A lighthearted - but honest - note for the people who take care of everyone else.
Every year, Lent arrives with its beautiful invitation to SLOW DOWN, go inward, and tend to the soul.
And every year, those of us in ministry look up from our fifteenth planning meeting of February and say, "That sounds wonderful. Who is that for?"
Because the quiet irony of serving in a faith community, is that the season designed for stillness, is also the season where the people guiding that stillness are running at approximately 140% capacity. Ash Wednesday logistics. Mid-week services. Holy Week services - plural. Easter Sunday, which has the energy of a Broadway opening night but with more lilies and a significantly earlier call time.
Somewhere between "remember you are dust" and "can someone please reorder the candles," we forget to breathe.
"We are very good at holding space for others. We are somewhat less good at remembering we also take up space.”
THE OCCUPATIONAL HAZARD OF BEING THE HELPER
The reality is that nobody puts that in the job description: when you are the person people come to, it becomes genuinely awkward to need something yourself.
You become, in the eyes of your community, a kind of spiritual vending machine - always stocked, always available, dispensing comfort and wisdom with a smile. The idea that the machine might occasionally need to be restocked is not part of anyone's mental model. Including, if we're honest, our own.
We are very good at asking "how are you?" We are considerably less practiced at answering it truthfully when someone asks us back. The honest answer - "tired, a little frayed, wondering why I agreed to lead three additional small groups this semester" - tends to stay internal.
This is not a complaint. It is an occupational quirk. And like most occupational quirks, it is mostly fine right up until it isn’t. (seriously…just before you fall over the edge)
But Guess WHAT JESUS DID (THAT WE CONVENIENTLY SKIP OVER)
Here is a fun spiritual exercise: go back through the Gospels and count how many times Jesus withdraws. Goes off alone. Finds a garden. Takes a boat ride. Sleeps through a storm, which honestly sounds like a coping mechanism we should all explore.
The person we are following - the one we cite when we explain why we do this work - regularly stepped away from the demands of ministry to replenish. He wept before miracles. He asked his friends to stay awake with him in the hard moments. He had needs, and he did not appear to be embarrassed about them.
If the Son of God built rest and honest emotion into his ministry practice, the theological case for running yourself into the ground is, at best, shaky.
"Jesus napped on a boat in a storm. The bar for self-care is not actually that high."
SO, WHERE ARE THE HELPERS FOR THE HELPERS?
Good question. Genuinely. Where are they?
The honest answer is that they usually have to be sought out on purpose, because they will not just appear. A spiritual director. A therapist who doesn't flinch when you mention sermon prep and boundary violations in the same sentence. A peer group that actually tells the truth. A coach who asks you the questions you've been too busy to ask yourself.
If you don't have any of those right now - no judgment. Ministry tends to produce people who are excellent at building support systems for everyone except themselves (and even that skill is becoming harder to reproduce). And it IS a skill, just not a particularly lucrative or recognized.
Consider this a gentle nudge to add yourself to the list of people you take care of. Not at the bottom. Somewhere in the middle, at least. (oof…that even seems awkward to write)
A LENTEN PRACTICE THAT REQUIRES ALMOST NO PLANNING
By this time - you've already given up sugar or social media or saying "just checking in" on emails. But may I suggest one more small thing?
Give up performing on “fine".
Not publicly. Not in ways that worry your congregation or end up in next week's bulletin. But somewhere - in a journal, in prayer, with one honest friend, with a coach or director - tell the truth about where you actually are. Not the newsletter version. The real one.
The tired, grateful, stretched, sometimes-wondering-what-I'm-doing, deeply-committed-anyway version. That person deserves to be seen too. Especially by you.
After all, Lent is fundamentally about honesty - about looking clearly at what is real before we get to resurrection. That applies to your inner life just as much as the congregation's.
You have spent this season helping other people find their way out of the dark. You are allowed to admit when you need a little light yourself.
You're not complaining. You're human. There's a difference - and it's a rather important one!
Ready to have someone actually ask how you are “really" doing?
At EMBody Wisdom, that is exactly the kind of conversation we love to have. Whether you are in the middle of a demanding season, navigating a transition, or just quietly running on fumes — you deserve a space that is entirely yours.
No agenda. No one else's needs on the table. Just honest, grounded support for the person doing all the supporting.
Reach out and let's start there. Because you spend enough time caring for others. Let someone return the favor.
Visit embodywisdomca.com →
