The heat of summer in our little corner of the world has turned everything stale. The trees are beginning to turn, but I think that’s more from heat than from the coming of fall. 

My husband and I often take our kids to ride on a local bike path on the edge of town. Several small bridges take the bike trail over a large ditch that collects run-off from area farmland. (Technically, it’s a stream, but it’s called St. John’s Ditch.) Each time we’ve biked the trail this summer, we’ve noticed the ditch water has been stagnant with a scummy layer of algae across the top. My four-year-old comments on the nastiness of the murky, green water each time we see it. Can anything good be underneath? 

Lately, my heart has felt a bit like scummy, stagnant ditch water.  

My spiritual disciplines have felt like duty rather than a delight, and there’s nothing good coming from my heart or my mouth. Apathy has worn down my affections for the Lord. I find myself wanting to medicate my spiritual lethargy with sleep or entertainment or things to look forward to—anything other than what I really need. More created things, less of the Creator. Though I’m always tempted to answer my spiritual needs with physical things, I know deep down that my soul needs nourishment that only comes from the Word and prayer. 

When I feel disinterested in the things of God, when my time reading my Bible seems wasted, when everything in me resists turning my face toward the Lord, I know I must resist my resistance. I must follow the path of spiritual disciplines to joy. The Lord has given us what we need to draw near to Him.  

This morning I opened my Bible to the passage in Revelation that my study group will be discussing next week. I stared at the blank notebook page on the table, wondering if I really had it in me to fill the lines with words. My phone called out to me for respite, my bed for rest, the TV for entertainment. 

What good is it to study the Bible or pray if my heart is not really in it?

But that’s a temptation the enemy would love for me to run after. The truth is that my flesh will always desire to turn to physical remedies: sleep, Netflix binges, food, drink, me-time, pampering—worldly, physical versions of self-care. But none of those things will tip up my chin to look to Christ. At best these remedies encourage navel-gazing; at worst they briefly turn my face toward something that can never satisfy the way Jesus does. I can’t meet my spiritual needs with physical remedies. And if I wait to seek Him until I feel like it, I may never turn my face toward Christ. 

We might be tempted to think that a weary, spiritually dry season calls for a relaxation of the disciplines that keep us looking at Jesus, but I am finding that this is when I must be all the more vigilant. Not praying less, but more. Not opening my Bible less often, but more often. Not just attending church when it’s convenient, but especially when it’s not. This is not the time to back off! We fight spiritual stagnancy with more of Jesus, not less. Less only leads to a dangerous drifting away. 

Don Carson gives us this sobering word: 

“People do not drift toward holiness. Apart from grace-driven effort, people do not gravitate toward godliness, prayer, obedience to Scripture, faith, and delight in the Lord. We drift toward compromise and call it tolerance; we drift toward disobedience and call it freedom; we drift toward superstition and call it faith. We cherish the indiscipline of lost self-control and call it relaxation; we slouch toward prayerlessness and delude ourselves into thinking we have escaped legalism; we slide toward godlessness and convince ourselves we have been liberated.”¹

We fight spiritual stagnancy with more of Jesus, not less. Share on X

Fight to Drift in the Right Direction 

When I want to take a break from prayer and Scripture intake or when church is the last place I want to be—these are the times to lean harder into these practices. Because they are aren’t just practices. They are paths to spiritual growth, even when your heart feels like a stagnant ditch with a thick layer of scum across the surface.  

The words of the Lord can cut through stagnant waters, stirring our affections with truth and reminders of His good character. Because Scripture is the inspired Word of God, it has the power to awaken our hearts, to pierce our souls, to convict, to rebuke, to remind, to restore. The commands and precepts of Scripture are “no empty word for you, but your very life,” Moses said (Deut. 32:47).  

Praying when we don’t feel like it can turn our eyes away from our feelings of apathy and towards Him as we praise Him from an obedient heart and intercede for others. Where we’re facing matters in a season of spiritual stagnancy. Continual rumination of our despondency can make things worse, but dwelling on God’s character and praying for the needs of others can lift our gaze away from ourselves. Prayer reminds us we are dependent upon God for growth and affection for Him. Prayer keeps us near His side. 

Engaging in church community when we feel like we’re faking it is not hypocritical. It’s curative. Surrounding yourself with believers can help you remember the joy of your salvation, can remind you what it is you believe, can help to burn off the fog of spiritual staleness. If sitting in the pew feels like work, know that it is obedience, and that Jesus calls this kind of obedience love (John 14:15; 15:10). When life is hard, don’t back off from the body of Christ, but hold on more tightly, not less, as we wait for the coming of the Lord (see Heb. 10:25). The church can pray for you and hold you accountable in seasons like this. Sometimes it’s my weekly study with friends from church that keeps me in my Bible more than anything else.  

More, Not Less 

How do we do engage in these practices more when we couldn’t feel less motivated to do so? Paul tells us: “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God” (Col. 3:16). Filling up our days with the Word is the route we take to persevere through fallow fields to a rich cultivation of gratitude. 

I’ve found it helpful to think like the psalmist and meditate on the Word morning and night (Ps. 1:2). Sometimes this means literally opening my Bible morning and night. One helpful suggestion I’ve seen is to take a few minutes before bed to read through the passage you intend to study in the morning.² Lately, more Scripture intake in my life has meant turning on my audio Bible app when my hands are occupied but my mind isn’t (folding laundry, taking a walk, washing dishes, getting ready in the mornings). I’ve been surprised by how helpful and encouraging it is to listen to  Scripture being read aloud.  

While in college (and long before he was a missionary), Jim Elliot wrote in a letter to his family that he found great encouragement in pausing at noon each day to reorient his heart to Scripture, in addition to his morning and evening meditations. He wrote: 

“I would exhort you each to begin taking a few moments out with your Lover at midday…Often at noon there is a tendency for the soul to be ‘veiled,’ clouded with world-lore, filmed over with temporalities. Just a few moments spent before the Shepherd, listening to the silence of His love and telling Him the state of your soul even if it’s not warm toward Him, just to keep short accounts by simple confession—this has been a great blessing to me.”³ 

When your soul isn’t warm toward the Lord, you’re still desperate for Him. When your heart is “filmed over” with “world-lore,” you don’t need a break from Him. You need more of Him, not less.  

What the stagnant stream needs is more rain to flood it with fresh water, to break up the scum on top and refresh what’s underneath. More water, not less.  The same is true for our spiritually dry seasons. We need more of Christ, not less. Stagnancy is broken up by flooding your heart with Him. Nothing else will satisfy like He does.

 

  

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash