She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying.
—Luke 10

One of the best parts of a minister’s package is the line item for “professional expenses” and the ability to get a magazine or newspaper subscription or the latest preaching or worship resource. These days it’s easy—maybe, too easy—to find resources for anything for ministry—everything from spiritual practices like around self-care, worship books for liturgy, ready-made packages for curriculum for children and youth, making administration less agonizing, and learning about the usefulness of the enneagram for one’s organization. So many wonderful people are sharing from the depth of their own lives and experiences. It’s hard not to one-click buy-now everything.

But my impulse to collect all the Substacks, books and resources stems, I think, a little from anxiety. It’s a little bit of trying to keep up with the Jones albeit in a much less competitive, one-upping kind of way, and a lot of simply and constantly wondering am I doing enough? Am I trying hard enough? Am I continuing to grow and develop as a pastor? Four years into this particular call I am beginning to wonder what it means to do this work in a truly sustainable way.

So, I am going back to the basics.

    They are like trees
    planted by streams of water,
which yield their fruit in its season…
—Psalm 1

With our kids who are tween/teens, I find that it’s easy to be there—we’re constantly encouraging the basics, like good sleep and good hydration. But also: take breaks. Eat good food. Move your body. Brush your teeth. Be kind. And give yourself space to simply begin again.

The phrase “simply begin again” has taken on a meaningful tone for me these days. It comes from a form of meditation I’ve practiced in earnest for several months now drawing from a variety of traditions but especially Buddhist and Christian. Mindfulness meditation teachers instruct us: in the effort to become more aware and present, spend time on something like breath or breathing. During meditation it is inevitable that thoughts, emotions, and other sensations will arise and distract us but this is the practice: to take note, to not judge or criticize it, to practice compassion towards oneself, to observe patterns, but ultimately to let go, and then to simply begin again. Go back to the breath whether it’s counting or feeling it in your body. Simply begin again.

The point is that there are always things to learn and ways to grow, and yes, definitely days I won’t seem to be doing enough. I love Sarah Bessey’s recent essay that included this familiar story:

There is this hilarious little clip from the television sitcom The Simpsons that I’ve never forgotten. The kids, Bart and Lisa, are leaving a situation where they experienced failure. On the way home, their mother Marge asks their father Homer to say something to the children. Homer stops and turns to the kids, ready to offer his sage advice: “Kids, you tried your best and you failed miserably. The lesson is: never try.”

The lesson is: never try.

This is a funny counterpoint perhaps to “simply begin again.” But she goes on to tell us the mantra she speaks when she feels beat down and discouraged: “they can’t say you didn’t try.” Trying is inevitable. It’s who we are as pastors, as church leaders, and in general, I’d say, humans. So for me, this letting go of the world’s (or church’s) expectations dovetails beautifully with the practice of going back to breathing and into the creaturely gift of our bodies, and the peace that comes from seeing and knowing that this is all a (changing and shifting) process towards good. And doing so helps us to attend to the possibly joy in these moments, in these long days, in this season, and discover the wonder of as one book reviewer tells us of Ross Gay’s delights:

“fluffle of bunnies,” “a bouquet of time,” “swarthy, Semitic Jesus,” and … garlic as “your tiny professor of faith, your pungent don of gratitude.”

I love other people’s stories, and their expertise, and the varied examples of resourcefulness and resilience of humanity. But for me, it’s too easy to think the answer (for my anxiety, my uncertainty about my abilities, my criticism of myself) ultimately lies outside of me, elsewhere. What I need instead is to simply begin again.

     When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them.
     Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight.
—Luke 24