When Your Quiet Time Feels Like a Chore
The Bible teaches that we are saved by grace alone, through faith alone—and this is not our own doing, so that no one can boast (Eph. 2:8–9). At the same time, we are commanded to work out our salvation, even as it is God who works in us (Phil. 2:12). So, how do we reconcile this tension between working out what God works in?
Many Christians feel this tension in their daily pursuit of God. We know that spending time in God’s Word and in prayer are essential for our spiritual growth. We want to practice these disciplines faithfully so we can grow in wisdom and knowledge, but also because we know God intends them for our enjoyment. After all, it is in the pages of His Word that He reveals Himself to us, and it is through prayer that we commune with Him.
Yet sometimes, what begins as delightful fellowship with God can drift into dutiful performance. What once felt life-giving and free can become cold and mechanical.
If Bible reading and prayer are the means God has given us to know him, what do we do when these very practices begin to feel like a checklist? If they are meant to draw us closer to God, why do they sometimes feel like a chore? What might it look like to recover them as practices that produce genuine delight—even leisure in our souls?
I don’t know if that tension marks your spiritual life, but it certainly marked mine.
As a new Christian, I was taught to have a daily quiet time; however, when I couldn’t consistently wake up early or stick to a routine of reading and praying, I felt guilty and like a spiritual failure. When I finally found the time, I expected to have an emotional experience, but I ended up feeling distracted and sometimes bored.
This confused me because I loved the Word and reading books about the Bible, but I struggled to enjoy the Book for myself. I was embarrassed when other Christians talked about their quiet times and what the Lord was showing them while I struggled to enjoy opening its pages.
Almost imperceptibly, a shift happened in my mind. I began to think of my quiet time as an exercise of my will. It was like lifting weights or eating broccoli: it wasn’t something I always enjoyed, but it was good for me, and it would produce good rewards if I stuck with it. With this mindset, the practice that should have nourished my soul became a mental checklist to mark off before the day's “real” work began.
I felt hypocritical for proclaiming my love for Jesus and His Word while also secretly struggling to enjoy meeting with Him. I wanted to change, so I joined Bible studies and accountability groups, made New Year’s Resolutions, and bought through-the-year Bibles. Each attempt helped for a time, but soon my enthusiasm waned and I was right back where I started. Exhausted from my efforts, I concluded this was just the way things were and that I would always struggle with this area of my life. One day, I picked up a book about spiritual disciplines (because clearly I struggled in that area). I came across a paragraph that stopped me in my tracks. Richard Foster, the author of The Celebration of Discipline, wrote,
The church Fathers often spoke of Otium Sanctum, “holy leisure.” It refers to a sense of balance in life, an ability to be at peace through the activities of the day, an ability to rest and take time to enjoy beauty, and an ability to pace ourselves. With our tendency to define people in terms of what they produce, we would do well to cultivate “holy leisure.” And if we expect to succeed in the contemplative way, we must pursue “holy leisure” with a determination that is ruthless to our diaries[1].
I had never heard of otium sanctum or holy leisure before, but it sounded like everything I lacked and desperately wanted. I wanted to experience more balance and less guilt, peace and less anxiety, rest and less striving. And most of all, I wanted whatever this holy leisure thing was in my life.
The word "leisure" stuck out to me the most, prompting me to rethink my approach to the Word. I viewed meeting with a friend over coffee or lunch as a leisurely activity, so why couldn’t I transfer that anticipation to my meetings with God? Essentially, we were doing the same things—listening, sharing, and finding satisfaction in each other's company.
I began researching holy leisure and discovered the concept of otium sanctum, a term used primarily by monks and early Church Fathers to describe restful devotion. The idea appealed to me, but I wondered if this was a concept for a bygone era, a time for monasteries and not for busy people in metropolises. Was this beautiful phrase more romantic than it was realistic? Could my lifelong struggle with enjoying God’s Word really be as simple as changing my mindset about it?
As I began to approach God’s Word with the goal of holy leisure in mind, I instantly enjoyed it more. Instead of feeling confined by a daily quiet time, I was eager to leisurely meet with the Lord and have my soul nourished in His Word.
When we shift our mindset to pursue holy leisure in our daily quiet times, we begin to see time with the Lord as restful—the opposite of checking a box. The invitation of holy leisure is not a call to abandon discipline, but to reorient it. When God’s Word becomes our place of holy leisure, it transforms not only our quiet times but also how we engage with our families, co-workers, and communities. It prepares us for trials, and it positions us for fruitfulness.
[1] Richard J. Foster, Celebration of Discipline: The Path to Spiritual Growth (San Francisco: HarperOne, 1998), 31.
This is an excerpt from “The Pursuit of Holy Leisure: Enjoying God in Everyday Places” by Cara Ray, released by Christian Focus Publications, April 2026.