Seth Godin offers a simple image for the start of the year that subtly critiques what “resolution” has come to mean in popular culture. The beginning of the year is a good time, he writes, to replace the tired spices in our kitchens: “The best, freshest spices still taste like the spice that’s on the label, but they taste more like themselves.” Then he extends the analogy: “First we have to figure out what we are, what we stand for, and what people expect. Then we get a chance to be more like that.”
Godin has in view marketers and freelancers, but congregations might hear an echo of their story, too. Jesus calls his disciples the salt of the earth, not to make them something new, but to remind them to be what they already are, and to warn what happens when salt loses its saltiness. He does not say, “you will” be the salt of the earth, he says, “you are.”
The point here is not about the annual ritual of resolution, but the deeper, daily resolution of belonging to Christ. When that identity is more frequently recovered and reclaimed, our spiritual rhythms become more sustainable and life-giving, faith is steadied even with all its doubt, witness becomes clearer, and the bond of the community tightens amidst all manner of complexity and difference. Not reinvention, but re-centering. Not novelty, but return. Not self-curation, but the recovery of an identity held fast by God’s faithfulness. In a season when mistrust and competing narratives dominate our national life, this call to re-centering our Christian identity cannot be construed as an escape from the world’s turmoil, but an intentionally patient way of being salt within it.
This posture is a quiet act of resistance in a culture unreservedly prone to optimization. Jacques Ellul once described it as a “…social order in which efficiency is no longer an option but a necessity imposed on all human activity” (Technological Society, 17). Everything needs to be efficient, measurable, profitable, scalable, spectacular, forever oriented toward more. Optimization presents itself as a kind of salvation, promising a coherence and certainty that cures us of overwhelm.
Congregations are not immune to this temptation. Gradually, ministry can begin to sound mostly like organizational strategy; discipleship becomes a matter of events and program implementation; community becomes engagement metrics; worship becomes production; mission becomes synonymous with political ideology and culture wars; pastors become brand managers. With all the best intentions, congregations quietly fall into the tempo and techniques of the surrounding culture.
But faith cultivation requires presence rather than performance. It does not scale neatly and does not promise efficiency. It matures by way of mystery, patience, mercy, and shared practices that retrain our desires and rhythms. It relies on repetition and return – Scripture, table, font, prayer, Sabbath, discipleship, mercy, justice. These practices carry their own implicit grammar: less spectacle, more story. Less platform, more presence. Less programming, more prayer. Less hustle, more holiness. Less project management, more ministry.
For congregations, the turn of the year is not an occasion for undertaking more ministry “stuff” in an effort to look more exciting and attractive, but an opportunity to recover who we are and whose we, returning to the promise resounding through the prophet Isaiah, “Do not fear, I have redeemed you. I have called you by name. You are mine… I will be with you… You are precious in my sight.”
A Responsive Prayer for Re-Centering and Reclaiming Who We Are in Christ
One:
Holy God, you have always chosen to work through seeds sown in fields, words shared around tables, and lives shaped over time rather than through displays meant to impress or draw attention.
All:
Less spectacle, more story.
Less platform, more presence.
Silence.
One:
Eternal One, you remind us that our understanding is partial, that wisdom begins in humility, and that your voice is often heard not in force or volume but in stillness.
All:
Less certainty, more wonder.
Less noise, more listening. Father, forgive our striving.
Silence.
One:
Jesus, you withdrew to quiet places to pray and entrusted your life and teaching to a few, trusting that faithfulness would multiply through shared life rather than careful planning alone.
All:
Less programming, more prayer.
Less managing, more mentoring.
One:
Living God, you tell us that your work is not accomplished through human strength or clever design, and when you looked upon the crowds your heart moved toward mercy rather than mastery.
All:
Less strategy, more Spirit.
Less control, more compassion.
Jesus, free us from fear.
Silence.
One:
God our creator and redeemer, you commanded rest as an act of trust and chose to come near to us in flesh and blood, sharing our limits rather than avoiding them.
All:
Less speed, more Sabbath.
Less polish, more proximity.
One:
Christ our teacher, you invited people not to observe you but to walk your way, trusting that transformation would come through costly faithfulness sustained by grace.
All:
Less display, more discipleship.
Less growth, more grace.
Holy Spirit, order our steps.
Silence.
One:
Jesus, you call those who are weary to find rest in you and send us into the world not as a system to be optimized, but as your living body bearing witness through love.
All:
Less hustle, more holiness.
Less management, more ministry.
Longer silence
One:
Hear us, O Lord.
All:
Triune God, have mercy on us; surround us, and lead us into your joy.
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