Ought to be mandatory preventative maintenance. Expected. Somewhat regular. Guilt-free.

Like taking your car in for an oil change or a tire rotation. Like getting your yearly physical. Like regular date nights with your partner.

If you wait until a warning light is blinking red, you possibly waited too long. Now you’re in damage control mode. It’s better to rest before repairs are needed.

It will be stolen, depleted, diminished, forgotten, rejected, exhausted, used up, burned out, boxed out, crowded out, passed by, sidelined, left behind, ignored, marginalized, broken, weakened, overwhelmed, and silenced by the relentless roar of waves crashing on our shores.

And why is that, exactly? Why does that happen?

It doesn’t really matter. Why is an unhelpful question, I think. There are a million and one reasons why, and we can never bulwark ourselves against them all.

Perhaps a more helpful question to ask is how? How, then do we regain lost joy?

And that’s a good thing. 

Unless you’re the kind of person who values speed and efficiency. The kind of person who likes quick decisions and quick actions and quick outcomes. The kind of person who is just ready to get on with it and get things done. In that case, the slowness that comes with a team will feel to you like a bad thing. 

But it’s still a good thing. 

Are almost always bad decisions. When I am overly hasty in coming to some conclusion, in choosing a direction, in weighing A and B, it’s usually because I am uncomfortable. Discomfort rushes me into some decision—any decision—as a means of remedying the discomfort as quickly as possible. 

The relief is real, but momentary. 

Peace does not push its way in. Peace does not force itself into a situation. Peace does not demand an audience. Peace does not insist on getting its way. Peace does not come naturally or automatically. 

Peace must be invited. Peace must be welcomed. Peace must be worked for. 

Whether internal peace (within one’s own body, mind, or soul), or external peace (within one’s relationships, environment, or society), there is a single first step to take: attentive silence. 

Isn’t automatic. There are so many competing versions of you being put forth every day—from both external and internal sources—that it requires some careful consideration. The false self is tricksy. Unmasking the false self is hard work.

That means questions.

Below are a few just to get you going. You may not be able to answer all of these very well. That’s OK. That’s not the point. The power is more in the asking than the answering. Resist the urge to force an answer just for the sake of having one. 

Fairness is all about someone getting what they deserve. Grace is all about someone getting what they do not deserve. 

Fairness is getting what you pay for. Grace is being gifted what you could not afford.

Fairness is concerned with return on investment. Grace is concerned with a generous payout regardless of your contribution.

Fairness values your performance. Grace values your personhood.

Fairness bases decisions on merit. Grace bases decisions on mercy.

Is part of your work. 

Think about why you do what you do. From the big picture all the way down to the details; both the forest and the trees. The desires that drive you from within and the purposes that push you out into the world are perhaps the most important thing about your work. “Why” is the soul of work. 

I preached my final sermon to the church that my wife, Angela, and I planted and co-pastored together almost 14 years ago: Greenleaf Vineyard Church.

It wasn’t a year ago by date, but by the church calendar. It was Pentecost Sunday, 2020, the day that Christians celebrate the outpouring of the Holy Spirit. The sermon was titled, “What is the Holy Spirit Up To?”

I phrased it as a question because questions were pretty much all I had at the time. 

So over a computer screen (as if what I was doing wasn’t hard enough), I read from Acts 2, and then made the following points as I said goodbye to our church, our dream, our baby, and our friends:

Because their stories are not their own. Because no individual’s story is only about that individual. The protagonist is always surrounded. There are always antagonists, companions, and supporting characters. 

To tell my story is to also tell part of someone else’s story. And, of course, as the saying goes, there are always two sides to every story. In the case of a pastor telling their story, there can be dozens of other sides to a single story. 

Pastors’ stories also belong to their congregation, to the volunteer leaders, to the staff that they work with. This is both beautiful and paralyzing.