ABSTRACT: “The Lord regretted that he had made man on the earth.” In light of the whole counsel of Scripture, Genesis 6:6 and passages like it raise a challenging interpretive question: What could regret or repentance mean for a sovereign, immutable God? Readers of Scripture find help from three core theological principles: (1) The living God is the perfect God. (2) There is an absolute distinction between God and creation. (3) God reveals himself to creatures in ways they can understand. Together, these principles help us interpret passages about God’s regret without imagining God to be like man.

The Lord regretted that he had made man on the earth. (Genesis 6:6)

Many scriptural texts stop us short. Arresting our attention, they force us to read them again. And again. And again. “Did God really say . . . ?” Such declarations challenge readers to think carefully over what God says and, in an expression of humble dependence, ask him to give understanding (2 Timothy 2:7).

The many texts ascribing regret, repentance, or change to God provide just such a challenge, particularly when read alongside the scriptural witness to God’s absolute sovereignty over all things. The first such text in the biblical narrative throws the perceived problem into stark relief. In Genesis 6, God regrets that he created mankind and does an almost wholesale reversal of his initial act of creation (Genesis 6:5–7). We will return to this example later in the essay. For now, it suffices to acknowledge the fact that Scripture frequently attests to changes in God in response to his creatures.¹

How are we to read such passages, especially in light of divine testimony indicating that God neither regrets his decisions nor changes?² Answering this hermeneutical question requires layers of close theological work: attention to multiple scriptural texts and their implications; attendance to contemporary questions and positions; recognition and careful deployment of particular theological principles, especially those related to the nature of divine revelation and its recipients. In short, the question presents a bracing challenge for thoughtful readers who want to give due weight to the whole testimony of Scripture.

The aim of the present essay is not to offer a comprehensive analysis of the scriptural texts that present readers with the possibility of repentance in God. It does not present an analysis of the (post?) modern mind and the difficulties that contemporary ways of thinking bring to the table. Nor does it aspire to present an account of Scripture and Scripture’s readers. Its aims are far more modest. It merely lays out a set of dogmatic principles or rules to guide readers as they seek to prayerfully read and interpret Scripture, including texts that ascribe regret or repentance to God.³ In the following, we first explore a set of principles related to God’s self-revelation before asking how those principles inform our interpretation of difficult passages such as Genesis 6:6.

Three Core Principles

Classical accounts in the Western Christian tradition interpret passages such as Genesis 6:6 according to an array of core principles that aim to heed the whole witness of Scripture. These principles reflect a manner of thinking that prioritizes a certain order in the framework of theology: first God, then all else relative to God.⁴

We do not typically think in such a mode, being instead prone to its opposite: defining God by means of all that relates to him in his going forth in creation and redemption. This is particularly evident in common ways of thinking about God’s repentance. A straightforward reading of texts like Genesis 6:5–7 reveals a God who, like us, changes his mind in response to others. We naturally reflect our creaturely mode of being, defined as it is by constant change, onto the Creator. But natural inclinations do not always lead to biblically faithful conclusions. Because of our natural bent, understanding texts that make God appear like us in some fashion requires a hermeneutic governed by the doctrine of God in himself, a robust understanding of the distinction between Creator and creature, and a recognition of the way God speaks in Scripture.

The present section examines each of these in a limited fashion, beginning with the doctrine of divine perfection.

Divine Perfection

The doctrine of divine perfection affirms that in himself the triune God is perfect without qualification. He is replete, having no lack. “I am God,” he declares through the psalmist. “If I were hungry, I would not tell you. . . . Do I eat the flesh of bulls or drink the blood of goats?” (Psalm 50:7, 12–13). He is eternal, without beginning or end. “I am the first and I am the last,” says the Lord of hosts (Isaiah 44:6; cf. 41:4). He is the triune God, the forever glorious Father, Son, and Holy Spirit (see John 17:5). He is the supreme and perfect God over all, the “blessed and only sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone has immortality, who dwells in unapproachable light” (1 Timothy 6:15–16).⁵ As the replete, eternal, supreme, and triune God, he does not change. Rightly creatures confess him to be immutable, for God “remains forever like himself in his celestial and happy repose.”⁶ God’s self-revelation as the immutable one indicates that in his being he is absolutely perfect.

Ascribed to God, perfection means that nothing beyond him is necessary for him to be complete. And, crucially, nothing can add to or detract from his existence. The perfection of God is his threefold life of utter plenitude as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Writing of God’s triune perfection, John Webster states,

The perfect life of the Holy Trinity is the all-encompassing and first reality from whose completeness all else derives. God’s perfection is the fullness and inexhaustibility in which the triune God is and acts as the one he is. His perfection is not mere absence of derivation or restriction; it is his positive plenitude. God’s perfection is his identity as this one, an identity which is unqualified and wholly realized: “I am who I am” — what the scholastic divines called the perfectio integralis in which God’s life is complete in itself. That completeness is fullness of life, the effortless activity in which God confirms his excellence as Father, Son and Spirit. God lives from himself, he is perfect movement, the eternally fresh act of self-iteration. This act is the “processions” or personal relations which constitute God’s absolute vitality: the Father who begets the Son and breathes the Spirit, the Son who is eternally begotten, the Spirit who proceeds — all this is the positive wholeness and richness of God’s life in himself.⁷

A consequence of the doctrine of divine perfection is aseity, a theological concept that summarizes the scriptural teaching that God lives from himself (a se) and in himself (in se).⁸ “Besides me,” God declares, “there is no god” (Isaiah 44:6). He does not exist with necessary reference to the “gods,” deriving his existence as it were from a genus of which he is one instance of a species.⁹ No, he is the only God. “Before me no god was formed, nor shall there be any after me” (Isaiah 43:10). God is not and cannot be defined by reference to what is not God.¹⁰

God’s perfect existence a se has an important consequence for the question at hand: Does God change? The answer drawn from the doctrine of perfection is a definitive no. Why is this the case? Change in any being indicates some form of movement, such as a loss or gain, departure or arrival, unknown to known. Movement indicates un-actualized potential, that is, the possibility for development or declension. But God is perfect; therefore, he does not and cannot change. No potential or possibility can exist for him. As Thomas Aquinas argues, “Since God is infinite, comprehending in Himself all the plenitude of perfection of all being, He cannot acquire anything new.”¹¹ Being from himself means that he does not draw his divinity from some external source. Nor can he increase or decrease in magnitude or “divine-ness.” He does not replenish or add to himself in any way. His self-existence is his perfection, what Webster calls “the eternal lively plenitude of the Father who begets, the Son who is begotten, and the Spirit who proceeds from both.”¹²

Perfection includes all that is attributed to God — knowledge, wisdom, power, holiness, goodness, and so on.¹³ Already consequences for how we interpret a text about God repenting begin to emerge. If God’s perfection includes his knowledge, and if repentance or regret, according to the way we understand it as humans, demands a change in what is known or understood (a movement from potential to actualization), then applying the term to God requires us to attribute some measure of imperfection to God. But as we have seen, Scripture as a whole does not allow this, which requires us to significantly qualify what God means when he ascribes repentance to himself.

We will apply the principle of divine perfection to the question of God’s repentance in a subsequent section. Before doing so, however, we must treat another important principle that safeguards theological reason: the distinction between the Creator and his creatures.

The Creator-Creature Distinction

The perfect God, replete in his eternal, joyful existence, creates. This fact alone is enough to stun our minds and draw us to reverential, joyful, fearful awe (see Psalm 8). Exploring what it means when we confess God as “Maker of heaven and earth, of all that is visible and invisible” also leads to restraint when explaining what Scripture means when it ascribes regret and repentance to God.

The doctrine of creation teaches that all that exists does so by virtue of the one creative act of God in accordance with his will (Genesis 1:1; Revelation 4:11). God is “the universal cause of all being.”¹⁴ Set against the backdrop of divine perfection, that which God brings into being does not include himself. He simply is, eternal and without cause.¹⁵ And he causes the existence of all else. Between him and creation there is no commonality of being. “You were,” confesses Augustine, “the rest was nothing. Out of nothing you made heaven and earth.”¹⁶ In our thinking (and the exegesis that informs that thinking), we must hold to an absolute distinction between God and all that is not God.¹⁷

The relationship that exists between God and creation is therefore unique. There is nothing like it within the order of creation itself. Within creation, all things are to varying degrees related to and dependent on another. We cannot live without the food produced from the ground. That food depends on the rays of the sun and the cycles of seasons. Those seasons depend on the rotation and location of the earth relative to other objects in space. Creation itself exists entirely in dependence on God (Psalm 104:27–30; Colossians 1:16–17; Hebrews 1:2–3). But God’s perfect existence remains unchanged and, crucially, unaffected by the creation of the heavens and the earth.¹⁸

Once again, we are pressed to begin applying the principle to the question of whether God changes with respect to his creation. The absolute distinction between God and creatures implies that God does not change (he remains immutable) with respect to his very mutable creatures. Reflecting on the impermanence of the heavens and earth, the psalmist confesses their absolute contrast to God their Creator:

They will perish, but you will remain;
     they will all wear out like a garment.
You will change them like a robe, and they will pass away,
but you are the same, and your years have no end. (Psalm 102:26–27)

The heavens and earth change and pass away, but there is no corresponding mutability in God. He remains himself, the same, forever.¹⁹

This means that God’s perfection — in all its fullness — remains undiminished both with respect to the initial act of creation and its ongoing preservation. As God keeps all things in being, as he continues to direct them to their ordered end, he himself does not undergo development or augmentation. He is not who he is because of what takes place through his works. Rather, he is who he is eternally; he shows who he is to his creatures through his works. If he is to remain true to his own perfect nature, then he will not change in his external works.²⁰ If he were to change, that would indicate an imperfection in his being, making him dependent on creatures to realize his own perfection.²¹

In his explanation of God’s unchanging nature, Francis Turretin (1623–1687) argues that the biblical position is to ascribe “every kind of immutability” to God “both as to nature and as to will.”²² After he proves the doctrine from Scripture, he explains that creation, being from God, produces no change in him.²³ He later draws the conclusion (from creation and the unchanging nature of God) that his immutability extends to his providential governing of all creation.

He is most wise (foreseeing all things and for all) and most powerful (with whom nothing is impossible) and the best (who as he created the world at first with the highest goodness, so he cannot but conserve and govern it when created by the same).²⁴

Working from God toward the creation, Turretin extrapolates the doctrinal logic and ascribes to God an absolute and unerring providence based on his perfect, unchanging nature. He who made all things, who is himself not made, remains utterly distinct from and therefore absolutely sovereign over the entirety of creation.²⁵

When Scripture describes God as relenting from his purpose or regretting his decisions, faithful theological reason preserves the absolute distinction between God and creation and therefore guards against a facile interpretation of what Scripture means by relent or regret. Speaking properly of God means translating those texts in a manner that necessarily transforms the creaturely idiom. When employing such human terms to describe the works of God, we do not assume that they apply in the same way to him as they do to us. We must discipline our reasoning, constantly challenging our natural fallen tendency to think that God is just like us. This method of theological reasoning coheres with the fact that in Scripture God accommodates himself to creaturely understanding.

The Manner of Divine Revelation

God is perfect. In his being and his ways, he is beyond the grasp of finite and fallen (decidedly imperfect, even in the redeemed state) creatures. Furthermore, in himself he is not a part, not even the best part, of the creaturely order of existence. When he speaks and reveals himself to creatures, therefore, he does so in such a way that he brings himself down to creaturely understanding (what has historically been called accommodation²⁶).

God speaks to man. To some he speaks “face to face” (Exodus 33:11). But he does not do so “man to man,” that is, as equal communicants on a common plane. Rather, God speaks in earthly terms to creatures. Because his aim in revealing himself is that we might know him, he communicates with us in a manner commensurate with our creaturely nature and facilities.²⁷ God’s self-revelation to human creatures, because it is self-revelation, remains true to his being. As revelation, it truly makes him known. Because it is his self-revelation to creatures — that is, those whose entire existence is hemmed in by the boundaries of created being — God accommodates himself.²⁸

Careful interpretation of Scripture, especially in the many instances where it attributes creaturely qualities to God, will therefore hesitate before suggesting a univocity or equivalence of meaning between what God reveals of himself in creaturely terms and his own being.²⁹ Rather, confessing “the infinite qualitative distinction between creator and creation” mitigates the temptation to consider God as one of us.³⁰ In Scripture, God stoops. Rightly understanding what he intends to communicate in his stooping requires creatures to let go of the pernicious tendency to define reality only by what we can see, instead asking God to raise our eyes, so to speak, and fill them with divine light.

Perfection, Creation, Analogy

God’s perfection in his own inner life serves as the fundamental principle to guide theological discourse, including interpretation of passages concerned with God’s acts of repentance. Moving from the eternal triune life of God to his outward work of creation, the principle of divine perfection remains, illuminating the nature of God’s relation to creatures as one that produces no essential change in God. In his interaction with his creatures — in creation or judgment or redemption or perfection — he remains entirely unchanged. Therefore, when we come across texts in Scripture that say God “repents” or “regrets,” we interpret them analogically, recognizing that while they communicate meaningful truth about God, they do not mean he is like man (see Numbers 23:19).

Back to Repentance

Establishing doctrinal principles and rules is one thing. It is another to bring them to bear on a given passage of Scripture. How then can Christians faithfully interpret Genesis 6:5–7 in light of the three theological guardrails related to God’s perfection, his absolute distinction from creation, and his manner of speaking to creatures?

Following the genealogy of Adam’s faithful descendants, Genesis 6 opens on a world of unrighteousness. Beholding the wickedness of mankind and knowing “that every intention of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually” (Genesis 6:5), the Lord declares that he regrets having made mankind and that he intends to destroy them on account of their wickedness (Genesis 6:6–7). On its surface, the text seems to indicate a change in God’s intentions. Turning back a page or two reveals the depth of the apparent problem. At the height of the sixth day in the creation account, God creates mankind (Genesis 1:26) and then, seeing all that he made, declares it “very good” (Genesis 1:31). In Genesis 6, he sees that the people he made are the opposite of very good, being “only evil.” The variance between Genesis 1 and Genesis 6 introduces what appears to be a clear example of divine repentance.³¹ God, having made man, now regrets his actions.

Adhering to the dogmatic principles outlined above requires care in what we say here. First, though God speaks of this event in a manner understandable to creatures, that does not by itself indicate that God himself undergoes the change we typically associate with regret. The ascription of regret to God is analogical. In other words, while God does speak truly, what it means for him to regret an action is not the same as what it means for humans.

Second, when humans regret or repent of some previous action, it entails a change according to knowledge and intent. But God’s knowledge and will, being essential to his being, are not subject either to ignorance or change. “All causes of change,” argues Turretin, “are removed from him,” including “error of mind” and “inconstancy of will.”³² If the act of creation itself constitutes no change on the part of the perfect Creator (the principle of the Creator-creature distinction), neither can changes within the history of creation produce a change in him.³³

There are certainly changes in creation. God creates mankind, yet they turn to wickedness. God establishes Saul as king, yet Saul later rejects God. God threatens punishment on a wicked city, yet later that city repents. But such instances do not indicate a change within the immutable God himself (the principle of divine perfection). Rather, Scripture speaks of God’s regret with regard to changes that take place on the side of creation. Turretin again proves illuminating:

Repentance is attributed to God after the manner of men (anthrōpopathōs) but must be understood after the manner of God (theoprepōs): not with respect to his counsel, but to the event; not in reference to his will, but to the thing willed; not to affection and internal grief, but to the effect and external work.³⁴

The change in events like Genesis 6 occurs on the part of creatures. God knew what would occur during the days of Noah and Saul and Jonah. It comes as no surprise to him that the people he created upright turn to wickedness (see Ecclesiastes 7:29). These events occur according to his immutable will, which establishes his eternal decree both to punish evildoers and to forgive repentant sinners. Our perfect and unchanging God, Creator of all things, “does not repent of any action he has taken, and his purpose with regard to absolutely everything is as fixed as his foreknowledge of it is utterly certain.”³⁵

Clothed with Our Affections

The work of theology serves the church by returning again and again to the Scriptures, demanding that we continually mortify the tendency to conceptualize our God and his work in creaturely (and therefore idolatrous) terms. It aims to lead the church in humble, chastened obedience to the first and second commandments, preserving her allegiance to the living God and disabusing her of idols. The ubiquity of anthropomorphizing language for God in Holy Scripture only heightens the need to submit human language and concepts to the full scope and weight of God’s self-testimony, thus restraining the people of God from remaking him in our own image.

But why then does God speak in such a manner? Why describe himself in terms like unto us? He does so for our good. He desires for us to know him truly, to love and rejoice in him and walk in his ways according to his loving intent for us. He also has compassion on us. He knows our frame, the feeble limits of our capacities, the difficulties we face in thinking rightly about him, and the disastrous consequences of sin upon our intellects and affections. In our infirm and rebellious condition, the knowledge of the Holy One for which we were made is beyond us.

And so, because of his great love for us, he speaks to us about himself in ways that we can understand so that we, by his gracious condescension, might fulfill our end. In a delightful turn of phrase, Augustine describes this kindness of the Lord in Scripture as a “habit of making something like children’s toys out of things that occur in creation . . . to get us step by step to seek . . . the things that are above and forsake the things that are below.”³⁶ He does not intend to hide himself from us. Nor does he demand of us the impossible task of feeling our way toward him in our own power and by our own means. Instead, he reveals himself in terms we can grasp.³⁷

Why specifically does he describe himself as repenting or relenting? Why does he, in the words of Calvin, “[clothe] himself with our affections”?³⁸ Again, his intent is a gracious one. He desires not that we should consider him to be just like us, but that we may come to recognize the full horror of sin, how it is utterly abhorrent and opposed to the One before whose glory the seraphim hide their faces and cry out in reverence, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts” (Isaiah 6:3). He stoops because he desires that we would see clearly the antithesis between the upright nature he gave us and our utter corruption.³⁹ He describes himself as a regretting God so that we, in obedience to his command to repent and in fulfillment of our intended purpose to know him, might walk in the fear of the Lord.

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This morning, as I opened my Bible to Luke 10, I wanted to hear from Jesus. But I also wanted to know the score of a World Cup game. And I wanted to plan the day’s work. And I wanted to develop an idea about fatherhood. And I wanted to start writing this article. And . . . And . . .

Some mornings, I find myself staring into nowhere with my Bible open, thoughts flying through my mind like too many birds in a cage. I catch myself. How long have I been like this? Two minutes? Five minutes? Help me, Lord.

I want to sit at Jesus’s feet and let the wild world pass by. But I also know what it feels like for the wild world to pass into me and scatter my attention. On those mornings, I close my Bible with a sigh and wonder what peace and joy I just left behind.

Distraction, I’m learning, is a stubborn foe. Few are the mornings when focus comes easily. Most of the time, I have to look at the many tasks, many ideas, many amusements, and many demands that call my name and strain to hear the better voice above them: “Scott, Scott, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary” (see Luke 10:41–42).

For you who love the voice of Jesus yet too often fail to hear him, I invite you to consider a truth, a plan, a prayer, and a treasure.

Truth

First, the hard truth: If you let it, distraction will steal what’s best from your soul.

Do you remember how often Jesus told his hearers to hear, really hear? “He who has ears to hear, let him hear” (Mark 4:9). “Pay attention to what you hear” (Mark 4:24). “Hear me, all of you, and understand” (Mark 7:14). “Do you not hear?” (Mark 8:18).

Why repeat the point so often? Because unless we hear, really hear, birds will come and snatch the gospel from our hearts, or thorns will grow up and choke it (Mark 4:15, 18–19). God’s word, once received, does not remain in the heart without care. Either we “hold it fast” through diligent, believing attention (Luke 8:15), or we lose it.

But the hard truth comes with a hopeful truth: If you let it, attention will bring what’s best to your soul. When the residents of Samaria “paid attention to what was being said by Philip,” great rejoicing followed (Acts 8:6, 8). When Lydia “[paid] attention to what was said by Paul,” a river became a baptismal (Acts 16:14–15). And when we pay attention to Scripture, God gives and gives and gives.

In Bible reading, attention is a net for catching joys, a setting to hold precious jewels, a hand that takes hold of Christ’s garment, a basket for the bread of life, an Emmaus Road where we meet our Lord, a throne that welcomes his kingship.

“Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it,” God told his people of old (Psalm 81:10). And so he says to us each morning: “I have peace for your trouble, wisdom for your confusion, a way back from your wandering. Just open your attention wide, my child, and I will fill it.”

Plan

Attention is God’s gift, yet it is also our act. So we plan. Like the psalmist, we use the language of “I will”: “I will meditate on your precepts”; “I will lift up my hands toward your commandments”; “I will never forget your precepts” (Psalm 119:15, 48, 93). Yes, by God’s help, I will.

We generally meet two kinds of distractions during Bible reading: the trivial and the troubling. Trivial distractions include the news, email, and how many people liked your last Instagram post. Troubling distractions include relational conflicts, difficulties at work, and tasks you’re in danger of forgetting. Two kinds of plans help to keep these distractions at bay.

First, plan to keep away trivial distractions. Imagine you could push a button to give your brain a little dose of pleasure. Such a button would no doubt prove distracting as you read your Bible. But it would matter a great deal, would it not, if the button were on the table next to you or if it were upstairs in your closet.

Your phone is that button. And it matters a great deal to your Bible reading whether it lies within arm’s reach or whether you have to walk across the room or climb a flight of stairs to get it. If something besides your phone proves just as distracting, apply the same principle: Keep trivial things far from your Bible.

Second, plan to catch troubling distractions. Some thoughts prove so powerful that we cannot move on unless we somehow address them. But how can we address them without getting carried away by them? I find it helpful to keep a little notebook and pen nearby as a cage for catching distractions. Writing down an idea or a task doesn’t resolve it, but doing so at least assures me the thought won’t get lost.

Deeper troubles usually resist capture by writing. So, when we feel distracted by heart wounds and griefs, offenses and regrets, we would be wise to turn our mental processing into prayer. Pour out your troubles. Name your sorrows. Let your God keep them in his all-caring hands. Then return to his voice in Scripture.

Prayer

Attention is our act, yet it is chiefly God’s gift. So we not only plan but pray. Like the psalmist, we use the language of not only “I will” but “please help”: “Open my eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of your law”; “Incline my heart to your testimonies”; “Turn my eyes from looking at worthless things” (Psalm 119:18, 36–37). By prayer, the pages of Scripture become gilded with wonder.

In the chapter before Jesus entered Mary and Martha’s house, he climbed a mountain with Peter, James, and John. “And as he was praying, the appearance of his face was altered, and his clothing became dazzling white” (Luke 9:29). Jesus, the carpenter’s son from Nazareth, was transfigured before them. The disciples saw his glory. And not one of them was distracted.

When this same Lord entered the sisters’ home, surely Mary sat at Jesus’s feet undistracted because she caught a glimpse of his dazzling glory. The eyes of her heart saw one who shone like the sun; the ears of her soul heard the echo of the Father’s voice, saying, “Listen to him!” (Luke 9:35). So Mary obeyed. She “sat at the Lord’s feet and listened” (Luke 10:39).

By prayer, we sit at Jesus’s feet and see him as Mary saw him. On some remarkable mornings, with our Bible open, the kitchen table turns into a Mount of Transfiguration. The living room becomes hallowed ground. We climb up to a place where distractions dare not approach.

Of course, God can answer our prayers for attention without giving us a mountaintop experience, one that leaves us dumbstruck before him. Most of the time, probably, we’ll simply feel that we have a calmer mind and a softer heart. We’ll find ourselves more able to drive away distractions and more ready to respond to God’s word.

But only if we pray. So what if, each morning before reading your Bible, you took a verse from Psalm 119 (or some other part of Scripture) and turned it into a prayer for attention?

Treasure

Whenever we read the Bible with a measure of attention, we walk away holding a treasure, a word better than silver and gold (Psalm 119:72). And our task now is to hold onto it:

My son, be attentive to my words;
     incline your ear to my sayings.
Let them not escape from your sight;
     keep them within your heart. (Proverbs 4:20–21)

God speaks to us in his word not just to meet us in the moment but to supply us for the hours ahead. By his word, he readies us to resist temptation, endure discomfort, walk in good works, and keep him always before us. His word is treasure for today.

Sometimes, I live like a man with holes in his pockets who loses his treasure by mid-morning. But what if you and I were to heed the voice of wisdom and let Scripture not escape from our sight? What if we became not just increasingly attentive readers of God’s words but also increasingly attentive stewards of them? We could write one verse from our reading on a notecard, or return to the passage briefly after lunch, or text a friend to share something we saw, or let this part of Scripture shape our mealtime prayers — or take a hundred other steps to treat God’s words like treasure.

The distractions of the day will still come, many of them threatening to dominate our attention. But then we put our hands in our pockets and feel the gold again. We turn our thoughts to the Bible and remember our God again. And all through the day, we return to that good and better portion (Luke 10:42).

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It begins as soon as our feet hit the floor in the morning. Our minds start running through our to-do lists, and we mentally order our day. “First I’ll do this; then I’ll do that.” But even when we have everything in place, circumstances often dictate our next steps more than we do. Maybe that’s how Martha felt when Jesus stopped by for lunch.

When Jesus entered the town of Bethany, Martha was the first to welcome him into her home. As she prepared the meal, her sister, Mary, sat at Jesus’s feet and hung on his every word. Perhaps Martha intended to sit at Jesus’s feet after her work was done, but when her sister did not follow her priorities, she complained, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me” (Luke 10:40).

Jesus’s gracious response reordered Martha’s this-then-that priorities. “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her” (Luke 10:41–42). Martha’s work was important, but given the option of either spending time with Jesus or serving him, only one thing was necessary, and it wasn’t the lentil stew.

The order was clear: Sitting at Jesus’s feet took precedence over service. Jesus invited Martha out of the kitchen and into the living room. Before she fed others, she first needed her own soul fed.

Holy Leisure Before Holy Service

Christians have long wrestled with how to remain spiritually contemplative while loving and serving others, how to abide in Jesus amid life’s busyness. In the fourth century, Augustine reflected on the balance between devotion to God and service to neighbors. He wrote, “The love of truth seeks holy leisure; the necessity of love undertakes righteous activity” (City of God, 19.19). Augustine (like Jesus) reorients our priorities: holy leisure first, then holy service.

The phrase holy leisure may be unfamiliar, but it captures the biblical idea of delighting and resting in God. When we think about leisure today, we might think of escape or entertainment. However, Augustine understood leisure differently. It was not doing nothing, but an active pursuit of goodness, truth, and beauty. Therefore, the soul filled with “love of truth” is not idle but is drawn into a restful devotion to Jesus. As we engage with spiritual disciplines, our souls find rest, or holy leisure. Leisure, then, is not the opposite of meaningful work, but the condition of the soul that makes our work meaningful.

Holy Leisure for Everyday Life

Holy leisure sounds lovely, but what does it look like in the middle of ordinary life? Many associate a contemplative life with a monastic one — long, uninterrupted hours in study and prayer. While that may be desirable to some, it’s unattainable for most. In our busy modern lives, is it possible to be both contemplative and active? Can we pursue holy leisure in our holy service? Our lives may be full of necessary work, but we don’t want to miss the “one thing” most necessary.

Pursuing holy leisure does not require withdrawing from responsibilities; it requires seeking Christ first where our lives naturally unfold — at home, at work, and in community.

1. At Home: Focus on Your First Attention

The order of our priorities is seen most clearly at home. Martha was right to serve, but because she had not first oriented her heart to Jesus, she was “anxious and troubled about many things” (Luke 10:41). How often do we recognize a similar pattern in our service? We blame our frustrations on our schedules, interruptions, and endless demands. Yet our irritation often reveals something deeper: an attempt at righteous activity without first seeking holy leisure.

To pursue holy leisure at home, we begin the day with God and his word and return to him at key points throughout. We ask for his help to sit at his feet, even when we’re on the move. As we pause to pray throughout the day, we ask God to be our holy leisure, the wellspring from which our holy service flows.

2. At Work: Focus on Whom You Serve

Martha was focused on completing tasks rather than being in Jesus’s presence. But cultivating holy leisure at work often requires that we tap the brakes before we hit the gas. When we put holy service before holy leisure, we end up missing Jesus — the one thing necessary. Martha must have felt this when Jesus repeated, “Martha, Martha.” She had to stop and reconsider her “many things” in light of the one thing necessary.

Holy leisure is not an excuse to do nothing, but a reordering of our priorities that puts first things first (Matthew 6:33). Jesus pointed out that while Martha’s work provided temporary benefits, Mary’s good portion was permanent — it would “not be taken away from her” (Luke 10:42). To cultivate holy leisure in our work, we define success not by productivity but by our faithfulness to the one we ultimately serve.

3. In Community: Focus on Presence over Performance

One of the joys of Christian community is sharing a common love for Christ and a desire to serve him. Yet even in community, we can slip into a performance mindset — serving to be seen and approved rather than simply loving Christ and loving others. Martha likely felt the cultural expectations of hospitality, while Mary saw the unique privilege of receiving Jesus’s undivided attention. What started as a shared blessing (hosting Jesus together) soon exposed the sisters’ competing priorities.

We face similar pressures in our relationships today. Loving Jesus doesn’t automatically remove our desire to perform, but by seeking holy leisure, we grow in Christlikeness. This often looks like choosing presence over performance — slowing down, listening attentively, and genuinely enjoying the people God has placed around us.

Righteous Activity for His Name’s Sake

Mary’s focused attention on Jesus was her first priority, and Jesus said it was “the good portion” (Luke 10:42). By sitting at Jesus’s feet before she served, she enjoyed a spiritual meal she would remember long after her physical meal was forgotten. Mary chose Jesus over her sister, her guests, and the cultural expectations of her as a hostess — and Jesus affirmed this as the right choice.

We may not always live up to Mary’s example of contemplation before action, but we too can cultivate holy leisure in the middle of our everyday lives. As we sit at his feet and seek first his kingdom, our priorities are reordered. Our this-then-that approach to life doesn’t have to be at the mercy of our circumstances. We can pursue holy leisure and then undertake righteous activity for his name’s sake. When we do, Jesus will be our good portion — the one thing necessary.

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“You’re going too fast. You’re making careless mistakes.”

I can still hear my dad saying this as he was helping me with my math in the basement. A worksheet or quiz lay in front of us, and its message was clear: I know how to do the problems; I’m just not doing them carefully. “Ugh,” I groan, “this takes forever! When can I be done?”

Decades later, I find myself sitting at my own kitchen table next to a math sheet belonging to my kids. This sheet says the same thing as the one from 25 years ago: smart, careless student. “Ugh, this takes forever! When can I be done?”

Ironically, hurry itself is patient. It’s more than happy to linger in one’s DNA for decades at a time, waiting to make a reappearance.

Despite the well-known negative effects of hurry, it is not a vice in American society. Like busyness, hurry is considered a social plus, a sign of seriousness and purpose. “I can only stay for a little bit” is something a respectable, in-demand person says. The intelligent modern person uses technology to shave off every unnecessary minute. Even leisure is a candidate for hyper-efficiency, as we ask AI to summarize books instead of reading them, or put our podcasts at 1.5x speed.

Work and leisure are not the only places we hurry, are they? What if we asked ourselves how much of last week’s Bible reading we genuinely remember? It’s true that mornings are not infinite. On some mornings, Bible reading feels like a race against time, to beat our children’s early wake-ups or the nonstop activities about to begin. But is the answer to our lack of time always to just hurry up?

Hurry Doesn’t Hear

Here’s the problem. Hurry doesn’t actually help us hear faster. It prevents us from hearing altogether. Hurry may be a friend of efficiency, but it’s an enemy of attention. When we slow down long enough to really understand what God wants from us as his people, we see that his kingdom is less like a microwave and more like a garden. He values speed and efficiency not nearly as much as health and rootedness. If we would really hear God’s voice in Scripture, we must fight hurry.

Let me give you three reasons why hurry prevents our hearing and offer three options better than hurry.

1. Hurried reading is shallow.

This point is so obvious we tend to forget it. As George Orwell observed, seeing what’s right in front of one’s nose is a constant struggle. When we come to the Bible asking primarily how we can speed up or optimize the experience, we inevitably bounce off the words, like rocks skipping across the surface of the pond. Our eyes glance over passages, scanning them instead of sitting in them, trying to arrive at “the point” as fast as possible.

Here’s the thing: God’s word is so alive and rich that even this kind of inattentive glancing can feel satisfying in the moment. And there may be days when, in his providence, a quick skip over the surface of his promises is the best we can do. But a crutch is not a leg, and a hurried, shallow reading of Scripture is not strong enough to support our walk in this world.

2. Hurried reading is forgetful.

Think about some of your favorite and most formative memories, such as a graduation, a wedding, or the birth of a child. While those days may have been busy and chaotic in some ways, you probably intentionally soaked in certain moments, knowing in advance you’d want to treasure the sights and sounds for years to come. We tend to remember best what slows us down the most. When something stops us in our tracks, we usually leave footprints.

When we come to God’s word in a state of hurry, we often forget what we read. Our goal is to check the box that says we did something with our Bibles that day, and the faster we can accomplish that something, the better. This may feel efficient for our schedules, but it leaves us unprepared to bring the word to mind during trials, temptations, or discouragements.

3. Hurried reading is temporary.

It only takes a brief stretch of shallow, forgetful reading for us to ask ourselves (maybe subconsciously), “What’s the point of this?” There’s a limit to how many times we will sacrifice sleep or scrolling in order to take a passing glance at Bible verses we will forget just an hour later.

Most of us know from experience what happens when life circumstances force us to be selective about our time. Usually, the hard-won habits and intentional essentials stay, and the sporadic, half-hearted things go. The more we treat our Scripture reading as a box to check as quickly as possible, the more we’ll see it as an unnecessary box to begin with.

How to Fight Hurry

So, if hurry prevents us from hearing, what’s the alternative? I suggest liberating our listening from hurry with three tools: plans, pondering, and patience.

Plans

Hurry often creeps in when we’re trying to force something into the margins. But Bible reading shouldn’t be that, and it doesn’t have to be. Instead, we can see our daily time in God’s word as an essential, an anchor habit around which the rest of our day takes its shape.

As James Clear observes in his helpful book Atomic Habits, one key to making a practice stick is to organize your surroundings to make the practice easier and more automatic. If you’re targeting unhurried reading in the morning, go to bed early enough the night before. Keep phones and tablets out of the bedroom at night so you don’t spend your first thirty minutes awake scrolling. Put an open Bible in the room so that it’s right there. Plan to be unhurried, and you’re more likely to be.

Pondering

I once asked Donald Whitney, author of one of the best books on spiritual disciplines, what advice he would give to someone who has only twenty minutes for a quiet time. Without hesitating, he said, “Read for five minutes; then meditate for fifteen.” For many evangelicals, meditation is an undervalued and underused spiritual discipline. But many seasoned saints cannot speak of their time in the word without it.

There are good resources on what biblical meditation looks like and how to do it. The only point I’ll make here is this: Meditation and hurry are mutually exclusive. Pursue one, and you will flee from the other. Instead of trying to skim through as much Scripture as possible, take two or three passages and sit with them. Read them out loud, changing the inflection of certain words each time. Ask why the author chose this word or that comparison. Two verses that you drive deep into your heart will loom larger in your spiritual life than a chapter you hurry through.

Patience

“Ugh, this takes forever! When can I be done?”

Sometimes I think there’s always a part of me, spiritually, that’s sitting at my basement table, staring at careless mistakes on a math sheet. I just want to be done: done with fighting sin, done with forgetting Jesus’s promises, done with being filled up and poured out each day. Can’t I hurry past all this?

In Psalm 1, the blessed man who delights in the law of the Lord is compared to a tree planted by streams of water. By contrast, the wicked are like chaff blowing in the wind. The thing about chaff is that it really does move a lot. One good wind and it will cover a lot of ground very efficiently. But that is not the metaphor God has chosen for his people. Instead, we are trees: growing slowly, day by day, almost imperceptibly, thriving and bearing fruit over time.

Let’s be okay with the long, difficult, unhurried life of listening to and following our Lord. There will come a day soon when the war against time is over, and all that’s left is joy and an eternity to feel it. On that day, we’ll be grateful for every unhurried minute we spent at the feet of our Savior.