it has been turned into the opposite of what it says.