Don’t Rush Past This

When God Interrupts the Plan

A worship leader named Jennifer Whitlock wrote something that stopped me this morning:

“I never want to get so good at following the plan that I forget how to let God interrupt it.”

She described those moments during worship when something almost imperceptible shifts in the room.

A lyric suddenly carries more weight.

Something the pastor says settles deeply upon the people.

A familiar chorus no longer feels familiar.

And somewhere within her spirit, she senses:

Don’t rush past this.

Perhaps the song does not need to change.

Perhaps the sermon has not ended.

Perhaps the plan was not wrong.

But something has happened.

The Word has landed.

And the next faithful act may be to stop.

To sing the chorus again—but slower.

To turn the words into prayer.

Or perhaps to say nothing at all.

The silence.

That is what caught me.

We are often uncomfortable with silence, especially in church. We feel responsible for filling it. Someone must sing, speak, pray, testify, play an instrument, or move the service toward its next scheduled moment.

Silence can make us nervous.

What if nothing is happening?

But what if something is?

What if the silence is not empty?

What if it is full of the presence of God?

There are moments when another word would not add to what God is doing. It would interrupt it.

We may become so concerned about completing the song that we miss the worship.

So intent upon finishing the sermon that we fail to notice the Word has already accomplished its purpose.

So committed to the plan that we do not recognize the One for whom the plan was made.

The plan is not the enemy.

Preparation matters.

Rehearsal matters.

Order matters.

But the plan must remain a servant. It must never become the master.

Jesus was frequently interrupted.

Jairus came asking Him to heal his daughter. Jesus began walking toward the man’s house, but along the way a woman reached through the crowd and touched the hem of His garment.

Jesus stopped.

To everyone else, she was an interruption. Jairus’ daughter was dying. There was somewhere important to go and something urgent to do.

But Jesus stopped.

He would not rush past her.

The delay must have seemed unbearable to Jairus. Yet Jesus was not governed by the urgency of the crowd. He moved in perfect agreement with the Father.

What appeared to be an interruption was part of the ministry.

What appeared to be a delay became someone else’s moment of healing.

Perhaps some of God’s most important appointments are hidden within what we call interruptions.

Jennifer wrote about sensing a change in the room and hearing inwardly:

Don’t rush past this.

That belongs not only to worship leaders and preachers.

It belongs to all of us.

Do not rush past the person who suddenly comes to mind.

Do not rush past the Scripture that causes you to pause.

Do not rush past the tears that appear without explanation.

Do not rush past the hand that reaches for yours.

Do not rush past the quiet.

Do not rush past the moment when an ordinary word suddenly becomes alive.

Sometimes the Holy Spirit interrupts our schedules because He is doing something that was never written into them.

And sometimes His interruption is not another word.

Sometimes it is room around the word already spoken.

The psalmists gave us a little word for this:

Selah.

Pause.

Consider.

Do not hurry to the next line.

Let this one settle into you.

Perhaps that is part of the silence between the words.

The words matter. The conversations matter. The songs, sermons, prayers, and Scriptures matter.

But something continues after the sound becomes quiet.

The Spirit takes what has been spoken and carries it deeper than the voice could take it.

Growth may occur in the silence between conversations.

Healing may begin in the silence after prayer.

Conviction may deepen in the silence after the sermon.

Worship may become more honest in the silence after the song.

And sometimes God’s suddenlies rise out of those silences.

This morning, as I began reading what had been written, something suddenly welled up within me.

One of God’s suddenlies.

Nothing visible had changed. No trumpet sounded. No wind rushed through the room.

But something moved within.

The words had found the place where they belonged.

I could have rushed past it.

I could have read the next paragraph, checked the next item, or moved on with the morning.

Instead, I stopped.

There is a Daily Wandering here.

Sometimes that is how God interrupts us.

Not with an earthquake.

Not with fire.

Not with a voice loud enough for everyone else to hear.

Sometimes it is simply an inward stirring that says:

Stay here for a moment.
There is something I want you to notice.

Learning to recognize those moments takes time.

Jennifer honestly admitted that she does not always know whether she has heard correctly. Sometimes she may continue when she should have stopped. Sometimes she may stop when she should have continued.

That honesty matters.

Sensitivity to the Holy Spirit is not the same as following every passing emotion. We learn His leading by knowing His Word, spending time with Him when no one is watching, obeying what He has already said, and remaining humble enough to admit that we are still learning.

Perhaps we never completely master it.

Perhaps that is the point.

We were never meant to master the Holy Spirit.

We were meant to follow Him.

And following requires listening.

Listening requires quiet.

Quiet requires us to release our need to control every moment.

That may be why the silence feels threatening. In silence, we are no longer directing the service, controlling the conversation, or advancing the plan.

We are waiting.

We are listening.

We are leaving room for God.

The plan may have brought us to the moment.

But only the Spirit knows what the moment contains.

I have plans before me.

Books to finish.

Messages to prepare.

Rooms to put back in order.

Assignments that matter.

I believe in planning. I believe in preparation. I intend to remain faithful to the work God has given me.

But I never want to become so good at following the plan that I forget how to let God interrupt it.

The red cup was an interruption.

The fog rolling over the lake was an interruption.

A sentence discovered while proofreading Seeking Him was an interruption:

“Sometimes growth takes place in the silence between the conversations.”

Then came another:

“Simply… quieter.”

And then the question:

“What do we do when the God we are seeking seems strangely silent?”

Now comes a worship leader reminding me not to rush through the silence.

These are not interruptions that have pulled me away from the work.

They have become the work.

Perhaps the book is being written this way—not by abandoning the plan, but by listening for God in the pauses He places within it.

So today I am listening for the quiet prompting:

Don’t rush past this.

If a Scripture suddenly becomes more than ink on a page, I do not want to rush past it.

If someone I love needs me to stop and listen, I do not want to rush past them.

If the Holy Spirit settles upon a moment, I do not want to bury it beneath more words.

And if God interrupts my carefully arranged plan, I want to remember:

The interruption may not be keeping me from the assignment.

The interruption may be the assignment.

Sometimes the most spiritual thing we can do is stop.

Wait.

Listen.

And leave room around the Word God has already spoken.

Selah.