The Unhurried Way: A Word for Leaders Living Too Fast
Looking back on 20 years of pastoral ministry, I can name five reasons I avoided slowing down and what it cost me.
Looking back on twenty years of pastoral ministry, I can see how easily purpose and pressure get tangled. For years I believed I was chasing faithfulness, but I was also running from something else.
There was a time when slowing down didn’t feel like an option. Not because I was chasing hurry, but because I was chasing faithfulness. I wanted to be purposeful. Diligent. Excellent. I had internalized the belief that movement meant growth, and momentum equated with maturity. My pace didn’t seem problematic. It felt both exciting and necessary. I thought I was keeping in step with God. But slowly, almost imperceptibly, I began living at a speed my soul could no longer sustain.
I carried invisible deadlines. Expectations no one else saw lived loud in my inner world. Slowing down didn’t feel like faithfulness. It felt like I was slacking off, maybe even ignoring what God had called me to. To me, moderating my pace seemed like opening the door to irrelevance. I had come to believe that important people were busy, and that staying busy was how I stayed important.
So when I first heard people talk about “mindfulness,” I instinctively recoiled. It sounded indulgent and soft. Vaguely Eastern, definitely trendy, and not at all urgent or applicable to my life and ministry. I feared it might dull the edge of the kingdom urgency I felt called to. But now I see that beneath that reaction were complicated layers of both sincere desire to serve God and an unhealthy attachment to performance, productivity, and approval.
What I was resisting wasn’t just mindfulness. I was resisting attentiveness—the kind that requires us to slow down long enough to listen, to feel, and to surrender. I had dismissed that posture as optional. But it turned out to be essential. God wasn’t asking me to do more for Him. He was inviting me to pay attention to Him and walk (not run) with Him.
What Slowing Down Exposed
Especially in my final five years of pastoral leadership, beneath all the motion and ministry, I was tired. Not just physically, but spiritually and emotionally depleted. I was anxious in ways I didn’t fully understand, and worn thin in places I was too proud or too afraid to acknowledge. I felt embarrassed by how disconnected I had become from the very presence I was urging others to seek. Stillness would have forced me to name those things. To face what I had buried beneath busy schedules, sermon prep, and spiritual responsibility. And at the time, I wasn’t ready for that. So I kept moving. Kept producing. Kept pushing.
But in his mercy, God began to gently slow me down. Looking back, I can see why I resisted that invitation for so long. It wasn’t just about pace. It was about identity.
Five Reasons I Resisted
There were five core reasons I avoided slowing down. You may find some of them familiar.
I worried it wasn’t biblical. Mindfulness sounded like something borrowed from another worldview. But the more I studied, the more I saw that attention and presence are deeply biblical. Jesus was the most present person who ever lived. The Psalms are full of invitations to remember, reflect, and be still. Scripture doesn’t call us to detach from reality but to engage it with holy awareness.
I didn’t think I had the luxury. I had responsibilities. People who needed me. A ministry to shepherd. Slowing down felt like a privilege I couldn’t afford. But here’s the truth I knew but didn’t practice: if you’re carrying a lot, you can’t afford not to slow down. What we cultivate (or ignore) in secret will always shape the fruit we bear in public.
I didn’t want to feel what I’d buried. Stillness meant opening doors I had quietly shut. It meant silence, and in the silence, I knew I’d have to face the low-grade sadness, fatigue, disappointment, and shame that had settled into my bones. Avoidance only delays healing. And what stays hidden remains untransformed.
I thought spiritual growth could be optimized. I love a good system. But sanctification doesn’t run on a productivity model. You can’t hack your way into Christlikeness. Spiritual formation is slow, relational, and often inconvenient. The kingdom grows like a seed, not like a startup.
I wanted to impress people. Some of my drive wasn’t just about faithfulness. It was about proving myself. I wanted to be seen as strong, capable, and impressive. And when your identity is tangled up in admiration or approval, slowing down feels like losing ground.
A Better Way of Being Present
In time, I came to see that slowing down wasn't a retreat from faithfulness. It was a return to it. Christian mindfulness isn’t about detachment. It’s about attention. To God. To others. To your own soul.
The difference matters. Secular mindfulness focuses inward, encouraging nonjudgmental observation of thoughts and feelings. Christian attentiveness moves beyond observation to communion. We don’t just notice anxiety. We bring it to the God who cares. We don’t just see beauty. We receive it as a gift from our Creator. We don’t detach from our circumstances. We invite God into them.
Psalm 46:10 offers this invitation: “Be still, and know that I am God.” The Hebrew rapha means “cease striving” or “release.” It’s not just stopping activity. It’s surrender. It’s worship. In a culture that equates identity with achievement, rapha is a radical, faithful act of trust.
Paul echoes this in Philippians 4 when he says, “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right… think about such things.” The Greek logizomai means to dwell on something deeply, to turn it over carefully. This is what holy attention looks like: a settled mind anchored in God’s truth.
And Jesus, our model of perfect attentiveness, “often withdrew to lonely places and prayed” (Luke 5:16). If the Son of God needed stillness and communion, how much more do we?
A Word to Fellow Leaders
If you’re wired for leadership, and have been gifted a sphere of influence, please hear this: you won’t drift into spiritual health. You won’t stumble into intimacy with God. And you won’t grow in Christ at the speed of your calendar.
Hurry and holiness are not partners. You can’t speedrun genuine Christian growth and maturity.
When our pace outruns our depth, the cracks eventually show. Our teaching loses weight. Our relationships thin. Our joy is slowly suffocated. And our soul becomes weary, even while our schedule stays impressively full.
But you can stop. Not from your calling, but from the striving that has become tangled up in it. You can re-learn how to walk slowly with Jesus again.
And you probably need to.
“You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.” (Isaiah 26:3)
God's best work in you will not happen through adrenaline. It will happen through presence. He is not waiting for you to speed up. He is inviting you to slow down.
This is the unhurried way. It may feel like a detour from your calling, but it’s actually the path that deepens it. Walk it slowly. Walk it with Jesus.
