By the Rev. Dr. Pamela Dolan
I recently listened to a podcast aimed at faith leaders with the arresting title, “Exhausted in the Wilderness.” It’s clear to me that this title is applicable to a LOT of people, not just pastors and priests. Exhaustion seems to be part of the modern condition, sometimes even something that we brag about, if only obliquely.
Humanity evolved, like other creatures, to live according to the rhythms of the natural world, with times of activity and inactivity determined by factors like the seasons of the year and the rising and setting of the sun. Today, by contrast, we live in a 24/7, 365-days-a-year world. For many of us, there is no obvious rhythm of work and rest in our lives.
One of the haunting memories I have from early in the pandemic was overhearing people talking about how quarantine sounded kind of appealing. This was before California received its first widespread lockdown order, when we thought that maybe only individuals who had tested positive to the virus would need to isolate. There were people who innocently believed that being quarantined would be like a two-week vacation, except better, because you wouldn’t have to leave home or interact with anyone. They talked about finally getting a chance to lie around and catch up on Netflix. Even as a joke, this kind of thinking revealed something terribly concerning about how overwhelmed by life many of us feel.
Of course, when shutdowns did start happening, it was not the idyllic experience that some had imagined. Obviously for people who got sick, who lost loved ones, or whose jobs disappeared, it was a devastating time. But even for the lucky ones among us who stayed healthy, kept our jobs, and whose families remained intact, doing everything from home was hardly a vacation.
In fact, many of us adapted to the restrictions of the pandemic by working more, not by doing less. When all of our work became virtual, and all of our business was conducted from home, it got even harder to have boundaries between our jobs and the rest our lives. Mental health professionals are now saying that we have a new epidemic on our hands, an epidemic of burnout, caused by a toxic combination of overwork and isolation. These issues weren’t caused by the pandemic, but it seems to have pushed them into high gear. Many of us feel exhausted in the wilderness.
In today’s Gospel story, the disciples have just returned to Jesus after having been sent out by him to preach repentance, heal the sick, and cast out demons. They have been successful in their ministry and they report back to him all the good work they have accomplished. I wonder if they are surprised by his response. He doesn’t do what many of us would do in similar circumstances and encourage them to get back out there and build on their success. No, he looks at these excited new leaders and notices the one thing they don’t tell him—they need a break. They haven’t had time to eat, let alone to rest and recover from their efforts.
Jesus, it turns out, is not interested in quotas. He’s not keeping track of their numbers or making sure that they maximize their return on investment. Productivity is not much in evidence as a high priority in the scriptures. Even in Mark’s Gospel, which always seems to be in a hurry, pronouncing everything as happening “immediately” or “at once,” Jesus is shown as prioritizing rest, renewal, and a continual turning to God in prayer. I wonder if any of them worried about losing their edge if they took time off, or if they were just plain grateful to Jesus for recognizing that they needed to rest before they realized it themselves.
It is somehow comforting to know that Jesus and the first apostles experienced the stress of exhaustion, conflict, and busy-ness as well. This is not entirely a modern affliction, not entirely a result of economics or technology. There is just something about human nature that means that from time to time we need to be reminded of our limits and invited to step back instead of leaning in. Jesus has to tell his apostles to take time out, to get away and rest for a bit. When he himself gets too frazzled by the clamoring crowds, he chooses to remove himself from them and spend time alone, praying.
Of course, the irony is that whenever they do step away from the work of their ministry, there are crowds of people that follow, still wanting a piece of them. That must be why Jesus tries to find a desolate, isolated place, a wilderness even, where they could be undisturbed. It’s a puzzle, isn’t it? The wilderness can be exhausting, but it can also be a necessary part of our spiritual and emotional landscape.
More than 20 years ago, Wayne Muller wrote about what he called a “time famine” in modern culture, noting that it has “innumerable consequences for our personal, family, and community life.” It strikes me that what has changed from when he wrote this is that the situation is even more acute than it was then. More and more people who work insane, unhealthy hours do so to survive, not to get ahead or get rich.
It also seems important to point out that this time famine is bigger than the personal choices we make. It is very hard to opt out of the extractivist economy in which we are all enmeshed. Much like tackling climate change, there are personal decisions we can make that will have an impact, especially if enough of us make them together. But there are also forces that are much larger than we are, forces that put profit and productivity ahead of everything else. These forces need to be addressed at a systemic level.
The single mom who can’t spend time with her children because she works two jobs to make ends meet is surely exhausted in the wilderness, but telling her to focus on self-care or make more time for prayer would be neither compassionate nor helpful. She is the victim of a system she didn’t make and can’t dismantle on her own. Nonetheless, and to paraphrase Wendell Berry, when confronted with thorny, systemic problems, we must begin in our own lives the private actions that will one day become public solutions.
There is a beautiful passage in Thoreau’s Walden where he describes sitting in a sunny doorway for hours on end, just taking in the sounds and sights of nature all around him. He says of that time, “I grew in those seasons like corn in the night, and they were far better than any work of the hands would have been. They were not time subtracted from my life, but so much over and above my usual allowance.”
I believe that what Thoreau is describing here is Sabbath time. God made the Sabbath for a reason. It is a gift to us and to the planet, a reminder that we are not machines, that no resource, however bountiful, is infinite, and that our true worth is not based on how much we do or achieve, let alone on how much money we make. It is so tempting to think that down time is wasteful when in fact it is life-giving. As Thoreau puts it, it is not time subtracted but time added.
When Jesus calls to his friends to come away with him to a deserted place and rest, he is calling to us, too. Can you hear the call? Can we sit still long enough, be silent long enough, to know how to respond?
Notes: “Exhausted in the Wilderness” is an episode of the Faith + Lead podcast “Pivot: Leading through Chaos,” available on podcast apps. The book by Wayne Muller that introduces the concept of a time famine is Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in Our Busy Lives.
