One of my friends recently pointed out that Jesus is never recorded as running in the Gospels. It is true. In the Gospel narratives, Jesus is described as one who stood (Mk. 11:25), sat (Mt. 5:1), walked (Mt. 4:18), reclined (Jn. 13:23), slept (Mk. 4:38), knelt (Lk. 22:41), fell facedown (Mt. 26:39), bowed his head (Jn. 19:30), bent down (Jn. 8:6), looked up to heaven (Mk. 6:41), stretched out his hands (Mk. 1:41), and embraced others (Mk. 9:36). But not once are we told that Jesus ran or rushed anywhere.

This theme of the pace of God is one that has fascinated me for years. I have written two books on the subject of slowing down—one exploring the biblical teaching on the Sabbath and another examining why slowing down matters for our theological formation. In all my work on this theme, I have found myself continually struck by the way Jesus engages other people within the chaos of the world he inhabited. Were I a therapist, I might be tempted to say that Jesus was the most emotionally regulated and well-adjusted person in all of human history. In a disordered empire consumed by bloodlust, power, control, and greed, Jesus incarnated himself into this world embodying a pace of life that was altogether prophetic and deeply disruptive to those around him.

Slowness is a form of true vulnerability. Imagine yourself in a relationship with someone who has repeatedly displayed glaring character flaws—flaws you have lovingly and honestly addressed over time. With grace and truthfulness, you have told them again and again how their actions have hurt or disappointed you. My suspicion is that all of us have experienced something like this. In these moments, our true character is revealed by whether we are willing to give another person the space, time, and patience needed for genuine transformation to take place. Demands for immediate change can, in the end, undermine the long and patient work of the Spirit in a person’s life. Put simply, that kind of patience requires deep trust and vulnerability—the willingness to allow someone to walk through the slow process of transformation.

Slow is the realm of faith. But hurry is the realm of violence. Years ago, the great African American preacher Howard Thurmond wrote a quiet little book called Meditations for Apostles of Sensitiveness that explores a variety of aspects of the Christian life. He points out that in most points of human history, it has been human attempts at expedience, productivity, and immediacy that has done the greatest violence to people. He writes:

A cursory glance at human history reveals that men have sought for countless generations to bring peace into the world by the instrumentality of peace...Violence is very deceptive as a technique because of the way in which it comes to the rescue of those who are in a hurry. Violence at first is very efficient, very effective. It stampedes, overruns, pushes aside and carries the day...[But] violence is the ritual and the etiquette of those who stand in a position of overt control of the world...Violence rarely, if ever, gets the consent of the spirit of men upon whom it is used.¹

What Howard Thurman is saying—as one fully aware of the horrific realities of colonial power and the hurrying of people into enslavement—is that beneath violence there is often a spirit of hurry. When we attempt to force things according to our own timing, we often end up doing violence to the very people we are pushing and rushing along.

It is no mistake, of course, that the evil one in Scripture is often described in terms of trying to get ahead of God. Jesus rebukes the spirit behind Peter with the words, “Get behind me,” because “you do not have in mind the concerns of God” (Mt. 16:23). Likewise, John offers a clear warning to the churches in his second epistle: “Anyone who runs ahead and does not continue in the teaching of Christ does not have God; whoever continues in the teaching has both the Father and the Son” (2 Jn. 1:9). Paul similarly writes, “Do not go beyond what is written” (1 Cor. 4:6). We learn, then, that one of the great dangers of human thinking, judgment, and theology is the temptation to run ahead of Jesus Christ. Faithful Christian theology does not move beyond the real Jesus—it follows him.

Satan is the one who self-describes himself as “running to and fro.” (Jb. 1:7) It is the Lord who takes his time and never runs.

This kind of reflection is far from abstract. As we consider how to love and serve those around us, it is imperative that we do so with the pace of God in mind. God has been unimaginably patient with each and every one of us—not only in the face of our persistent love of sin, but also in our lack of wisdom and continual folly. Scripture repeatedly reveals a God who is slow to anger, patient in his dealings with humanity, and willing to walk us along the slow path toward holiness. 

And if we observe that kind of slowed-down mercy from God toward us, then it only makes sense that we would extend the same posture toward others. As a pastor, how often have I caused harm by creating false expectations that lead only to disappointment, self-hatred, and a lingering sense of shame? How often have we done relational violence to others because we have carried a spirit of hurry—unable or unwilling to patiently wait for God to break through in people’s lives? Or, more so, how often do we do damage to our own souls by expecting immediate perfection, leaving no room on the calendar for God to do the slow work he’s had planned from the foundations of the world. 

Indeed, as Howard Thurman would quote from the well-known hymn, the Christian must be willing to “take time to be holy.”² And holiness does take time. While we receive the holiness of Christ through faith in him, it takes a lifetime for that holiness to become fully embodied in our lives. And that is okay—not only for us, but also for others. Does this mean we are free to continue endlessly in sin without consequence? No. We are called to repent every day, “as long as it is called ‘Today’” (Heb. 3:13). And, Lord knows, it is always today. But it does give us hope to understand the patient pace of God in our lives.

Aren’t you glad Jesus never runs in the Gospels?