Gen Z’s early morning ‘Bible before phone’ routines sound impressive. But there’s a downside to discipline

I’m a Gen Z Christian. It may be hard to believe, but the idea of ‘productivity’ has my generation in a chokehold. Just type ‘My 5am morning routine’ into YouTube and you’ll see what I mean.

For women, this kind of content is often connected with the image of ‘that girl’ – a picture-perfect, fit, organised, successful young woman who has her life all worked out.  

I’ve watched an embarrassing amount of ‘How to be that girl’ videos over the years, and they all tell you pretty much the same thing: get up at 5am, Bible before phone, exercise, lunchtime prayer walk, strict schedule and church every Sunday without fail.

Many young Christians are faithful but spiritually exhausted

But the thing is, very few people need to be told that. They know what they ought to be doing. The tricky question is how.  

Exhausted by discipline

The answer most self-help guides will give you is discipline. The language of discipline is interesting. It often involves seeing yourself as your worst enemy: ‘get a grip on yourself’, ‘push yourself’, ‘get over it’. Sometimes it’s downright violent, with mottos like ‘kill your darlings’ convincing us that discipline has to hurt in order to be effective. 

Many young Christians are faithful but spiritually exhausted. As we push ourselves to stick to good habits, we often develop a resentment for what we know is good for us. 

But what if the reason we feel exhausted is not that prayer or Bible study are difficult, but the very fact that we’ve attached discipline to these things? When our time with God is a performance review, it is no wonder that so many Christians are burnt out. 

The answer

As a historian and sort-of-preacher, I have found that the only good answer to spiritual weariness has already been found – in the Middle Ages – and it is bridal mysticism. 

Bridal mysticism is a spiritual metaphor, or a way of approaching our life with God, which frames the relationship between the soul and God as a divine marriage. Grounded in the Song of Songs, it portrays the Christian’s longing for God in the language of romantic love.  

For writers such as Bernard of Clairvaux, Richard Rolle, Julian of Norwich and Margery Kempe, the key to a lasting spiritual life was not discipline but devotion. These saints are remembered as examples of rigorous prayer, service and asceticism.  But they rarely ask themselves if they are doing enough. 

Margery Kempe does not record how many times she prayed, and Bernard of Clairvaux does not write about ways to fit more Bible study into your week. They write about longing, desire, and tenderness. They write about devotion. 

The marriage metaphor shifts the focus from habits and performance to relationship: I don’t need a checklist or habit tracker to motivate me to spend time with my husband, so why do I feel that I need one for God?  

Of course, the saints did not assume that their relationship with God would be one constant honeymoon. They knew that every Christian will one day face a sense of frustration, doubt, or even abandonment. But the mystics’ understanding of prayer life through the metaphor of marriage also helped them to get through seasons of feeling ‘stuck’ in their faith, or even abandoned by God: “Where have You hidden Yourself, and abandoned me in my groaning, O my Beloved?” says the soul in a poem by St John of the Cross. “You have fled like the hart, having wounded me. I ran after You, crying; but You were gone.” 

Love is enough

Perhaps this is where you’re at. Perhaps you have been blaming yourself, feeling like God is disappointed in you. Like you will never be good enough. But devotion heals the scars of discipline. Discipline is repressive: it silences internal conflict and ignores exhaustion. Devotion is grace-filled: it embraces our frustrations and failings, allowing us to return in love.

When I feel caught up in this mindset of ‘not doing enough’, I remember the words of Bernard of Clairvaux (1090—1153): “Love suffices in itself; it pleases in itself and for its own sake. It is its own merit and reward. Love does not need any cause beyond itself, nor any fruit – its fruit is its use. I love because I love, I love so that I may love.” 

The medieval mystics understood something that many of us have forgotten: the soul is not meant for productivity, but for love and for relationship.