We are living in an age of unprecedented access to Christian teaching. Sermons, podcasts, reels, devotionals, quotes, and theological commentary now travel faster than ever, reaching farther than ever, demanding less of us than ever. With a few swipes, a believer can listen to the most celebrated voices in the global Church—sometimes several of them within the same hour.
And yet, something is wrong.
Despite the abundance of exposure, many believers are less rooted, less formed, and less able to stay with a single truth long enough for it to shape their lives. We are exposed to more ideas than any generation before us, yet increasingly unanchored. Many believers remain under-formed—overstimulated, yet unrooted.
Digital platforms are not neutral. They are formative. They do not merely distribute content; they shape consciousness. They train us—quietly and relentlessly—to favor speed over depth and reaction over reflection. Over time, they disciple our instincts: what feels authoritative, what feels relevant, and what feels worth staying with.
The Bible presents formation very differently. The blessed person meditates on the law of the Lord Day and night. Paul speaks of being renewed in the mind—not informed, not inspired, but renewed. Jesus warns that seed sown in shallow soil springs up quickly, only to wither just as fast. Friends, formation is slow. Genuine attention must be sustained over time if transformation is to take place. There are no shortcuts here.
Attention, not access, is our greatest spiritual battle.
I have come to think of our present condition as intellectual window shopping. We sample ideas the way we browse storefronts—lingering just long enough to notice, nod, and move on. A reel here. A clip there. A quote, a moment of insight, a flash of resonance. None of this is inherently wrong. The danger lies in the pattern.
When engagement becomes perpetual sampling, we rarely remain long enough for truth to confront us, correct us, and ultimately change us. Exposure begins to replace contemplation. Inspiration substitutes for formation. The writer of Hebrews describes believers who have become “dull of hearing”—not because they lack information, but because they lack endurance and practice. The problem is not access. It is attention.
Pastors aren’t losing hearts—they’re losing attention.
For months, I have worked closely with gifted media professionals—people who understand content creation, algorithms, and reach. I have seen how effective these systems can be. Many faithful pastors, teachers, and evangelists steward public spaces with wisdom and integrity. But over time, I became increasingly aware that this mode of engagement shapes not only what is said, but how we listen—and eventually, how we think. It trains both speakers and hearers to prioritize what performs over what forms, what engages over what endures. I see the cost of this most clearly in the pastorate.
Every year, I travel to five continents—preaching, teaching, and training leaders. Different cultures. Different histories. Yet the same quiet concern surfaces again and again: pastoring has become harder, not because people are resistant, but because attention no longer stays. A pastor will stand before a congregation and articulate a direction he believes the Lord is calling them into—an exhortation, a correction, an invitation into deeper obedience. The congregation listens and responds heartily. But by Sunday night, many will have consumed dozens of other messages—sermons, podcasts, clips—from voices they trust. By the following week, the original exhortation had lost its weight, not because it lacked substance, but because it was crowded out.
When believers are trained to sample endlessly, shepherds are left competing—not with rebellion or resistance, but with abundance. And in that environment, pastoral authority is quietly eroded. You see, direction requires duration, and formation requires memory. This creates a quiet but crushing tension for leaders.
On one hand, there is growing pressure to optimize—to package truth in ever-shorter, more engaging formats just to remain audible in the stream. On the other hand, there is the fear of losing influence altogether if one refuses to play that game. But this is a false binary.
The Word of God offers a different measure of influence—one rooted in faithfulness rather than frequency. Jesus did not optimize for reach. Paul did not tailor his letters to shrinking attention spans. The prophets were not rejected because they were unclear, but because they spoke the truth that required endurance. Authority in the Kingdom of God has never been crowdsourced. It is cultivated through obedience, patience, suffering, and long faithfulness.
Inspiration fades. Obedience remains.
The Church has always been formed by what it attends to. In every generation, believers have had to discern which tools serve formation and which quietly deform it. Our moment is no different—only faster, louder, and more crowded.
Perhaps the invitation before us is not to say more, but to stay longer. Not to sample endlessly, but to dwell deeply. Not to confuse inspiration with obedience or reach with fruitfulness. Seeds do not grow in public. They grow underground—unseen, unattended by applause, shaped by time. And in an age trained to move on quickly, sustained attention may be one of the most countercultural—and faithful—acts left to the Church.
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