Blog by Alan Fadling

Awakening to the Living Presence

Even though we affirm that Jesus is alive, many of us would admit that we do not always feel like he is. We confess the resurrection, but we still wake up each morning as if everything depends on us. We speak of his presence, but we move through too many of our days largely unaware of it. The issue is not whether Christ lives. The issue is whether our hearts are awake to the One who lives among us.

Andrew Murray understood this gap. He knew there is a journey between knowing the doctrine of a living Christ and experiencing the reality of his living presence. And he described that journey in three simple stages.

“The first stage is that of ignorance, the second stage is that of unbelief—the doubting heart that cannot take in the wonderful truth that Jesus lives. Then comes the third stage—the burning heart.”*

Murray suggests that awakening to the living Christ is not instantaneous. There is a progression in the soul.

First comes ignorance. Not defiance. Not rebellion. Just simple unawareness. Christ is alive, but we move through our days distracted, preoccupied, absorbed in tasks and outcomes. We confess his presence on Sunday, but by Tuesday afternoon we may be functioning as practical atheists—not because we deny him, but because we are inattentive to him. Ignorance is where we all begin.

Then comes unbelief. We begin to sense that something more is possible—that Jesus is not merely an idea but a present Lord—and yet we hesitate. We struggle to trust what we cannot see or measure. We believe in the resurrection historically, but we find it harder to believe in resurrection power in our meetings, our conflicts, our fatigue. The doubting heart cannot quite take in the wonderful truth that Jesus lives.

The Burning Heart and Daily Dependence

And then, as Murray says, comes the burning heart. Not manufactured emotion. Not spiritual hype. But a gift of grace.

The Spirit warms what has grown cold. Awareness deepens. We begin to notice him. Scripture comes alive. Prayer feels responsive. Obedience feels relational rather than dutiful. Weakness no longer feels like a threat, because we are no longer alone in it.

And this burning heart is sustained not by intense moments but by daily dependence. Murray writes that what we need each morning is to meet Jesus and to pray, “Lord, here is the day again, and I am just as weak in myself as ever I was; . . . come and feed me this morning with [Yourself] and speak to my soul.” †

Notice how that prayer circles back to where we began—shared weakness. “I am just as weak as ever.” We don’t pretend progress has made us more self-sufficient. We don’t graduate from dependence. We just keep on returning to it.

This is why Murray’s vision resonates so deeply with the spirit of the Twelve Steps of recovery. We admit our powerlessness—not once but daily. We come to trust that God can restore us—not abstractly but concretely. We turn our will over again—not dramatically but quietly. We are fed. We are led. We are loved.

The burning heart is not the reward for strong people. It is the gift given to those who remain receptive.

If the burning heart is given to those who remain receptive, then receptivity is not a minor virtue in the Christian life. It may be central. What distinguishes spiritual maturity may not be productivity but openness.

Spiritual Receptivity as the Source of Saintliness

When we think of the saints, we often remember what they accomplished. But A. W. Tozer suggests that beneath all they did was something deeper—an openness to God that shaped everything else. Tozer once wrote:

“I venture to suggest that the one vital quality which [great saints] had in common was spiritual receptivity. Something in them was open to heaven, something which urged them Godward. Without attempting anything like a profound analysis I shall say simply that they had spiritual awareness and that they went on to cultivate it until it became the biggest thing in their lives. They differed from the average person in that when they felt the inward longing they did something about it.” ‡

That phrase open to heaven fascinates me.

The saints were remarkable not because they were driven but because they were attentive. Their gaze settled on God before it turned toward outcomes. They cultivated awareness until it became the governing reality of their lives. What followed—their courage, their endurance, their impact—was fruit, not proof.

But what does that kind of openness actually look like? What is spiritual receptivity in lived experience?

“Receptivity,” Tozer writes, “is not a single thing; it is a compound rather, a blending of several elements within the soul. It is an affinity for, a bent toward, a sympathetic response to, a desire to have.” §

In other words, receptivity is not passivity. It is a posture. A leaning. A holy inclination of the heart. It is the quiet decision to turn toward God again and again. It is the willingness to admit weakness without panic. It is the choice to believe that Christ is not absent but alive. It is the daily prayer, “Feed me. Speak to me. Lead me.”

This is not dramatic spirituality. It will not trend on social media. It will not always feel electric. But it is how saints are formed.

• Shared weakness
• Confidence in mercy
• Trust in a living Christ
• A burning heart sustained by daily surrender

All of it depends on receptivity.

And perhaps that is the gentle but profound invitation before us—not to become more impressive but to become more open. Not to work harder for Jesus but to learn how to notice and respond to the life of Jesus already at work among us.

So tomorrow morning, before the emails and the meetings and the weight of your work descends, perhaps the simplest and bravest prayer we can pray is this:

Lord, here is the day again. I am just as weak as ever. Come and feed me with Yourself. Speak to my soul. Make my heart receptive.

And then, not in frantic effort but in quiet trust, we rise and walk with the living Christ into our day.

For Reflection:

• Where in the ordinary rhythms of your day do you tend to lose awareness of Christ’s presence? What simple practice might help you become more attentive to him there?
• What longing for God have you noticed within yourself lately? Rather than trying to satisfy or solve it, how might you simply open yourself to what God desires to give you?

* Andrew Murray, Jesus Himself (Revell, 1893), p. 12.

† Murray, Jesus Himself, p. 62.

‡ A. W. Tozer, The Pursuit of God (Christian Publications, Inc., 1948), p. 38.

• Tozer, Pursuit of God, p. 39.

Alan Fadling (MDiv) is a founding partner of Unhurried Living, Inc. in Mission Viejo, CA. He writes and speaks as an expert in the challenge of hurry in contemporary life and work and how to overcome it. He consults and coaches leaders and their organizations in the U.S. and around the world, helping them work towards long-term productivity that lasts rather than settling for quick fixes that don’t. Alan co-leads PACE, a two-year leadership formation journey that helps leaders live and lead from spiritual depth rather than depletion. He is the award-winning author of six books including An Unhurried Life, An Unhurried Leader and A Non-Anxious Life. To connect with Alan and find resources for soul care and leadership, visit unhurriedliving.com or find him on LinkedIn.