- Where did I feel resistance?
- Where did I feel delight?
- Where did I most experience God’s nearness?
While helpful, this structure is never meant to box God in. When God speaks—whether through Sabbath, Solitude, Prayer, or Fasting—my response is simply to listen. That’s what happened this week.
On Sabbath morning, I found myself contemplating the beauty of minimalism. Take espresso, for example: a much smaller volume than a regular cup of coffee, but with richer intensity. In contrast, our Western culture often gravitates toward “more”—from the Big Gulp to the Super Big Gulp. I remember when today’s medium-sized McDonald’s drink was considered a large. That shifted in the ’90s. Our houses have grown too—from 983 sq. ft. in the 1950s to 2,411 sq. ft. in 2023—while our families have grown smaller. That means more square footage per person, but often, more isolation too.
Our physical expansion mirrors deeper cultural changes. Even in Hawaii, we’re experiencing greater social distance. The launch of the iPhone in 2007 ushered in the era of the “digital bubble,” where we rely less on social interaction to get through life. And now, with artificial intelligence expanding, it’s entirely possible that in our lifetime, we could go days without meaningful in-person interaction.
So this week’s idea of “resistance” takes on new meaning. Instead of just reflecting on where I resisted spiritual practices, I began to think about how spiritual formation requires resisting the want for more.
In Western culture—though not exclusively—there’s a subtle, often invisible pressure to acquire more:
- More space.
- More stuff.
- More digital convenience.
And as we expand our personal domains, we often shrink in connection—becoming isolated, insulated, and self-focused.
Resist isolation. Resist overindulgence. Resist the slow drift into individualism.
And embrace intentional community.
In a world that rewards independence and convenience, community takes effort. But it’s essential. It is through community that we resist the cultural tide pulling us toward self-sufficiency and emotional distance.
This isn’t asceticism. Minimalism isn’t about rejecting comfort—it’s about focusing on what truly matters by removing the clutter (spiritual, mental, emotional, and physical) that distracts us from God and others. Asceticism says: detach from comfort entirely. Minimalism says: engage with life more meaningfully by reducing excess.
Spiritual formation isn’t produced by minimalism—but it creates the space for the Holy Spirit to work. The Practices we adopt (like Sabbath, Solitude, Prayer, Fasting, and Community) aren’t the goal—they’re the means by which God shapes us.
Minimalism engages with the world—but from a different posture. It teaches us to live with less so we can love with more. Less clutter. More connection. Less self. More community.
- Adopt Minimalism as a Value
This is not about deprivation but prioritization. Reduce the excess in your life—whether it’s stuff, busyness, or digital noise—so that you can make space for what matters most: loving God and loving others. - Fill Some of Your “Open Space” with Relationships
Make an intentional effort to be in Community, even when it’s just two of you. Conventus was a Roman term meaning, “where two or more are, there is Rome.” Jesus reclaims this in Matthew 18:20 when He says, “For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.” You resist Isolation and Individualism and bring the Kingdom of God near when you deliberately choose Community, even if you’re an introvert like me and it doesn’t come naturally. But this is why Community is a Practice—Biblical, taught, and modeled by Jesus.
Our greatest act of resistance today might be to resist “more.” Perhaps our greatest spiritual formation might come through this countercultural practice of simplicity and community.