It happens gradually, doesn’t it?

We begin walking a certain path because it seems reasonable, convenient, or expected. We establish patterns because they work for the moment. We make decisions based on immediate pressures rather than deeper values. Then one day we look up and wonder how we arrived somewhere we never intended to go.

Haggai, that brief but potent voice among the minor prophets, speaks directly to this modern condition with an ancient imperative: “Consider your ways” (Haggai 1:5, 1:7, KJV). Not once but twice he delivers this instruction, suggesting that our paths require regular examination rather than occasional reflection.

The Hebrew phrase is even more striking: simu levavechem — “set your heart on your ways.” This isn’t casual contemplation but deliberate attention, not just thinking about our choices but engaging our hearts in examining the directions we’ve taken and their underlying values.

The returned exiles Haggai addressed had established certain patterns—building comfortable homes while leaving the temple in ruins. These choices weren’t necessarily made through explicit rejection of priorities but through the gradual drift that occurs when we don’t regularly examine our ways. Day by day, stone by stone, they constructed lives that reflected values they might not have consciously chosen.

“Ye have sown much, and bring in little; ye eat, but ye have not enough; ye drink, but ye are not filled with drink” (1:6). Their unexamined ways had led to a peculiar emptiness—effort without fulfillment, consumption without satisfaction. The external patterns reflected an internal misalignment they hadn’t stopped to notice.

This resonates powerfully in our modern context. We invest energy in careers that don’t align with our deeper purposes. We allocate time to activities that don’t reflect our most cherished values. We direct attention toward information streams that don’t nourish our spirits. We build relationships based on convenience rather than meaningful connection.

Then we wonder why satisfaction remains elusive despite apparent success. We haven’t considered our ways.

Intentional living begins with this practice—examining the paths we walk rather than moving forward on autopilot. It means regularly pausing to ask fundamental questions: Where am I headed? Why am I going there? What am I building? What values do my choices reflect? Does my use of energy align with what I claim to cherish?

Haggai’s instruction came with a specific diagnosis: “This people say, The time is not come, the time that the LORD’s house should be built” (1:2). They had reasons—seemingly valid ones—for their choices. The timing wasn’t right. Conditions weren’t perfect. Other priorities seemed more pressing.

But their justifications collapsed under examination: “Is it time for you, O ye, to dwell in your cieled houses, and this house lie waste?” (1:4). When they actually considered their ways, the contradiction became evident. They had found time and resources for certain projects while claiming constraints prevented others.

How often we use similar reasoning. We claim we value health but never find time for exercise. We say relationships matter most but consistently prioritize work. We believe in spiritual growth but can’t fit it into our schedules. We care about community but remain too busy to contribute.

The practice of considering our ways reveals these contradictions between stated values and actual choices.

Haggai’s message led to tangible change: “Then Zerubbabel…and Joshua…with all the remnant of the people, obeyed the voice of the LORD” (1:12). Examination prompted action. They didn’t just reflect on their misaligned priorities—they adjusted their behavior to reflect what mattered most.

This is crucial. Considering our ways isn’t merely philosophical contemplation but practical reorientation. It means changing how we allocate our most precious resources—time, energy, attention, money—to align with our deepest values.

The prophet offers a promise connected to this realignment: “From this day will I bless you” (2:19). The turning point wasn’t completing the temple but beginning the process of living intentionally rather than reactively, aligning external choices with internal values.

What might this practice look like for us today? Haggai suggests several dimensions.

First, regular reflection. The repeated instruction to “consider your ways” implies ongoing examination rather than one-time assessment. Our paths require consistent attention because drift is constant. The values of our surrounding culture—efficiency, production, consumption, status—exert continuous pressure unless regularly challenged.

We might establish rhythms of reflection—daily moments, weekly reviews, seasonal assessments—where we examine our ways with specific questions: Where did my time go this week? What received most of my attention? Who received my best energy? What am I building? Do these patterns reflect what I value most?

Second, community accountability. Haggai addressed not isolated individuals but leaders and people together—Zerubbabel, Joshua, and “all the remnant of the people” (1:12). Considering our ways happens most effectively in community with others who share our deeper values and can see our blind spots.

We might cultivate relationships where we ask each other uncomfortable questions: Am I living in alignment with what I claim to value? Where do you see contradictions between my words and choices? What patterns do you observe that I might miss?

Third, cultural awareness. The returned exiles had absorbed priorities of their surrounding environment—comfort, security, prosperity—at the expense of their distinctive calling. Considering our ways means recognizing how the dominant values of our culture shape our choices unless consciously examined.

We might ask: What unexamined assumptions guide my decisions about success? What cultural messages influence my sense of what matters? What societal patterns am I unconsciously replicating?

Fourth, concrete response. Haggai’s audience “obeyed the voice of the LORD, and the words of Haggai the prophet…and did work in the house of the LORD of hosts, their God” (1:12, 1:14). Their consideration led to changed behavior—specifically, reallocating resources toward what mattered most.

We might identify specific adjustments: This week I’ll spend less time on [lower priority] and more on [higher priority]. I’ll reallocate funds from [consumption] toward [contribution]. I’ll adjust my schedule to reflect that [relationship/value/priority] matters more than [competing concern].

“Consider now from this day and upward,” Haggai instructs (2:15, 2:18), suggesting that intentional living isn’t achieved through single moments of clarity but through ongoing attentiveness to our ways—regular examination of whether our paths align with our deepest values.

The practice transforms not just our external circumstances but our internal landscapes. The ultimate promise to Zerubbabel—”will I make thee as a signet: for I have chosen thee” (2:23)—suggests that beyond the realigned priorities lies this deeper reality: we ourselves are formed through the practice of considerate living.

Perhaps that’s the point. When we regularly examine our ways, adjusting our paths to reflect what truly matters, we don’t just build more meaningful external lives—we become people of substance and intention, formed through the practice of conscious living rather than unconscious drift.

Our world is filled with distractions and reaction, considering our ways might be the most radical act available to us—the deliberate choice to live from deeper values rather than external pressures, examining our paths rather than simply walking them, and adjusting our steps to align with what we most sincerely believe and most deeply cherish.

The ancient imperative remains startlingly relevant: Consider your ways.