Killing the Beast
Today I drove back to Jamestown, Tennessee, to lead a memorial service for a woman from the church where I served as interim this past year.
Somewhere along the highway, I made the mistake of turning on the radio.
Within minutes I was swimming in the familiar current of breaking news, political outrage, opinions disguised as certainty, and voices competing to be the loudest. It reminded me how easily the soul can be pulled away from its center.
Years ago someone wisely observed, "You're not the general manager of the universe." I need that reminder more often than I'd like to admit.
Like the Serenity Prayer teaches, there are things I can change, things I cannot, and wisdom is knowing the difference.
So sometimes the most spiritual thing I can do is turn off the noise.
When I do, I'm killing the beast.
I'm refusing to feed the constant appetite for controversy. I'm loosening the gravitational pull of everything that tempts me to drift from my true calling.
In the stillness, another voice begins to emerge.
The voice of God has never needed to shout.
It is there—in Scripture, in prayer, in quiet roads that wind through the Tennessee hills—calling me back to the larger Kingdom. Back to the mission that matters. Back to the slow work of transformation.
An instrument must be settled before it can make beautiful music. So must the soul.
Listen closely.
Run toward the voice of Jesus.
Every lasting difference in the spiritual life has begun there.
Away from the noise.
Away from the hubris.
Away from the endless drone of the beast.
And toward the heart of God.
