Is hurry the great enemy of spiritual life?

When John Mark Comer receives an email out of season, he replies with an automated message: “I’m observing rest periods; let’s talk again in a month.” And in the meantime, he deletes everything that comes in. He’s not a celebrity with a packed schedule of events; he doesn’t tour the country; and he’s not easy to find online. Yet his books have sold over a million copies, and every time he speaks in public, hundreds of young people—twenty- and thirty-somethings—fill historic chapels and coffee shops to hear him talk about one thing: that haste is the true enemy of the spiritual life. It sounds absurd, doesn't it? In a world where everyone tells you that lack of time is just a matter of organization, Comer turns everything on its head: you're not just too busy—you're caught up in a silent conspiracy against your inner self. And, according to him, technology is the fuel that powers this trap. Comer's argument is clear: hurry is not just stress; it is a spiritual poison. If you constantly live with the feeling that there is still something to do, that the day is never long enough, you lose touch with everything that truly matters. It's not a question of productivity or personal well-being—it's a question of the soul. The solution is not to “optimize” but to create empty spaces into which God can enter. This idea—that spirituality is lived out above all in the daily rhythm, not in grand declarations—seems almost trivial, but few people actually put it into practice. Who is this John Mark Comer? Raised in Silicon Valley, the son of a former rock musician who converted at a Billy Graham rally, he made a name for himself as Portland's “cool preacher,” able to speak to urban youth without sounding out of touch. Within seven years, his church had grown to thousands of members across multiple locations—a true faith franchise. But just when he seemed to be the epitome of success, he realized he was spiritually exhausted. He preached six times on Sundays, returned home when his children were asleep, lost his temper, and felt empty. “You can be a successful pastor and a failure as a disciple of Jesus,” he would later write. Thus began his revolution: he cut back on his commitments, turned off his phone on Saturdays, observed fasting, simplified his wardrobe to three winter outfits and two summer outfits, spent more time with his family, and indulged in Star Wars LEGO sets with his children. Gradually, he reclaims a slower pace of life—and discovers that only in this way does he begin to “feel God” again. This did not remain a personal choice: he convinced his church to try out the same disciplines, which became the foundation of “Practicing the Way,” his method comprising nine practices – from reading Scripture to fasting, from service to generosity. Today, he leads a small community of thirty people who meet in his living room, as well as a nonprofit that has already engaged more than twenty thousand groups around the world. But the question remains: Doesn't he risk turning Jesus into a kind of lifestyle coach? Critics accuse him of precisely that—of having concocted a ready-made spirituality for urban youth, one that is more about wellness than faith. Kevin DeYoung, a Presbyterian theologian, says that this approach sidelines the true heart of Christianity—faith in Jesus—in favor of routine. Comer responds: It's not about rules; it's about character transformation. The point is not to do everything perfectly, but to become more humble, more kind. In his view, the crisis of the churches is that they do not teach how to live—and without routines that make room for God, words remain mere theory. Often, his followers are not traditional devotees, but young people who feel out of place in traditional religious communities, perhaps even a bit uncomfortable identifying themselves as believers in public. The author of the article recounts that she tried the nine practices for six months: an hour of silence each morning, no screens on Saturdays, volunteering, and weekly fasting. There are plenty of inconveniences—no Google Maps, complicated meetings without WhatsApp, and fasting, which is always challenging. But in the end, the result is surprising: less time wasted on her phone, more time with friends, and more consistent happiness. However, Comer cautions, happiness is not the real goal. It's not about well-being, but about becoming capable of truly loving God and others. Spirituality, he says, “is not about de-stressing, but about being transformed.” Here comes the twist: his proposal is not just a religious version of a digital detox. It is a response to a hunger for meaning that even secular fads, perhaps unwittingly, are trying to satisfy. Some accuse him of being too radical for progressive Christians and too mild for conservatives. He carries on anyway: “Do you want a roadmap for staying faithful in a hostile world? The practices are there; we just need to rediscover them.” After all, anyone who has tried to live without rushing today knows how difficult it is—and how, perhaps, it is worth it. Haste promises efficiency, but it robs you of the best part of life. If this story resonates with you, on Lara Notes you can tap “I'm In” – it's not a 'like,' it's your way of saying: This idea is now mine. And if tomorrow you tell someone that turning off your phone can bring you closer to God, you can note it on Lara Notes: Shared Offline is your way of saying that conversation mattered. This piece comes from The Atlantic and has saved you at least 18 minutes of reading time.