Faith Is More Craft Than Feeling
I am currently in what I would call a spiritual drought. And as a pastor, this could be a dangerous admission. It can be dangerous because, first, some may think that pastors don’t go through spiritual droughts, and secondly, some may think, “Then who’s steering the ship!”
The first is really an unrealistic expectation of pastors, or of anyone for that matter. People sometimes assume pastors are supposed to be spiritually strong all the time, that their faith is somehow immune to the dry seasons everyone else experiences. They’re in the Word. They pray (for a living!). They’re reading books about theology and meeting with people about their faith. How is it possible to be so immersed in spiritual things and still experience a drought? And if the pastor is experiencing a drought, does that mean the person responsible for spiritual leadership has lost their bearings?
After a conversation with a friend about where I currently find myself in my spiritual journey, he recommended a book to me that, though I’m only about a third of the way through, has become an instant classic for me.
“Faith is more craft than feeling,” writes Tish Harrison Warren in her book What Grows in Weary Lands. Craftsmanship is developed through repetition, patience, attention, and practice. A carpenter doesn’t become skilled because he feels inspired every morning. He becomes skilled by showing up, working, making mistakes, and continuing to learn. The same is true with faith.
I’ve heard something said somewhat like, “We know we cannot command our hearts, but we can command our bodies.” In other words, my heart may not be in my prayer, but I can bend my knee. When you don’t know exactly what to do next, do what you know to do. We don’t need to feel spiritually motivated before we act spiritually.
You don’t feel like praying. Pray anyway.
You don’t feel particularly moved during worship. Worship anyway.
You don’t feel like opening Scripture. Open it anyway.
You don’t feel like forgiving someone. Choose to take a step toward forgiveness anyway.
Now, I’m not suggesting that feelings don’t matter or that we should simply do the right things regardless of what’s happening inside us. Feelings matter. Spiritual dryness matters. We shouldn’t pretend we’re experiencing something we’re not. There’s a difference between going through the motions and faithfully practicing something when our emotions aren’t cooperating.
A spiritual drought doesn’t necessarily mean spiritual failure. It doesn’t automatically mean I’ve stopped believing or stopped praying. And in no way does it mean I’ve stopped loving God. I continue doing what I know to do, though the feelings and experiences that once accompanied those practices aren’t there.
Faithfulness isn’t pretending you feel something you don’t. It’s continuing to turn toward God even when you don’t feel what you wish you did.
When I was in Bible school, I would try so hard to get up in the morning and pray. The problem was I kept falling asleep. I was young and stayed up too late. Then I realized there was no law about having to pray in the morning. I decided to pray every night after dinner, when I was most awake and ready to study.
I remember the room I would pray in, the lighting, the chair, everything. During those years, those were some of the best personal prayer times I’ve ever had. And then life began to happen, and I got away from praying at that time.
When I feel as though I’m losing my fire, so to speak, I look back at those times as a kind of standard for where I want to be. I don’t necessarily need to pray in the same room, at the same time, or in the same way I did 30 years ago. But I do need the hunger for God that characterized those days. I pray in the morning now, but I still remember what it was like to hunger and thirst for God in those days. And I ask Him to renew that in me.
It’s not only the routine. It’s the hunger.
So, in this season of my life, I’m not trying to recreate an old experience. I’m asking God to renew my desire for Him.
At this point, you might be asking, “Can someone faithfully lead others while still recognizing their own need for spiritual renewal?” I think the answer is yes. Pastors aren’t exempt from needing the very grace and spiritual nourishment they encourage others to seek. The person encouraging others to pursue God is still pursuing God themselves.
Maybe the purpose of spiritual practices isn’t to get us back to where we used to be, but to keep us available to what God wants to do in us now.
The first is really an unrealistic expectation of pastors, or of anyone for that matter. People sometimes assume pastors are supposed to be spiritually strong all the time, that their faith is somehow immune to the dry seasons everyone else experiences. They’re in the Word. They pray (for a living!). They’re reading books about theology and meeting with people about their faith. How is it possible to be so immersed in spiritual things and still experience a drought? And if the pastor is experiencing a drought, does that mean the person responsible for spiritual leadership has lost their bearings?
After a conversation with a friend about where I currently find myself in my spiritual journey, he recommended a book to me that, though I’m only about a third of the way through, has become an instant classic for me.
“Faith is more craft than feeling,” writes Tish Harrison Warren in her book What Grows in Weary Lands. Craftsmanship is developed through repetition, patience, attention, and practice. A carpenter doesn’t become skilled because he feels inspired every morning. He becomes skilled by showing up, working, making mistakes, and continuing to learn. The same is true with faith.
I’ve heard something said somewhat like, “We know we cannot command our hearts, but we can command our bodies.” In other words, my heart may not be in my prayer, but I can bend my knee. When you don’t know exactly what to do next, do what you know to do. We don’t need to feel spiritually motivated before we act spiritually.
You don’t feel like praying. Pray anyway.
You don’t feel particularly moved during worship. Worship anyway.
You don’t feel like opening Scripture. Open it anyway.
You don’t feel like forgiving someone. Choose to take a step toward forgiveness anyway.
Now, I’m not suggesting that feelings don’t matter or that we should simply do the right things regardless of what’s happening inside us. Feelings matter. Spiritual dryness matters. We shouldn’t pretend we’re experiencing something we’re not. There’s a difference between going through the motions and faithfully practicing something when our emotions aren’t cooperating.
A spiritual drought doesn’t necessarily mean spiritual failure. It doesn’t automatically mean I’ve stopped believing or stopped praying. And in no way does it mean I’ve stopped loving God. I continue doing what I know to do, though the feelings and experiences that once accompanied those practices aren’t there.
Faithfulness isn’t pretending you feel something you don’t. It’s continuing to turn toward God even when you don’t feel what you wish you did.
When I was in Bible school, I would try so hard to get up in the morning and pray. The problem was I kept falling asleep. I was young and stayed up too late. Then I realized there was no law about having to pray in the morning. I decided to pray every night after dinner, when I was most awake and ready to study.
I remember the room I would pray in, the lighting, the chair, everything. During those years, those were some of the best personal prayer times I’ve ever had. And then life began to happen, and I got away from praying at that time.
When I feel as though I’m losing my fire, so to speak, I look back at those times as a kind of standard for where I want to be. I don’t necessarily need to pray in the same room, at the same time, or in the same way I did 30 years ago. But I do need the hunger for God that characterized those days. I pray in the morning now, but I still remember what it was like to hunger and thirst for God in those days. And I ask Him to renew that in me.
It’s not only the routine. It’s the hunger.
So, in this season of my life, I’m not trying to recreate an old experience. I’m asking God to renew my desire for Him.
At this point, you might be asking, “Can someone faithfully lead others while still recognizing their own need for spiritual renewal?” I think the answer is yes. Pastors aren’t exempt from needing the very grace and spiritual nourishment they encourage others to seek. The person encouraging others to pursue God is still pursuing God themselves.
Maybe the purpose of spiritual practices isn’t to get us back to where we used to be, but to keep us available to what God wants to do in us now.
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