OF ALL THE DANGERS OF MINISTRY, one I have infrequently dealt with is burnout. I admire those who for whatever reason drive themselves so relentlessly that eventually they turn into a pile of warm ashes—if nothing else, for their dedication and work capacity. As much as I love to work, though, and as much as my romantic soul yearns for the heroic deed, I have never reached the point of near emotional extinction for the cause.
Instead, my downfall has been simply to become worn out to the point where I no longer care, somewhat like a tennis player who after several sets becomes so tired he loses the desire to win. Compared to the tragic drama of burnout, that is decidedly nonheroic.
Someone has said, “Fatigue makes cowards of us all.” Let me rephrase that in more general terms: Physical exhaustion alters my emotional state. What I could handle when fresh I no longer feel up to. Difficulties that I first faced like a problem-solver full of faith now cause me to buckle at the knees. The challenges that once energized me now terrify me. While the presenting symptom on such occasions is emotional—depression or weakness—the real problem is physical: low energy.
When I am worn out, the words “I am so tired of …” fall easily from my lips. Tired of problems, tired of pressure, tired of sermon deadlines, tired of criticism, tired of working six or seven days a week, tired of difficult people, tired of having everything depend on me, tired of the same place and the same thing, tired of others letting me down. While I feel the problem is what comes at the end of the phrase, in reality the word “tired” is the true explanation for my urge to give in.
I have noticed several other characteristics of physical and emotional exhaustion and the desire to quit.
When I want to give up, I often consider more extreme measures than necessary to remedy my situation. When what I may really need is to work only six hours a day for a week to restore my battery, what I imagine I need is a several-week vacation, or a six-month sabbatical, or a new church.
According to the New York Times, in March 1997 the forty-nine-year-old CEO of the Luby’s Cafeteria chain died of what the police concluded was a suicide. After praying with his wife before going to bed, he slipped out of his house, checked into a motel room, and there slit his own throat. Those who knew him said his actions were completely out of character, and they groped to understand his motives. He had risen through the ranks of the company and only months before had become CEO and president. He was facing his first shareholders meeting a few days hence. Company earnings had declined marginally from when he had taken over, but that was to be expected—so the company’s financial picture was anything but disastrous.
Why the bloody suicide then?
As I read the New York Times article, I thought to myself that even if he were facing some secret personal disaster, there are better alternatives to suicide. Anything is better than that. I wondered if he was worn out, likely doing everything within his power to succeed and prove himself in his new responsibilities. Suicide (or sudden resignation or divorce) is the sort of desperate overreaction carried out by someone who has lost perspective due to emotional and physical exhaustion.
Another effect of wearing out, which I may not recognize as such, is being more easily tempted or provoked. It is as though my body, due to adrenaline or some other chemical stimulus, is in a state of heightened response. A suggestive billboard by the roadside that normally would not get more than a disinterested glance can now awaken a thoughtful look. A critical comment I would usually forbear now angers me. A setback at church or in my finances can quickly lead to despair and doubt. When I am physically and emotionally weak, temptation is strong. For this reason I am especially careful to get a good night’s sleep on Saturday. Besides wanting to have maximum energy to preach and minister to people, I have found Sundays always have their share of negatives, whether it be low attendance, a weak sermon, or a fouled-up program. When I am tired, Sundays and Mondays can be devastating. The events of the days themselves do not make them so; my energy level does.
Early in my ministry I read a motivational book in which the author challenged readers with the statement: The world is run by tired people and no one ever died from fatigue. He is right, I thought, and so I drove myself harder and harder to reach my goals, until through hard experience I began to learn some of the repercussions of constant fatigue. Overwork and sleep deprivation may not kill me today, but they can quickly and powerfully harm me emotionally and spiritually. The habitual lack of rest is eventually very destructive, often wiping out the gains from sacrificial hard work.
Why I drive myself
Knowing all these things does not keep me from overwork, however. I still push myself too far on occasion, and when I do, it is usually for one of the following seven reasons:
1. I work with a humanistic mindset rather than a spiritual one. Sometimes the way I work for the Lord better resembles the models found in business and motivational literature than the ones in the Bible. At such times, I lose the spirituality of ministry. I do not seek above all to grow in my relationship with God through work; instead, I just want to get work done for its own sake and to reach my goals. I may pray less and depend on technique more, or I pray primarily to get something from God instead of to know him better. My motivation to glorify God and give thanks is weak. I trust in the Lord more to accomplish my dreams than to fulfill his purposes. I “strive in the flesh” rather than rest in God.
When I work with this mindset, overwork is inevitable, for most everything depends on me.
2. I doubt God will provide for my needs, or I am not content to merely have my needs met. Because my church cannot afford a full-time pastor, I am bivocational, working the other half of the week as a free-lance writer, which carries no guarantees. Bills, however, are guaranteed—including my health insurance and retirement fund, both of which I pay myself. Consequently, even if I have writing work lined up for several months, I may worry about what happens after that. I feel I cannot let up for even a day because tomorrow I may have no work.
I have the same feeling in pastoral ministry, perhaps because our church averages only thirty-five parishioners. I always think I must work more because we need to grow in strength and next week several people may announce they are moving. Pastoring a church is an entirely unpredictable job, so I need to fish while the water is calm. I lack any sense of security in my church.
3. I overreach. What most leads to my depleted reserves are excessive goals, or what some theologians call inordinate desires. The philosophies and cliches carried by the posters of my culture have taken deep root within me. I want to make a difference, be all I can be, dream big dreams, tackle impossible projects. That is good, I guess, but sometimes I want those dreams whether God does or not, and that qualifies as grandiosity. Nothing ups the emotional pressure on me to push, push, push as when I spend time dreaming, goal-setting, and planning.
I love to learn; I can get interested in a multitude of things, and I want to be good at every one of them and become deeply involved in each at the same time. Over the last year, for example, I have flirted with the desires to write my first novel, to write an essay for a secular magazine, to learn to play Bridge, and to get another degree. I have regretted that while I learned to play piano several years ago I have not kept up playing. I have become passionate with a desire to read all the top books on apologetics and one-to-one evangelism; to lead others to a relationship with Christ; to grow in hearing and following the voice of God; to grow in leadership ability and lead our church to great fruitfulness; to enhance my writing skills; to memorize the book of Matthew.
As I hear accounts of churches in America experiencing revival, I want the same for our church, and I want to spend the time in prayer necessary to see this happen.
I want to see my four sons become great servants of Christ, and I want my marriage to glorify the Lord. There are so many good things to do and be in this world, and I want all of it to the maximum.
But big challenges are not all that cause me to overreach. My heart has also felt the twist and churn of envy and self-serving ambition. I am competitive, wanting to do as well or better than every other pastor or writer. When I hear that a church has won many people to Christ, I want to do the same. I don’t want to come up short when compared with others.
4. I become impatient. Although one of my strengths is patience, some things I long so much to see happen in the short term that I will pay almost any price to hurry them along. One is fruitful evangelism. It seems I want fruitfulness much sooner than God wants it. Presently we are seeing precious few people make the decision to become a Christian, yet I desperately want that to happen more.
Over the last two weeks, for example, what has most challenged my schedule and time constraints has been my desire to bring others to Christ. Two weeks ago we invited to our home a non-Christian couple who were on the top of my list of those with whom I wanted to build a trusting relationship. That of course meant several days of extra work beforehand for my wife and me to get the house and food ready for the occasion. On the Friday we had them over, I left the house at seven in the morning for the church office and did not return until seven that evening. Our guests arrived at eight and stayed until ten-thirty. I felt the effects of this full schedule the next day.
Last Sunday I returned to my office a little after one in the afternoon, following the morning worship service. I ate a bag lunch at my desk and then took care of some administrative duties until three, when I had an appointment I had been anticipating for two weeks. A medical student who had visited our Easter morning service called and asked if I would talk with her boyfriend, who was also a medical student. She told me he was an existentialist, who nevertheless wanted to hear someone explain why Christianity is reasonable.
More than two hours later, when we finished our conversation, I was exhausted but happy beyond words. I had another appointment at six, and our Sunday evening meeting began at six-thirty. I did nor regret the tightness of my schedule in the least, however, because I wanted so strongly to tell others about Christ and bring them into a relationship with him. If I could do that every Sunday, I would be ecstatic. I do not want to patiently wait for a few people to come to Christ each year; I want hundreds of people to do so now, and I would do almost anything to bring this about.
5. I fall into workaholism. As I write this, I am alone in my house during the dinner hour. This afternoon I said good-bye to my wife and boys as they flew to North Carolina for the wedding of a relative. The trip was provided for my family free of charge, and I could have covered the bases at church to go as well if I had really wanted to go, but I didn’t. I do not want to miss a Sunday at my church or a day of writing or a day in the church office. To leave my work behind and go co North Carolina sounded like punishment to me, for I love the work of ministry with an overwhelming love.
Is that workaholism? I have no doubt that sometimes I work too much and attack my to-do list with too much passion. I can find more meaning in my work than in my relationship with God. If I am not accomplishing something, I am miserable.
6. I do not like to take a day off, even a truly restful one. Several years ago I was in a small group with a man who described how taking a true Sabbath had changed his life. “My wife and I used to do many things on Sunday,” he said, “but we were tired all week long. Now 1 am careful to rest deeply on the Sabbath. My wife and I do not shop or run errands or work around the house on Sunday. We have even stopped attending Sunday evening church services. We worship on Sunday morning, and then we rest completely. We have both found that when we do that we have tremendous energy all week; if we do not do this, we drag around all week and simply wait for the week to end.”
As I considered what he said, I realized my day off was usually an active day. I would have fun at some sporting activity, read, run around doing errands, play with the kids, catch up with whatever was undone, or go out with Nancy. My day off was usually enjoyable but rather tiring, and that fatigue continued through much of the week.
So I forced myself to experiment with doing virtually nothing on my day off, and I discovered why the Jews had trouble keeping the Sabbath. Doing nothing all day is hard, especially in the morning. But I am learning to do so at least once every few weeks. I stay off my feet, spend time in the easy chair, listen to music, hang around with the family. The lure of reading is almost irresistible, but I try to avoid much of that because I do not rest when I read. I concentrate too hard and think of too many other ideas.
I often try to make my day off a Sabbath in the spiritual sense, taking advantage of the disengaged time to listen to God. As the day progresses, I stop thinking of all the things I need to do and eventually take a nap in the early afternoon. As I continue to wind down through the day, I sometimes find I can nap again around dinner. To my surprise, when I go to bed just a bit later than usual, I am able to fall asleep fairly soon and sleep deeply through the night.
When I am able to stick to this regimen (many weeks schedule demands do not allow it, or I feel such restlessness I have to start doing something), I experience a level of physical and emotional renewal that I do not experience otherwise.
7. I press to do things too fast. Earlier in my ministry, I read some literature on time management and got to the place where I tried to squeeze as much as possible into every day. That meant finishing each item on my to-do list as fast as I could. I found, though, that it took all the joy out of my work and, worse yet, it made even short periods of work exhausting because I worked under the self-imposed pressure of deadlines. Instead of enjoying my work, pursuing excellence, and growing in my relationship with God, I merely wanted to get more done. I found that a person can become just as greedy for time and accomplishment as for money. The more you do the more you want to do. Meanwhile I suffered some physical stress symptoms: pain in my jaw and neck, nervousness, and headaches.
After fifteen years, I finally learned that this kind of work pressure is definitely not for me. Now I am more efficient and often work within set parameters for each task. But like my favorite pasta dish, my work is too wonderful a thing to waste on rushing through just to get to the next thing so I can rush through that and get to something else. When I work at the right pace, work is energizing right through to the end of a satisfying day; when I rush, work quickly becomes stressful and exhausting.
Embrace work with humility
God is teaching me a different model of work and rest than the one found in our secular culture. Work and rest are both spiritual disciplines, dependent upon rhythm and balance, issuing in increasing knowledge of the Father.
Through the spiritual discipline of work, I become an apprentice son who labors side by side with his diligent, always productive Father. I discover the unique joy only a working relationship can bring, for no relationship matches the satisfaction known by two who work together well. In the process, the Father trains my soul in right motivations and steely character as each new challenge demands more dependence upon him, the source of wisdom and diligence, faithfulness and persistence. Being involved in spiritual work, I must breathe the Spirit, think and pray in the Spirit. Indeed, spirituality becomes my requisite “skill.” For co-workers with the Father the secular idea of empowerment takes on a whole new meaning.
On the other hand, the spiritual discipline of rest offers a different sort of empowerment. It brings physical and emotional restoration, which is necessary, but more important to me spiritually is the fact that I receive through rest a regular reminder of my place in God’s economy, and there I can find contentment. “Be still, and know that I am God” (Ps. 46:10). The discipline of rest shows that God has set boundaries on my life: the limitations of time and energy. To acknowledge without resentment the weakness of my humanity is to honor God as divine. God is unlimited in nature; I am not. He does great things; I do not. He is the Messiah; I am not. These truths wash anew upon the shore of my heart when I rest. While work teaches me what I can do, rest teaches me what I cannot do. If I have prayed and fulfilled my responsibilities, I will see what the mighty One can do without me.
Consequently the discipline of Sabbath (on whatever day and for whatever length of time), which means complete rest for the Lord’s sake, glorifies God. Through rest I show my trust in the One who can accomplish more in a moment than I can in a thousand lifetimes. Through rest I prove my belief in Him whose blessing truly makes rich. Instead of unstinting toil done out of the fear that I will one day suffer want, through rest I express my dependence upon the God of Abraham, Yahweh Jireh. Instead of ministering eighty hours a week as though everything depended upon me, through rest I convey that the kingdom depends upon God. My hands folded in Sabbath rest praise the One who opens his hands and satisfies the desire of every living thing.
If I cannot rest, I betray an inflated view of my own importance. The discipline of rest is a regular embrace with humility, through which my soul, often striving and straining like a dog on a leash, finds peace.
After taking Mondays off for quite a period of time, I recently moved my Sabbath to Saturday, and the difference this has made in my week has surprised me. When I took Mondays off, I basically spent much of the day in emotional and physical torpor, recovering from the intense preparation for Sunday and the experience of it. (Because I serve our church only part time, I spend my entire Sunday in morning and evening services, afternoon leadership meetings, and office work.) Far from finding any pleasure in Mondays, depressing as they were, I actually dreaded my day off.
Taking Mondays off had another drawback: Sunday followed five days of work, meaning I operated on depleted energy reserves and often felt frazzled. I sometimes found myself fumbling for syntax and words and inspiration in my sermons—a sure sign of mental exhaustion. With Saturdays off, I find the rhythm of my schedule, my emotions, and my physical energy far more favorable. On Sundays I am brimming with a sense of well-being; in the pulpit I am fresh and spontaneous; I have my legs throughout the service and to the end of the day. On Mondays I awake with anticipation to tie up loose ends from Sunday and plan the week ahead. And, wonder of wonders, Saturdays have become enjoyable, positive days off with my family.
I have found the wise balance of rest and work determines my effectiveness almost as much as the diligence with which I pray. Work and rest are indeed spiritual disciplines.
Copyright © 1998 Craig Brian Larson
