A Sermon to Myself About Busyness and Spiritual Dryness

I love what I do.  This job fits me better than any other I’ve ever had.  And I’m good at what I do.  Good in the deep down “right fit” kind of way.  I’m in a season of life where there are few non-job demands on my time.  There’s no one at home waiting for me.  No one gets “hurt” if my work week creeps up to 70 or 80 hours a week or if I do emails at 3:30 a.m.  Aside from some attention to physical well-being it seems okay to work at this pace. 

Especially because I love what I do.  Especially because staying busy eases the loneliness.

I spent Saturday on a silent Lenten retreat at The Art Farm.  For most of the day there was no talking, no TV/music in the background, no electronics, no phone or email or Facebook.  Just me, my Bible, my journal and the Lord.  It’s a practice that used to be part of the regular rhythm of my life and I realized some of what I’ve lost as it has disappeared from my routine.  As I’ve decided I’m too busy to take that time.

In the quiet and the rest, I realized that my overly busy schedule has brought me to a point of spiritual dryness.  I no longer slip quickly and easily into my heavenly Father’s lap.  I no longer feel the freshness of the Lord bringing scripture alive on a daily basis.  My prayer life is more mechanical.  There have been far too many “catch you later when I have more time” conversations with the Lord.

It’s not that I haven’t been growing.  I have.  And it’s not that I feel like I’m in a spiritual desert.  I’m not.  But there’s a dullness where there should be a brilliance. 

I recently spent a few days in Rome and had a chance to see the Sistine Chapel on a “before hours” tour.  No crowds, a few small tours totaling about 50 people in the chapel before opening hours.  And when we walked in my guide gasped and said “I’ve been doing these tours for 14 years and I’ve never seen the lights on.”  Apparently they normally don’t turn on the brightest lights.  But there was the Director of the Vatican with a small group of priests and the lights were on.  The colors were brilliant.  A great experience was made even better.  Later in the tour, after opening hours, we circled back through the chapel on our way out.  It was crowded, packed with people.  And the lights were off.  The Sistine Chapel is going to be amazing no matter what.  But the crowding and the lack of lights created a dullness that hadn’t been there in the early morning. 

A dullness that I might not have noticed if I hadn’t seen it uncrowded and with the lights on a couple of hours before.

That’s what my spiritual life feels like right now. 

And there are implications to being there.

It dilutes my focus in the job that I am called to and that I love.  It could ultimately impact whether I lead the way I know I’m capable of leading.  I have a tendency to want to please everyone rather than operate out of the confidence and wisdom available to me from the Lord.  Old insecurities move closer and are ready to pounce if I give them space to do so.  Using busyness to keep them at bay is only a short term solution.

There is always going to be a tension between busyness and rest.

It’s right to bring our best to a task, to work hard, to respect the urgency and need represented in our jobs.  It’s right to be pushed to be accountable for our work hours and even our work performance.  It’s right to grow and expand our professional capacity.  It’s even right to go above and beyond the call of duty when serving an organization.  Those are appropriate expectations. 

But there’s an unhealthy side to busyness as well – and for me it is fear based and fed by unwise decisions.  It’s being afraid to set healthy boundaries because the praise of men matters too much.  It makes fearful assumptions about what I “need to do” because it feels as if my own efforts – by themselves – determine my value and my future.  It sets “busyness” up as the highest value, and our “bragging rights” become how busy we are. 

Our effort does matter in how we live and work and interact.  We have to be able to say that without being accused of a works-based righteousness.  And “the Lord told me …” or “I’m learning to not find my worth in my performance” should never be an excuse for sloppy work or laziness.  There are going to be necessary busy seasons.  But scripture is also full of instructions to rebalance and re-set.  There’s the Sabbath.  There’s the Year of Jubilee. 

When I neglect the non-job things that nourish me at a deep level, I make an unwise decision.  When I take the easy route after a long, hard day – when I mindlessly flip on the TV as my default option for “background noise” – I make a choice to accept the appearance of rest instead of the reality of deep, nourishing and true rest. 

Despite my busyness, when I’m brutally honest, I do have time to choose true rest.  It may be an act of trust to do that.  It may take self-discipline to exercise or write or bake rather than zone out in front of the TV.  But those will be wise decisions in my life if I make them. 

And I hope that waking up early this morning, that taking the time to write, begins a new season for me.  That doing these things ultimately make me a better worker and a better leader.  That I begin to move out of spiritual dryness.  That I think well about busyness.

Because I miss the spiritual “brilliance” in my life.