Rich Watson resides in Hope Mills, North Carolina, near Fort Bragg. He served for 20 years in the United States Air Force and holds an educational background in psychology, education, and the social sciences. He has been happily married for over 25 years and is the father of four children, along with a son-in-law, daughter-in-law, and one awesome granddaughter. Since retiring from the military, Rich has worked in the mental health department of a veteran service organization, where he and his team facilitate resiliency based retreats for individuals, couples, and families. A convert to the Church in 1996, Rich has served in a variety of leadership callings across multiple wards and branches, thanks in part to frequent military moves. These include ward mission leader, elders quorum president, high priest group leader, Young Men presidency, branch president, bishopric, and high council. He has also shared his insights in a Leading Saints Podcast, “Ministering to Veterans in Your Ward.”
Enter Rich…
“Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)
That verse sounds peaceful, comforting even. It’s one we quote, cross-stitch, and turn into wall art. But taken seriously, it’s also deeply confronting. Because if we’re honest, stillness is not something most of us are good at.
We live in a world that rewards urgency, noise, productivity, and constant responsiveness, and as a church, we are not immune. Phones buzz, calendars fill, and expectations multiply. Our spiritual lives become crowded with callings, meetings, assignments, lessons to prepare, people to check on, and boxes to mark complete.
All good things, but rarely quiet ones.
Somewhere along the way, we forget how to simply sit with the Lord Himself.
The invitation to “be still” was never meant for calm, quiet lives. Psalm 46 was written in the midst of chaos. Being still does not mean disengaging from life or pretending problems don’t exist. It means choosing trust over urgency. In an anxious world, that choice can feel harder than ever.
Anxiety and Stillness: Naming What We Feel
Anxiety is a word we use often but rarely define. For some, it means panic or constant worry. For others, it’s quieter and more familiar, a racing mind at night, the inability to rest without guilt, the sense of always being behind even while doing the right things.
In church settings, anxiety often wears a respectable disguise. It looks like over functioning, hyper-responsibility, and saying yes more than we should. It shows up in leaders who are always available, parents who feel they are never doing enough, and members who serve faithfully but feel perpetually stretched thin. Because it often looks like dedication, it frequently goes unnamed.
Anxiety is not simply fear, and it is not a lack of faith. At its core, it is a state of constant vigilance, the belief that if we don’t stay on high alert, something will fall apart. In that space, trust quietly gives way to control.
This is where stillness enters the conversation.
Stillness is not silence or inactivity. It is an intentional pause that reorients us toward God. It is choosing to stop long enough to remember who holds and guides us. Stillness does not abandon responsibility, it releases the illusion that everything depends on us.
For disciples of Christ, stillness becomes a spiritual practice that directly confronts anxiety. It interrupts urgency and creates space to remember that God is present, aware, and at work, even when we are not.
When Anxiety Shows Up in Church Leadership
Anxiety in church leadership rarely looks like panic or emotional collapse. More often, it looks like competence. It shows up as preparedness, availability, and a deep sense of responsibility in leaders who care deeply about their callings. That’s what makes it so difficult to recognize.
In leadership roles, anxiety often disguises itself as over-functioning. Leaders feel responsible not only for decisions, but for outcomes. There is a quiet pressure to make sure everyone is okay, everything runs smoothly, and nothing falls through the cracks. Over time, this can create a belief that if we don’t stay constantly engaged, something important will fail.
Many leaders carry an unspoken fear of letting people down, missing promptings, or not doing enough. That fear keeps them mentally “on” at all times, even when they are physically resting. The result is leadership that is faithful but fatigued.
Anxiety in leadership also shows up as difficulty resting without guilt. Stillness can feel irresponsible, even selfish, because there is always another need, another message, another person who could use help. Gradually, constant motion becomes confused with faithfulness.
Ironically, this anxiety often grows in leaders who are trying their best to trust God. Stewardship quietly shifts into control. We pray for guidance, but feel compelled to manage every detail. This is not a failure of devotion. It is a sign that many leaders are carrying more than they were meant to carry alone.
The gospel does not require leaders to be anxious in order to be effective. In fact, chronic anxiety can make it harder to lead with clarity, compassion, and spiritual discernment. Stillness, then, is not a retreat from leadership, but a necessary part of it.
Practicing Stillness as a Leader (Without Neglecting People)
One of the greatest fears leaders carry is that stillness will be mistaken for disengagement. Slowing down can feel like neglect. But practicing stillness does not mean caring less about people. It means leading from a grounded, Spirit-centered place rather than from constant urgency.
Stillness begins internally before it ever shows up externally. It is not withdrawing from responsibility, but changing the posture from which we approach it. A still leader is not absent, they are anchored.
One simple practice is creating intentional pauses before action. Taking a brief moment before responding to a message, entering a meeting, or making a decision creates space for discernment. Over time, these pauses retrain us to respond thoughtfully rather than react anxiously.
Stillness also shows up through healthy boundaries. Saying no, delegating, and allowing others to carry responsibility are not leadership failures, they are acts of trust. This work was never meant to be carried alone.
Another practice of stillness is presence. Leaders are often pulled in multiple directions, mentally preparing the next conversation while still in the current one. Stillness invites us to listen without rushing to fix. Presence itself becomes a form of ministering.
Finally, stillness reframes rest. Rest is not something leaders earn after everything is finished, because leadership work is never finished. Rest is stewardship. Without it, clarity fades and spiritual sensitivity dulls. Stillness does not pull leaders away from people. It allows them to show up more fully.
Christ as the Model of Calm Leadership
If we want to understand calm, grounded leadership, we can look to Christ. He led in the middle of constant demand. Crowds pressed in, disciples misunderstood, critics accused, and suffering surrounded Him. Yet urgency never defined His leadership. The scriptures repeatedly show Christ withdrawing to pray, even when there was more work to be done. He slept during a storm while others panicked. He paused to ask questions when people wanted immediate answers. His calm was not detachment, it was trust.
Christ never confused responsibility with control. He trusted the Father completely. Calm leadership was not a personality trait of the Savior, it was the fruit of perfect trust in God.
For those called to lead in His church, Christ’s example offers both permission and invitation: permission to slow down, and invitation to lead from stillness rather than strain.
Conclusion: Choosing Stillness in a Loud World
We live in a loud, anxious world that rarely rewards stillness. Even in the Church, faithfulness can feel measured by activity and output. But the invitation to “be still” calls us to something deeper.
Stillness is not disengagement or neglect. It is a spiritual discipline that trains us to trust God more than our own effort. It will not remove all anxiety or responsibility, but it will reorient our hearts.
The command to “be still, and know” is not an invitation to do less, it is an invitation to remember more. To remember who God is and who He has been in our lives: steady when we were anxious, faithful when we were uncertain, patient when we were restless. To remember whose work this truly is. And to remember that calm, Christlike leadership is found not in striving harder, but in trusting deeper. Stillness restores perspective, and perspective restores peace.
In an anxious world, choosing stillness may be one of the most faithful decisions we make.
