Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy . . . on . . . my way to work I need to swing by the ATM and pull out some cash. We need cash to get into the middle school basketball game on Friday. My wife probably doesn’t have cash, so I need to get some. Hey, Siri, remind me today at 8:15 a.m. to swing by the ATM and get cash.
And I’m done. What started as an attempt to meditate on The Jesus Prayer ends as one more proof that I don’t have the mind for meditation. Mother Teresa did. Saint Ignatius did. My enneagram nine friend does. But not me. I’m just not wired for meditation, I tell myself, and check my email, then social media, then my face in the mirror. I need to shave.
I’m driving to the ATM. Luke Combs’s cover of Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car” comes on the radio. I like it—the way the chorus hits, the way he omitted some of the musical interludes between verses. It just moves faster; it hits harder than hers. It’s been a while since I listened to Chapman’s version. I open Spotify and play it. I don’t like the production quality compared to Combs’s, but I very much like the ache in her voice. Somehow, the story feels more authentically hers than his. I wonder if they’ll ever do a duet. I think that would be the best of both worlds—the power of his voice, the authenticity and ache of hers. Someone cuts me off in traffic. I realize I need to change lanes to pull into the bank. I withdraw the cash and put it in the center console. I call my friend to inquire whether he’s heard both versions of “Fast Car.” He says he hasn’t and proceeds to tell me that his wife is sick. He asks for prayer. I think about his wife for the rest of the trip. I breathe a prayer for her recovery. I pull into work.
As a pastor, you probably think that you should be great at spiritual disciplines—prayer, fasting, Bible reading, etc. For the most part, most pastors I know feel confident in their Bible reading. Fewer feel confident in their prayers. But hardly any pastors I know—and I include myself in this—feel confident as meditators. However, I’ve come to think differently about meditation, and in so doing, I’ve come to think differently about my ability to meditate.
Meditate simply means “to think deeply about something.” Working with this definition, you can meditate on the back of your hand, a tissue, a problem, a pain in your back, a conversation you had or are about to have, or which version of “Fast Car” is better and why. And this changes everything, or at the very least, it changes something—my confidence. And confidence, I think, is critical to meditation in general and Scripture meditation in particular.
When I focus less on how I’m meditating on Scripture (e.g., methodologies such as Lectio Divina or Ignatian Gospel Contemplation) and give myself permission to just noodle on a word or phrase or image that comes up for me, something shifts. I don’t feel the need to perform. I don’t feel like I’m not spiritual enough. I just do something simple—I think, I imagine, I marinate. Don’t misunderstand—frameworks and methodologies are helpful, but I’m suspicious that in many cases we exalt the form of how we should meditate on Scripture above the purpose—to meet with the living God and to be shaped by his Word.
In The Ache for Meaning, I write about how Scripture meditation shaped the life and ministry of Christ and how it helped him resist the temptation to perform for approval. I explore how meditation makes us grateful and how it strengthens our lives and ministries. But for now, give yourself permission to read slowly. To find interest where you find interest. To let your mind and heart sink deeply into a line. To read with your ears, as Eugene Peterson writes, and not with your eyes. Invite the Spirit to help you settle into Scripture, to sink deeply into the waters that wash and renew your heart and mind. But whatever you do, stop trying to get it right. When your attention wanders, welcome it as the gift it is—to turn your heart and mind evermore toward the living Christ, the Son of God, who has mercy on all of us sinners.
If your mind feels more like a fast car than a slow, deliberate, slurrish calm when you read Scripture, perhaps you’ll benefit from The Ache for Meaning.
Tommy Brown is the pastor for spiritual and community formation at Generations United Church in Freeport, Florida. He has a BA in pastoral ministry and a master’s degrees in divinity and management, and he is the author of The Seven Money Types: Discover How God Wired You to Handle Money. Tommy’s newest book, The Ache for Meaning, will release on September 9, 2023, from NavPress.