I’ve been a pastor for nearly two decades now, and for nearly two decades I’ve been the product of on-the-job training. Maybe every job is this way. Do you know any good doctors or lawyers or teachers or artists who quit learning years ago? I don’t either. Nor do I know any good pastors who aren’t continually refining their craft. So, while I’m not opposed to having to learn as I go, having to fight to stay a half-step ahead of the congregation I’ve been tasked with leading, having to study and read and re-study and re-read so that I can provide something worthwhile come Sunday morning, there are a handful of things I wish somebody had told me before I got started, things I didn’t have to learn the hard way.
Things like this: no matter how hard I try, I’ll always be tempted to measure my success by my church’s attendance numbers. Or, the best thing I can do for my congregation is to quit comparing myself to other pastors and simply strive to be genuinely me. Or, because it takes a long time to become “old friends,” I ought to nurture and cherish the old friendships I have. Or, I will only be given as much spiritual authority as the amount of spiritual authority I’m willing to submit to. Or, my brain will always, always feel like scrambled eggs on Sunday afternoon and again all day Monday; I will do well to hold all decisions until Tuesday. Or, I will never regret spending time with my family. Or, while it’s true that sheep bites can’t kill me, the general congregational gnawing every pastor is made to withstand will make life absolutely miserable a few (very long) days each year.
Granted, when you learn the hard way, the lessons get ingrained in you like the brand on cattle’s behinds. But I doubt any cow would describe that process as fun. No, personally I’d recommend the easy way out; I suggest opting for the easy way…If you’re a less-stubborn person (or even a stubborn one who happens to be in a teachable mood), then this chapter is for you. The three things I wish I’d known long ago but didn’t might help you avoid a pitfall or two, along the path to living a rhythmic life.
No. 1: Rest Is Opposed
The first rhythmic-life lesson I learned the hard way is this: our rest is opposed. During the early days of my marriage, when I was running too fast and pushing too hard, I found it incredibly difficult to “come down.” I feared rest. I feared the loneliness and boredom I knew rest would usher in. And so I kept the pedal to the metal, upping my RPMs higher and higher, while praying each and every moment that I’d somehow avoid a crash.
But the reality is that we always have to come down. We can’t stay up forever. And because I refused to learn how to slow myself in a healthy manner, I was forced to walk an unhealthy path, a path paved with Internet porn. From a place of deep humility, I have shared with my congregation how challenging it was to untangle myself from the grip of pornography across the span of several years in my twenties, but by God’s grace, I did get free.
For quite a while, I looked back on that stretch of sinfulness with disbelief; how could I stoop to that level? I was in ministry. I was supposedly living for God. I adored and admired my wife. And yet, still, I’d find myself sitting in front of a computer screen, long after Pam had gone to bed, staring at stuff I had no business staring at, regretting the minutes even as they ticked by.
Things make more sense to me now. When you and I don’t say yes to God’s form of rest, we will say yes to a fraudulent form of rest, cooked up by the enemy of our souls. We will say yes to porn, or to booze, or to drugs, or to gambling, or to idle chatter, or to extravagant spending—all in the name of “unwinding.” This is what we’ll declare, anyway, when pressed to justify our sinful ways. It’s all proof that real rest is opposed, that rest without God is not “rest” at all. My friend John Eldredge likes to say, “Caring for your heart is the first blow against the Enemy’s schemes,” and he’s absolutely right. Satan hates it when we truly “come down”—in a good and godly way—because that’s when spiritual transformation happens. That’s when soulish growth takes place. That’s when we become like God.
…Remember the scene we looked at in an earlier chapter, when Jesus told the wind and the waves to be still? This was actually the second time that Jesus had withdrawn for a little solitude but was quickly summoned back to his disciples to save the day. Both times, natural storms interrupted his rest. This is the way it always goes, even for Jesus Christ. Something always interrupts our rest, because real rest is always opposed. The old Scotsman James Matthew Barrie—the one who created Peter Pan—once quipped in his charming Anglo-Saxon style, “Has it ever struck you that the trouts bite best on the Sabbath? God’s critturs tempting decent men.”
I’m willing to concede the point that Satan isn’t behind every sidetracking scheme if you are; sometimes maybe it really is just a mischievous fish. Either way, I’ve learned that unless I commit myself to minding my mind, I defer to the distraction every time.
A few years ago, I experienced a dramatic case of letting distraction rule my days. I was going through a rough patch relationally with another pastor, and over the course of several months, I noticed that whatever free time I had—in the early morning, between meetings, during my drive home—I’d use up by imagining conversations with this person. I’d replay in my mind the last exchange we’d had, and then I’d play out what I wanted to say next, as well as how I thought he’d respond.
In his book Social Intelligence, author Daniel Goleman (who also wrote the best-seller Emotional Intelligence) says that “rehashing our social lives may rate as the brain’s favorite downtime activity,” which tells me I’m far from alone in this regard. We fondle our social relationships, turning them over again and again in our minds. We revisit memories, we plot future exchanges, we wish for do-overs where we come across witty and wise. And while there is nothing inherently wrong with this practice, it sure does siphon unassigned time.
During the specific occurrence I mentioned, my motivations were actually pretty pure. I wasn’t intending to waste time; I was hoping to redeem a relationship. But the fact of the matter was that I was using all of my energy having imaginary conversations with a man rather than investing it more prudently by having actual conversations with God.
One morning in my office, when I had headed over to my credenza for a fresh cup of coffee, I sensed God saying, “You know, you’re giving a lot of mental space to this, even though the conversations you’re envisioning are never going to transpire.”
In response, I said, “You’re right.”
Admittedly, it was a brief exchange. God was right, and I knew it; I needed to start minding my mind.
Later, I talked to the entire staff about what had happened, explaining that spinning our wheels over virtual conversations only serves to stir us up, while bringing our challenges to God calms us down and puts our anxious thoughts to rest. I didn’t mandate anything to our staff that day, and I didn’t have to. Lectures, diatribes, and strict enforcement of rules pale in comparison to the power of sheer truth.
To this issue of minding our mind, I once heard a story of a monk who in the course of everyday life periodically rang what’s called a “mindfulness bell.” People nearby who heard the bell would stop what they were doing and take three silent, mindful breaths. Then they would continue their work, awakened ever so slightly by the simple act of pausing, of breathing, of practicing mindfulness.
I love this idea. And it’s more practical than we may first think. I vote for ringing a mindfulness bell throughout our days, whether we have an actual bell or not. Maybe the “bell” is the instant our feet hit the floor in the morning. Or maybe it’s each time we slip behind the wheel of our car. Maybe we set a bell chime as our ringtone, and thus it sounds each time we receive a call.
The “bell” could be sitting down to a meal, or kissing your spouse at the end of the day, or every time you stop to pray. With a little creative thought, you and I both can come up with some reminder to focus our thoughts, to mind our mind, to choose to rest in God. The great Vince Lombardi once said, “winning is habit,” an idea that transcends the world of sports. We practice taking every thought captive because minor habits really do wind up equaling major wins in the end.
No. 2: Ruthlessness Is Required
A second lesson I wish I hadn’t had to learn the hard way is that when it comes to rest, ruthlessness is required. Living rhythmically may sound like a breezy proposition, but to execute it well, we have to stand our ground.
About eighteen months ago, I called together the senior-most leaders of New Life Church. These are the men and women who report directly to me, the ones who oversee every ministry within our church. It’s a great group of people—visionary minds, expansive hearts, hands ever ready to serve. But due to a string of crises and personnel changes—not to mention the nation’s economic downturn that affected every church across this land—our shared working relationship had fallen off-track.
As a leader, I’m a big fan of delegation, of trusting the team, of giving away all the control I don’t actually need—all things my senior staff is well aware of. But situations beyond our control had forced us to up the ante on our communications for more than three years’ time. I asked to be part of decisions I normally wouldn’t need to weigh in on, because our circumstances demanded that I did. A founding-pastor scandal, a fatal shooting on your campus, and a fast and furious financial downturn can do that to a group.
But then that three-year period came to a close, and the stress level let up a bit. This would have been terrific news, except that I completely missed the cue that we had clawed our way out of the woods, and so my senior staff kept bringing me what I now instinctively believed were junior-level questions, and my frustration level only went up. Unwittingly, I’d neglected to inform them that we had shifted from “crisis mode” to “normal, everyday mode,” and all of us were suffering mightily as a result. They were trying to include me in their minutia, and I was expending precious energy fending off their incessant requests.
You’ll recall that at various points throughout my life, I had a huge need to be needed, which was fed by work associates’ never-ending string of demands. If someone was needed to teach a class, my hand shot up in the air. If someone was needed to drive the bus, I was ready to roll. If someone was needed to launch the ministry, I was the guy to tap. If someone was needed to lead the charge, I was there, fist raised in the air. So it was more than a little gratifying to realize I’d matured enough in my desire for rest that I would turn down all these flattering requests—for my input, for my wisdom, for my direction and counsel and advice: Brady, what should we do about filling this position? Brady, how would you handle this conflict? Brady, what are your thoughts on approving this vacation? Brady, how should we proceed?
They were the woodpeckers, and I was the tree. A guy could die from being needed this much! I called the meeting for the purpose of informing them that if they preferred a pastor who was alive, then they would resume handling their own affairs. To which they said, “Um, all due respect, Pastor Brady, but you created this madness you now despise.”
They were right, and all of us knew it. We had the discussion about how we’d come through the various crises and now could resume normal operations but not before applauding Pastor Brady for not needing to be needed anymore. Not every day, anyway.
…In hindsight, I recognize that living by healthy rhythms requires a ruthlessness many people aren’t willing to let play out. We’re worried about what others will think. We’re afraid we’ll come across as unfeeling and cold. We’re concerned that if we don’t keep needing to be needed, someday we really won’t be needed—at all! But really, these fears don’t prove warranted in the end. In reality, when we are ruthless about protecting our rest, we free up ourselves to be healthy and free up those around us live rhythmically too.
You probably remember this country’s blue laws, which were most strictly enforced up until the mid-1980s. When I was a kid, on any given Sunday it was illegal in most states in the Union to engage in commerce of any kind. You couldn’t buy a pair of shoes to walk to the store; you couldn’t buy a package of bacon once you got there; and you couldn’t buy a pan to fry it in—everything was closed. In many states still today, if it’s Sunday, you’ll be hard-pressed to buy a car from a car dealership, since blue laws in that industry are still in effect.
In our city of Colorado Springs, one car dealer in particular imposes a “blue law” of their own: they’re open during the week only from nine in the morning until six at night, despite most of their target market being unavailable to shop for new cars during those particular hours. One of their managers is a New Lifer, and he explained to me that the owner of the dealership said, “It’s more important to me that our staff is home with their families each evening, than that we sell an extra car or two.”
Workaholics will shake their head at that logic, but I wonder if God smiles. Fail to plan and plan to fail, and all that; he prefers our plans to center on him.
There is also a local homebuilder that, like national chains Chick-Fil-A and Hobby Lobby, chooses to remain closed on Sundays. They run radio ads throughout southern Colorado explaining that the reason they choose not to be open on arguably the most popular home-purchasing day of the week is that they view it as a non-negotiable top priority to let their staff worship with their families and rest.
Society tends to mock these people, but in fact they’re living by the rhythmic code. As the old cliché goes, burning the candle at both ends proves only that you’re not very bright.
As we discussed in the last chapter, the last thing I want to suggest is that legalism will do us any favors; it won’t. But what these companies have learned is what I myself am learning: ruthlessness paves the road to reliable rest.
No. 3: The Reward Is the Presence of God
There’s a third lesson I’ve learned along the way, which is that the reward I’m constantly seeking is the persistent presence of God.
We looked at an extended passage from
What he does suggest is doing all these things in secret, thereby trusting God to dole out the rewards. (See Matt. 6:4, 6, 18.)
But what does all this have to do with rest?
I think of the words of
I think I expected a marching band to materialize after I started taking rest seriously. “Look at me, everyone! Look how seriously I’m taking God’s injunction to rest! I’m a Sabbath-keeper, folks, plain and simple—holy and righteous and good.” I never would have admitted it publicly, but privately I think I hoped for some shiny angel to appear, to deliver the divine prize package I’d so dutifully earned.
The shiny angel never showed up.
…When Dallas Willard died recently, heaven gained a real champion of the faith. Considered by most people to be an expert on “spiritual formation,” he wrote often—and well—on the topic of how we become more like Christ, how we get formed into the newness of life we’re promised when we go God’s way instead of our own. (See
The key to flourishing, I think Willard would have agreed, is not the doing away with our problems, but rather the drawing near to God. I’ve certainly found this to be true. You get alone with God, and you realize that what you’ve magnified to monster status God quickly minimizes to the size of a mouse. He says, “Look, I know you’re tangled up in knots over this set of circumstances, but you’ve got to believe me when I tell you it’s okay. Keep coming to me, and I’ll show you the way out. It’s a path I’ve already lovingly paved.”
Granted, I’m not saying we’ll always like the path. What I’m saying is it’s where we’ll find peace.
This is what that woman needed, her big problems upheld by God’s even-bigger hands. It’s what we all need, in fact. We all need to be reminded that God is near to us. And that he passionately and protectively cares.
We observe the sacrament of communion most every weekend at New Life Church. It hasn’t always been this way, but for the past year or so, we have made it a priority to remind ourselves of God’s presence and power in this way every time we gather to worship. I’ve noticed something during the past twelve months, which is that it’s hard to hustle through the wine and the bread. It’s nearly impossible to still the soul when the body is still rushing around. And that’s a very good thing. We need to stop. We need to savor. We need to consider his presence enough.
In The Practice of the Presence of God, 17th-century monk Brother Lawrence writes of the believer, “If sometimes he is a little too much absent from that divine presence, God presently makes Himself to be felt in his soul to recall Him, which often happens when he is most engaged in his outward business. He answers with exact fidelity to these inward drawings, either by an elevation of his heart toward God, or by a meek and fond regard to Him; or by such words as love forms upon these occasions, as, for instance, My God, here I am all devoted to Thee. Lord, make me according to Thy heart.”
In other words, God’s presence is always there for the taking. This is why we practice communion with regularity, to tell God once again that we wish to be inwardly drawn to him, that we understand our reward is him.
Several weeks ago following communion, I prayed a prayer over our congregation that I had found in a prayer book of old. It reads:
Throughout the whole of this day,
everything I do and say and attempt and think
is going to be done under the eye of God.
He is going to be with me.
He sees everything.
He knows everything.
There is nothing I can do or attempt, but that
God is not fully aware of it all.
We can be petrified by a prayer like this—Yikes! His eye is always on me?—or we can be uplifted by it. Day by day, I’m learning to choose the uplift. I’m learning to see his presence as my reward.
1 Matthew Sleeth, M. D., 24/6: A Prescription for a Healthier, Happier Life, (Carol Stream, IL: Tyndale, 2012), 191.
2 Daniel Goleman, Social Intelligence: The New Science of Human Relationships, (New York: Bantam Books, 2006), 68.
3 Dallas Willard, The Spirit of the Disciplines: Understanding How God Changes Lives, (New York: HarperCollins, 1988), 56.
4 Brother Lawrence, The Practice of the Presence of God, (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1999), 20-21.
Excerpted from Addicted to Busy: Recovery for the Rushed Soul by Brady Boyd.
