Liberating Obedience

A Reframing of the Obedience You Thought You Hated

For many of us, the word obey has sharp edges.
It calls up memories of power used against us, maybe by a parent, or by a God we were told loomed as a harsh judge and taskmaster, always waiting for us to fail. Or perhaps it’s the constant expectation of perfection: “Do this exactly right, or else.”

This perception of obedience can cause us to lose ourselves. Fear keeps us from moving freely, and trust becomes nearly impossible. Our bodies, our desires, our passions become irrelevant, because “true spirituality” or “obedience” has been framed as purely outward performance. About following the rules and keeping the leaders happy. Over time, this shapes a life walked on eggshells, where the unspoken rule is: be perfect, or else.

The problem with this is that it paralyzes us. We stop taking risks. We stop exploring. We stop living with curiosity and wonder. We shrink back from opportunities, not because they aren’t good, but because we’re terrified of getting it wrong. Even joy starts to feel dangerous, as if delight might somehow lead us astray. We live guarded, withholding our true selves, because it feels safer to be small and “right” than to be free and alive.

This is not the life we were created for.

What if the obedience we read about in the Holy Text was about something more? What if true obedience wasn’t meant to hold us back or simply keep us in line, but to actually liberate us and help us live freely? What if there were a wiser, kinder, more holistic way to approach this word that has so often been used as a weapon? In the contemplative tradition, obedience is just that: something softer, wiser, and far more beautiful than we’ve been led to believe.

In Hebrew, the word often translated “obey” is shama. It doesn’t mean blind compliance; it means to listen so deeply that your life naturally responds. To shama is to let the words you hear sink in like rain into the soil, bringing something alive. It’s listening with the intent to live differently because of what you’ve heard.

In the Greek of the New Testament, the word is hypakouō, which literally means “to listen under” or “to listen closely.” It’s the image of leaning in, catching every nuance of the voice speaking, not out of fear, but because that voice is trusted.

Even the Latin root of our English word obey (ob-audire) carries this sense: “to listen toward.” It’s not about bowing before a tyrant. It’s about turning your whole self toward the voice of love, wisdom, and truth.

If we put these three ancient meanings into our own language, it might sound like this:

To obey is to tune your whole being to the frequency of God’s voice, like adjusting the dial until the static fades and the music comes through clear. It’s leaning in close, not because you’re scared of missing an order, but because you don’t want to miss the wisdom, encouragement, and guidance that could change everything. It’s letting what you hear settle deep inside you, shape your choices, and guide your steps, because you’ve learned the One speaking is for you, not against you.

But there’s a key piece here: in order for obedience to feel like this, like freedom rather than fear, we have to examine who we believe God to be. If we see God as a harsh taskmaster, as a cosmic critic poised to catch us failing, obedience will always feel like bondage. But if we see God as embodying the wise parent, the loving mother or father, then obedience becomes trust. We begin to trust not only God’s wisdom but our own intuition. The quiet, discerning voice of our heart, which is capable of hearing and responding faithfully. Obedience in this light is a co-created reality with God.

When we recover this original meaning, obedience stops being about losing ourselves to the demands of another and starts being about finding alignment. Aligning with God’s heart, with the deepest truth of who we are, and making decisions from that place.

When we understand obedience in this way, with listening at its core, it stops feeling like an obligation to a dictator and begins to feel like a rhythm of the soul. Listening and obeying aren’t two separate steps; they are two halves of the same breath.

First, we listen. Not just with our ears, but with our whole being, mind, heart, body, and spirit, tuned to the Divine and to the deep truth within ourselves. We listen for the still, small voice that is always speaking: through Scripture, through creation, through wise friends, and through the quiet stirrings that make us come alive.

In the Rule of St. Benedict, the very first invitation he offers is profound: “Listen with the ear of your heart.”

He doesn’t start with tasks, rules, or obligations: He starts with listening. For Benedict, obedience is the foundation of everything, but it doesn’t look like we might expect. It begins with radical, interior attentiveness. To listen with the heart is to lean fully into the subtle currents of life, to notice the whispers beneath the noise, and to allow the wisdom that stirs within us and around us to take root. This is where true obedience begins and what it is.

Then, we let what we’ve heard take shape in our lives and actions. That’s obedience. Not simply following orders, but living in alignment with what we’ve discerned to be good, true, and beautiful. It’s allowing the wisdom we’ve received to move from idea to embodied reality, embracing both the call of duty and the things that ignite our joy and passion. Our desires, our excitement, our light, they are just as much part of obedience as our discipline.

When we live this way, obedience becomes an act of creative participation with God. It’s the way we join in the divine work of making all things new. We aren’t just following rules, we are becoming part of a living story, one where our choices carry the same tone and texture as the One we’re listening to. And here’s the beauty: when we live in this kind of divine alignment, we not only find freedom for ourselves, but we help create a better world for others.

This is the invitation hidden inside the word obey: not to shrink, but to expand; not to be silenced, but to be awakened. Rooted in deep listening, obedience becomes the path into the life we were made for. It frees us from fear, from the exhaustion of trying to earn love, and from the smallness of living only for ourselves. It teaches us to move within Divine rhythm, to live with grounded confidence that we are not alone, and to act in ways that bring light, healing, and beauty into the world.

The God we obey in this sense is not a harsh taskmaster, but the wisest and most loving presence. The One who calls us beloved, kindly whispering, “This is a good way; walk in it.”

To obey is to trust that voice.
To obey is to live in step with the truth we’ve heard in our heart.
To obey is to become more fully ourselves while participating in something far greater than ourselves.

And that, far from being a burden, is the truest kind of freedom. The freedom to lean into the stillness within, to hear the life-giving voice of the heart, and to let every choice flow from that place of deep, radiant alignment.

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