Rewiring Your Brain: Transformation and Resurrection in Your Mind
Paul’s invitation is bold: “Be transformed by the renewal of your mind” (Romans 12:2). He also tells us to “take every thought captive” (2 Cor. 10:5). But let’s be honest: most of the time it feels like our thoughts have us captive.
The good news? Both scripture and science agree—your mind can change, and this can be transformational.
The Brain You Inherited
First, a little science. Your brain didn’t evolve with inner peace as the priority. It was designed for survival. Thousands of years ago, it mattered far more to remember where the lion attacked than where the wildflowers bloomed. So our brains developed a negativity bias. We cling to what’s dangerous and forget what’s delightful.¹
That wiring helped our ancestors survive, but now it often leaves us stewing in shame, fear, and self-criticism. Studies suggest we think between 15,000 and 70,000 thoughts a day. About 95% are repeats from yesterday, and 80% of those are negative.² Our minds easily get stuck in “glass half empty” narratives that aren’t even true.
Rick Hanson, a neuropsychologist, describes it like this: negative thoughts stick instantly like Velcro, while positive ones slide away like Teflon.³ For a good thought to “stick,” you’ve got to hold it in your mind for about 14 seconds.
No wonder Mark Twain quipped, “I’ve had a lot of worries in my life, most of which never happened.”
The Miracle of Neuroplasticity
Here’s the hopeful twist: your brain isn’t fixed. It can change. That’s what neuroplasticity means. Think of your thoughts as trails in the woods. The more you walk them, the deeper they get. But if you start walking a new trail—gratitude, compassion, awareness—it too becomes well-worn. Old trails fade; new ones form.
Research shows that contemplative practices like mindfulness and contemplative prayer can physically reshape the brain—strengthening regions tied to compassion, memory, and emotional regulation.⁴ In other words, every time you return a wandering thought to God, you’re not only obeying Paul’s command, you’re also rewiring your brain.
Resurrection in Your Head
This isn’t just psychology—it’s the resurrection pattern in action. Called the Paschal Mystery by St. Augustine and the early Church, Richard Rohr frames it as order → disorder → reorder.⁷ This same pattern applies to our thought life:
A thought arises (order).
It drags you into fear, shame, or worry (disorder).
You practice awareness, compassion, and release—and out of that comes wisdom or peace (reorder).
That’s death and resurrection, not just in history, but inside your neurons. Every time you notice a thought, examine it, let it go, and return to God’s love, you are practicing resurrection in real time.
A Practice: GOD’S Love
So how do you actually take thoughts captive? Here’s one practice I’ve found helpful. I call it GOD’S (because the whole thing rests in God’s love):
G = Grab. Catch the thought that isn’t “true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable” (Phil. 4:8). Fear, shame, resentment? Grab it.
O = Observe. Don’t shove it away. Let it come, and watch it. Where did it come from? A past wound? Trauma? Notice your body—tight chest, churning stomach. Scripture says, “Stand firm” (Eph. 6:13).
D = Decide. Viktor Frankl taught that between stimulus and response there is a space—and in that space is freedom.⁵ You get to decide whether to react out of fear or respond from your soul, your true self.
S = Soothe. Offer compassion. You will fail—often. But each failure is a chance to return. Nothing is a greater hindrance to healing than self-condemnation. A core part of this practice is learning compassion for ourselves—treating our own hearts with the same gentleness and mercy that God extends to us. Thomas Keating once told a nun who complained about “10,000 wandering thoughts” during contemplative prayer: “How lovely! Ten thousand opportunities to return to God.”⁶
Silence: God’s First Language
Rewiring takes more than one-off moments. It needs a daily rhythm of silence. Sixteenth-century mystic John of the Cross said, “Silence is God’s first language.”
One way to practice is Centering Prayer, popularized by Thomas Keating:
Choose a sacred word (“Jesus,” “be still,” “let go”).
Sit comfortably, close your eyes.
Introduce the word as a symbol of consent to God’s presence.
Let thoughts come, then let them go. Imagine your mind as the sky and your thoughts as clouds passing by. When you get stuck, don’t resist, retain, or react—just return to the sacred word.
End with a few quiet minutes.
Over time, this practice trains you to know you are not your thoughts. You are the observer, the soul, pure awareness.
Keating often summarized this with the 4 R's:
Resist no thought.
Retain no thought.
React to no thought.
Return ever-so-gently to your sacred word.
Keating recommends practicing this twice a day for 20–30 minutes. Few people can begin there, but over time it may become one of the most meaningful parts of your day. Beginning with just 5 minutes is a wise and realistic start. There are also simple apps, such as Headspace or Centering Prayer, that can help you get going.
My Practice
Here’s what it looks like for me (no halos here—just sharing my practice):
I sit for about 20–25 minutes.
Start with a few deep breaths (4 counts in through the nose, 8 out through the mouth).
I try to locate my “observer” by closing my eyes and gazing into the darkness of my eyelids. By noticing thoughts passing through, I believe I am beginning to connect with my awareness.
I then do a complete body scan, starting with my toes and working up to my head. I pause with gratitude for physical healing in areas that once held pain. Gratitude rewires fear. (This practice has become important for me because I’ve struggled much of my life with fears about health, often called hypochondria. Pausing to notice healing shifts my focus from fear to gratitude and reminds me of the body’s remarkable capacity to mend and renew. Over time I’ve also noticed my mind recalling moments of healing rather than just health concerns—an encouraging reversal of the Velcro/Teflon effect described above. When I hold the memory of healing for 14 seconds or more, it tends to stick, and I can return to it with gratitude.)
Sometimes I then imagine my death—not morbidly, but as a reminder that the true self never dies. Contemplating death can be strangely life-giving: it puts our worries in perspective, loosens our grip on control, and reminds us that everything we cling to is temporary. It helps me practice letting go now, so that when real letting go comes, it feels less like fear and more like trust. As a Christian, I trust that physical death is just the next step, and that my true self continues.
I then practice surrender over whatever I am struggling with: “Thy will be done.” In other words, I try to say “yes” to God with those thoughts that cause fear, anger, or resentment. I want to remember that any death that I am asked to participate in will lead to resurrection.
I aim to do all of the above in about 10 minutes, leaving the remaining 15 minutes for Keating's Centering Prayer.
Some days it feels peaceful; other days it’s a circus. Most days it’s a mix. But even the circus is practice—and an opportunity to return to God. I also set a timer so I don’t dwell on how much time is left.
Non-Dual Thinking: Seeing with Resurrection Eyes
Another gift of contemplative practice is that it trains us to think more non-dually. Most of our minds operate in “either/or” categories—good/bad, us/them, right/wrong. Our brains naturally go there because of the neural pathways that have already been carved. Like a well-worn trail in the woods, the mind quickly runs down the same dualistic path again and again. This may be useful for survival, but it rarely leads to compassion, wisdom, or love. All our brains have been programmed to think a certain way. Contemplative practice allows us to install new software.
Non-dual awareness gives us the ability to hold tension, paradox, and mystery without rushing to judgment. Jesus modeled this when he could hold both justice and mercy, both truth and grace, without reducing everything to one side. Dualistic thinking isn’t always wrong: “You cannot serve both God and Mammon” (Matthew 6:24). But contemplative practice helps us move beyond either/or into both/and. The cross itself is the great non-dual symbol: life and death, suffering and love, despair and hope—all held together and transformed into resurrection. Another example is the Trinity, three and one, or Jesus’ words in Matthew 5:45: “For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.”
Neuroplasticity shows us that the more we practice sitting in silence, observing thoughts without judgment, and returning to love, the more our brains are rewired to move beyond black-and-white thinking. We begin to see the world less as “us versus them” and more as “all of us in God.” This non-dual lens is essential for healing, reconciliation, and living out the command to love our enemies.
The Bottom Line
Neuroplasticity says your brain can change. Scripture says your mind can be renewed. The resurrection pattern says order → disorder → reorder.
Put them together, and here’s the good news: every time you return to awareness, compassion, and God’s love, you are participating in resurrection. Not someday. Now.
Ten thousand wandering thoughts? Ten thousand resurrections.
And in every return, you remember the deepest truth: your thoughts don’t define you. God’s love does.
Medical disclaimer: This is not medical advice. If you struggle with anxiety, depression, or trauma, please seek help from a qualified professional.
Footnotes
Baumeister, R. F., et al. (2001). Bad is stronger than good. Review of General Psychology, 5(4), 323–370.
National Science Foundation (cited in various studies) — estimates of daily thought counts vary, but high repetition and negativity are consistent findings.
Hanson, R. (2009). Buddha’s Brain: The Practical Neuroscience of Happiness, Love, and Wisdom. New Harbinger.
Tang, Y. Y., Hölzel, B. K., & Posner, M. I. (2015). The neuroscience of mindfulness meditation. Nature Reviews Neuroscience, 16(4), 213–225.
Frankl, V. (1946). Man’s Search for Meaning. Beacon Press.
Bourgeault, C. (2004). Centering Prayer and Inner Awakening. Cowley Publications, p. 24.
Rohr, R. (2020). The Wisdom Pattern: Order, Disorder, Reorder. Franciscan Media.
