“You have spent X hours and X minutes a day on your screen this week.”
On Sunday mornings my phone comes to life, pestering me with the same message glowing in a way that draws my eye like a moth to a porch light. The irony is, I always get this notification when I’m in church. And I always swipe it away (because I’m listening to the sermon, of course). I can’t be bothered to know how much of my life I am wasting staring at this screen that lures my attention everywhere I go.
One Sunday, however, I decided to do the math. The notification told me that I was averaging seven hours and 23 minutes a day on my phone. I multiplied that by seven days and quickly realized I was spending almost 50 hours a week looking at my phone. That is two entire cycles of the sun. That equals over three months a year looking at my phone. Then I did one last equation: If I live to be 73 years old, I will spend over seven years of the remaining approximate 25 years of my life looking at my phone.
Now granted, I make my living on my phone. I tell stories on Instagram. I share words that hopefully lead people toward freedom in some way. I have raised over $1 million on my phone for people in need. I mean it’s not all bad, right? Of course not. But I also knew that I didn’t want to lose those seven years.
When I told my wife what my average screen time was, she asked me a single question: “So, what are you going to do about it?” I needed to do something drastic. And something drastic is what I did.
The Experiment
I made the decision not to look at a single screen for seven weeks. Not an iPhone, not an Apple Watch, not an iPad. No TV, no laptop or tablet. And during those seven weeks, I wasn’t just going to go live in a cabin in the mountains and wait it out. No, I wanted to be surrounded by communities that not only were living differently than I was when it came to technology, but also were people with deep faith.
Why? Because I was fairly certain that these screens were muting the voice of God in my life.
As Christian leaders, sometimes I think we forget that we don’t actually need screens—that ministry happened without them for thousands of years, and although they are helpful, maybe, just maybe, we have formed a relationship with them that we were never supposed to form. Maybe these screens have placed God in a box that he was never supposed to exist in.
So, I decided first to live with 20 Benedictine monks at Saint Andrews Abbey in Southern California (they also live in 23 hours a day of silence, I might add). And then I would live on an Amish sheep farm in Holmes County, Ohio, which is home to the largest concentration of Amish in the U.S.
Now, listen, I need all the introverts reading this right now who are thinking, I wish I could spend 23 hours a day in silence for 14 days, to hear me: No, you wouldn’t. Maybe you could last a week. But I promise you, God created us to talk a little more than that. That being said, my time at the monastery was absolutely life-altering. You see, when you lower the volume of life, the volume of God goes up. And isn’t that the entire goal of ministry—to hear the voice of God all day, every day? And when you do that, you will find that you reconnect with your calling, renew your spirit and relearn to listen deeply to God’s voice amid silence and simplicity.
Solitary Alignment
Living with Benedictine monks, I encountered a rhythm of life that prioritizes silence and prayer. This is not what I encountered working full-time in church ministry for 14 years. The monks’ commitment to a stable, ordered life created an environment where God’s voice can be heard clearly. And as I engaged in this stillness, I came face-to-face with my sense of identity—a realization that much of my self-worth was rooted in the validation I received from others—even validation for doing ministry—rather than in my identity as a child of God. What an absolute mess my identity had gotten mixed up in.
But I know I’m not alone. Church leaders are often at risk of grounding their sense of worth in ministry metrics, public approval or online engagement. Yet, true spiritual leadership is rooted in being rather than doing. Jesus exemplified this, frequently withdrawing to solitary places to pray and reconnect with the Father, as we see throughout the Gospels.
Church leaders, too, need intentional solitude. Consider setting aside regular times for silent reflection, free from screens, where your primary aim is to be present with God. And when I say setting time aside, I don’t mean an hour. After doing these seven weeks screen-free, I honestly believe that all ministry leaders need to spend one entire 24-hour period a week screen-free. That’s right. A whole day. Once a week. Start with two hours, then work your way up every week. This practice not only grounds your identity in Christ, but also aligns your heart with the true purpose of ministry.
God Speed
One of the other things that took me a few days to get down while living with the monks was how slowly everything went. From the pace at which we ate, to the pauses the monks would take in conversation to just think and reflect before they spoke, to the actual speed at which they moved their bodies from Point A to Point B—everything was so slow. I was used to doing everything fast because faster equals more efficient, right? Well, maybe not.
The more I thought about how slowly the monks moved, the more I began to reflect on the life and ministry of Jesus and how slowly he moved. I am no Greek scholar, but from my readings of the Gospels, I don’t recall Jesus and his disciples running from town to town, nor do I recall them racing around in a chariot. I feel like they walked everywhere, just like these monks were doing. And if I call myself a follower of Jesus, and Jesus did ministry at three miles per hour, and I am doing ministry at 100 miles per hour, the real question becomes, who is following who?
The monks showed me what I later termed “God speed”—a slower, more intentional rhythm of life that allows for depth rather than breadth. In the modern church, there is a constant pressure to expand, reach more people, grow the ministry. But Jesus moved through his ministry with purpose and patience. Rather than rushing, he walked, teaching us that sometimes the best way to do God’s work is at a steady, unrushed pace.
Church leaders can practice “God speed” by scheduling intentional pauses in their day. Prioritizing a walk, taking an afternoon to rest and pray, or focusing on a single task rather than multitasking can open space for God to move and lead. By slowing down, you can be more attentive to those you serve and to the Spirit’s promptings. I know this may feel like the opposite of everything you learned at the last church growth conference you went to, but trust me, this pace of ministry is calling your name.
Time to Wonder
One of the other practices that I developed while living at the abbey was something that I didn’t even know needed to be a practice. That is the practice of wondering. You know, when someone starts a sentence with “I wonder what …,” and immediately someone else pulls out a phone and extinguishes the wondering by googling an answer.
The sheer amount of wondering I did for seven weeks when I didn’t have access to answers was mind-boggling. When I would walk outside, and it was hot, I would reach into my pocket to pull out my phone to see just how hot it was and remember I had no phone. So, I guess “hot” was going to be the extent of my meteorological knowledge that day.
Wonder is a two-part concept: It begins with curiosity and leads to amazement. I got to experience this every single day. This process, however, has been shortened dramatically in our ministry lives. With a quick search on our phones, we can satisfy our curiosity almost instantly. But this shortcut robs us of the depth of awe that wonder naturally brings. By losing our capacity for wonder, we lose an essential part of our humanity and, as a result, our connection to God and each other.
When church leaders fail to cultivate wonder, their spiritual lives can become transactional and functional, devoid of the awe and mystery that invites true connection with God. Wonder thrives in uncertainty. Our emphasis on knowing everything fosters a fear of not knowing, causing many to feel pressured to become experts in all areas. We are not experts.
For faith leaders, embracing wonder means letting go of the need for constant answers and being open to God’s mysteries. This willingness to not know everything began to foster a richer spiritual life in me and helped prevent the pride that normally comes in (at least personally) from assuming we have all the answers.
We can model this approach to those we are ministering to by openly sharing when we don’t have all the answers. In doing so, we will encourage those who we are leading to embrace faith’s mystery and find peace in trusting God beyond understanding.
Table Talk
After two weeks with the monks, moving to Holmes County, Ohio, was like moving from a cave to downtown Manhattan. I spent two weeks in the town of Mount Hope, a tiny Amish community with a single four-way stop.
On one day with Willis Miller, my sheep farming mentor, we worked more and talked more than I had in my previous 14 days with the monks. I was exhausted. And while the monastery had shown and taught me how to reconnect with things like wondering and God speed, the Amish were about to teach me community and intuition—both things that we in general have lost because of our reliance on screens.
Living with the Miller family, I witnessed a community where relationships are prioritized. The Amish structure their lives around face-to-face connections, meals and community support, and I found that these interactions gave life greater meaning and depth. For example, our meals would legitimately last two hours.
I asked Willis, “So what’s with the long meals?”
“Carlos,” he said. “The dinner table is our Instagram. It’s how we connect and find out what is going on with each other and in the community.”
For faith leaders, meaningful community often requires real, physical presence with others. Though social media has broadened the scope of who we can connect with, true community is rooted in being present with those nearby.
Consider creating opportunities for device-free hangouts, where people are encouraged to engage directly with one another. How about having a screen-free Sunday where people bring an actual paper Bible and take notes on paper? This could end up being one of the most talked about Sundays in your church’s history. Modeling this for those we lead can help foster a church culture that values real, enduring community over digital relationships.
Go With Your Gut.
The Amish also taught me the lost art of intuition. You know, that thing that God gave us—our gut. How much are we relying on the voice of God and the Spirit’s moving? Oftentimes, we trust Google over God.
The Amish showed me how my reliance on data and external input often suppresses my natural ability to make intuitive decisions. In a culture that prioritizes reviews, ratings and the guidance of algorithms, we find ourselves looking outward rather than inward when making decisions. Trusting our inner compass remains vital, even in complex situations.
During my time on the farm, I learned from Willis how to reconnect with intuition in daily life. For Willis, his decisions were not derived from apps or forecasts but from observing nature and trusting his years of farming experience. Church leaders also can cultivate this “inner knowing” by paying close attention to the Spirit’s guidance, rather than seeking endless confirmation from outside sources.
Connection Restored
When I tell people about my little experiment, they always ask me what it was like when I disconnected. But truth be told, I didn’t disconnect. I actually reconnected. I reconnected with the voice of God and who he created me to be.
This experiment wasn’t about why phones are bad; it was about why it’s beautiful on the other side of the screen. And I believe that you were created for so much more than hours a day spent scrolling. You were created to wonder, notice, savor, get lost and find your way, and so much more that maybe, just maybe, these screens have taken away from us.
At the end of the day, I believe that the way to catch back up with the voice and will of God may not be to speed up, but to slow down.