There comes a point in time, in the life of a Christian, where routine may take the place of intimacy. The danger of routine is that it is not explicit disobedience to God, so it is difficult to identify its sting in one’s life. I am becoming aware of the fact that there are behaviours that are not technically sin, though these behaviours can lead to practices that often carry consequences that are not beneficial to our natural body and/or spirit. Routine is a prime example. It is an unlikely and unassuming beast.
How do I spot routine in my faith?
It all boils down to our attitude towards this ever-changing thing called life. Our love and passion is misplaced with monotonous prayers that are signed and sealed “in the name of Jesus”. We pray for the poor, the widowed and the backslidden because… we should. Routine lullabies the Christian into exchanging wild passion for a learned and fabricated zeal. The same name that once made our lips tremble with fear is the same name that we so flippantly invite into our church meetings because at it, “every knee shall bow or something or to that extent”. It reads ridiculous to half quote a verse so precious and bypass a revelation so sweet yet, we do it often in our routine prayers and our routine fellowship.
How does routine work?
Because the passions unintentionally become disingenuous, that inward persuasion that keeps us from self-gratification becomes a mere whisper amidst the choral voice of routine. Then passivity kicks in. The things we once despised are not as bad. The fire we once had is stuffed into a box labelled “new-believer-zeal” and we saunter through our faith because that type of care for evangelism and sanctity in our lives is exclusive to them- “the new converts”. We never say it out loud but once routine sets, our behaviour screams, “neutral”.
How do I get out of routine?
I write with specificity because the routine bug has bitten me many a time in my faith. I never notice routine until I find myself reveling in its consequences i.e. compromise. I found myself quite recently in a place where my desperation for the Spirit was lacking. I could be invited to speak at an event and seek God intentionally only the night before. I knew I was out of order but, I was attending church, writing posts, putting out videos, marking books, and calling parents about their kids’ effort in school and prepping year 11s for their GCSEs and every other excuse in the world that I could hurl at God.
“He understands”, I told myself. “I serve a God that’s touched with the feelings of my infirmities (Hebrews 4:15)”, is also what I told myself to pacify the conviction I felt. God chastises those he loves. Give in. Through gritted teeth, I gave in to the conviction and prayed the sincerest prayer I’ve prayed in a while. It went a little something like this:
“God, I don’t know who this person is (referring to my current self) but we need to sort this out. You need to matter to me again. You mean too much to me for it (mine and God’s relationship) to become this (referring to my current monotonous and dull faith). I'm sorry it got here. Help me love you, in Jesus' name. Amen.”
After that prayer of repentance, I found myself cradled by a love and discipline so overwhelming, a love that was aware that spontaneity was not always an option given the stage I am in in life, but a love that was equally provoking me to prioritise my life source. A love that beckoned me to read with hunger and to offer alternative worship. It was a love that challenged me to no longer balance the practical manifestations of faith with my day to day but simply to fall in, be in and stay in love all over again. It was no longer about what time I prayed and how long for. It was now about yearning to yearn and longing to long and learning to tend to the growing desire in my spirit to reflect Christ.
If you are in a routine my advice is simple, yield to the conviction and fall in love again.
It all boils down to our attitude towards this ever-changing thing called life. Our love and passion is misplaced with monotonous prayers that are signed and sealed “in the name of Jesus”. We pray for the poor, the widowed and the backslidden because… we should. Routine lullabies the Christian into exchanging wild passion for a learned and fabricated zeal. The same name that once made our lips tremble with fear is the same name that we so flippantly invite into our church meetings because at it, “every knee shall bow or something or to that extent”. It reads ridiculous to half quote a verse so precious and bypass a revelation so sweet yet, we do it often in our routine prayers and our routine fellowship.
How does routine work?
Because the passions unintentionally become disingenuous, that inward persuasion that keeps us from self-gratification becomes a mere whisper amidst the choral voice of routine. Then passivity kicks in. The things we once despised are not as bad. The fire we once had is stuffed into a box labelled “new-believer-zeal” and we saunter through our faith because that type of care for evangelism and sanctity in our lives is exclusive to them- “the new converts”. We never say it out loud but once routine sets, our behaviour screams, “neutral”.
How do I get out of routine?
I write with specificity because the routine bug has bitten me many a time in my faith. I never notice routine until I find myself reveling in its consequences i.e. compromise. I found myself quite recently in a place where my desperation for the Spirit was lacking. I could be invited to speak at an event and seek God intentionally only the night before. I knew I was out of order but, I was attending church, writing posts, putting out videos, marking books, and calling parents about their kids’ effort in school and prepping year 11s for their GCSEs and every other excuse in the world that I could hurl at God.
“He understands”, I told myself. “I serve a God that’s touched with the feelings of my infirmities (Hebrews 4:15)”, is also what I told myself to pacify the conviction I felt. God chastises those he loves. Give in. Through gritted teeth, I gave in to the conviction and prayed the sincerest prayer I’ve prayed in a while. It went a little something like this:
“God, I don’t know who this person is (referring to my current self) but we need to sort this out. You need to matter to me again. You mean too much to me for it (mine and God’s relationship) to become this (referring to my current monotonous and dull faith). I'm sorry it got here. Help me love you, in Jesus' name. Amen.”
After that prayer of repentance, I found myself cradled by a love and discipline so overwhelming, a love that was aware that spontaneity was not always an option given the stage I am in in life, but a love that was equally provoking me to prioritise my life source. A love that beckoned me to read with hunger and to offer alternative worship. It was a love that challenged me to no longer balance the practical manifestations of faith with my day to day but simply to fall in, be in and stay in love all over again. It was no longer about what time I prayed and how long for. It was now about yearning to yearn and longing to long and learning to tend to the growing desire in my spirit to reflect Christ.
If you are in a routine my advice is simple, yield to the conviction and fall in love again.
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