by Kees van der Knijff

Life is moving at a frantic pace. For a long time, people were encouraged to keep up with every technological development. Whoever didn’t adapt quickly enough would be left out of the game. Over the past few years, all of us have been forced to let go of that delusion: with the current pace of developments, whoever thinks they are able to keep up is mistaken.

The same applies to the news. For a long time, we felt we were able to understand and follow at least the major things that were going on in the world. And we tried to keep up with important developments in our personal networks. More and more, we are coming to realize that this is no longer possible. News arrives to our phones instantly, and our networks on social media are so extensive that we cannot follow everything. We receive more and more news, but are able to process less and less.

In times of crisis, like the war(s) currently being waged in the Middle East, the problem is only magnified. People in Lebanon are subscribed to multiple WhatsApp channels to make sure we always receive the latest updates. With every unexpected sound, they check their phones to determine its cause. Usually, within one or two minutes explanations are going around.

Within the context of the war, with the continuous pressure to be aware of ongoing events, I realized I had to force myself to slow down. Checking the news continuously, during the day but also after bombings at night, is immensely draining. I had conversations with several colleagues about finding moments of rest. And people from abroad asked similar questions. How do we stay mentally stable in times of stress and insecurity? What ways can we find to take care of ourselves, so that we will have the inner reserve to be there when others need us?

A key part of the answer: small, deliberate practices of slowing down. Resisting the frantic pace of the world by choosing slowness. In the early church all through the Middle Ages, a distinction was made between the active life and the contemplative life. The active life stood for all those who worked their daily jobs, and the contemplative life described the way of life that was fully devoted to the service of God. Over time, the contemplative life and the monastic life became synonyms. A life of prayer, silence, solitude, rhythm, slowness, and community.

In the Reformation, theologians like Luther strongly opposed this distinction. Every Christian life should be fully devoted to God, whether we are feeding our children, cleaning the drain, or preparing a sermon. Every life should be a combination of activity and contemplation. There was a deep wisdom behind this insight and its resistance against spiritual elitism.

At the same time, I fear we lost something in the process: the importance of practices that force us to slow down. That force us to silence the stream of information that is coming our way, the draining collage of short videoclips screaming for our attention. Practices that even force us to try to pause the ongoing inner conversation in our heads and hearts.

The active life of Luther’s days has turned into a hyper-active life. But unlike the church in the Reformation era, I fear we don’t have a lot of practices left that help us to slow down. This might be an underdeveloped area of evangelical spirituality. Even our Sunday worship services are filled with worship songs, and our sermons heavy with information. A one-minute silence makes many people highly uncomfortable. Something in our tradition pushes us to be useful; productive; to make every minute count.

Against the background of the frantic pace of modern life, I am convinced we are at a crossroads. A moment where we have to decide whether we are going to try to keep up, or deliberately choose a slower pace. A pace that embraces practices of slowing down. The church, with its rich tradition of monasticism and contemplation, might even have something unique to offer to the world.

Now, I know we can’t just stop and slow down. And I am definitely not about to enter a monastery. I am Protestant enough to value the balance between action and contemplation. That is the reason I have been writing about “practices” of slowing down. I don’t think we have to change our entire way of life overnight. Usually, that is bound to fail anyways. Instead, the way forward might be looking for small habits we can include in our busy schedules. Small enough to be sure we will be able to include them in most of our days, yet long enough that they really force us to slow down.

What exactly this looks like will differ from person to person and may require a bit of experimentation. Let me share some of the practices I have been trying:

• Lectio divina: A slow, repetitive, and meditative way to read the Bible. The goal is not to read through major parts of the Bible, but to journey slowly with a single author. A key element of this practice is to reread a short passage of Scripture several times and to try to really “taste” it.
• Listening to music: For several weeks in a row, after the kids went to bed, I would put on my headphones, sit down and listen to a piece of (classical) music. I regularly listen to music, but often in the background when I am working or doing some other tasks. But intently enjoying a piece of music for 20 or 30 minutes, or listening to various recordings of the same piece, is a completely different experience.
• Reading poetry: I am a voracious reader. I love to read theology books or literature. But somehow I do not often read poetry. Reading poetry requires the reader to slow down. To savor, reread, linger. Instead of making progress, it forces us to press pause. To sit with one page instead of with a whole chapter or book.
• Silent prayer: most other (i.e. non-evangelical) Christian traditions have practices of silent prayer. This can take different forms, but at the core is silence. Not just the silence of not saying things, but also silence as the attempt to stop the inner dialogue and just be present. Some forms of this tradition may be easier to adapt to evangelical spirituality than others, but I am convinced there is a deep value in cultivating this kind of silence.

Many more examples could be given. I know others have experimented with journaling, visio divina, manual work like woodworking, or prayer walks. (Feel free to share your ideas and experiences in the comments section below!) What all these practices have in common is the cultivation of a receptive heart. We are not doing them as forms of self-help, but as forms of practicing the presence of God and receiving what He has in store for us.

Now, do these practices always lead to tangible results? Most of the time, not. The spiritual life does not have methods and shortcuts, although many books promise exactly those. Slowing down from a hyper-active life will not be easy. Or to say it more honestly: it will at times be deeply frustrating. There is a reason so much monastic literature includes long sections on boredom. But if the church needs anything in a frantic world, it is people who know that boredom can be a blessing and that there is wisdom to be found for those courageous enough to slow down. What practice will you try this week?

Kees van der Knijff is assistant professor of systematic theology at ABTS and coordinator of the graduate programs.