If You Are Exhausted, Of Course You Are.

2020 felt like a never ending year. It was such a relief when it came to an end. But then, I woke up on January 1, 2021 and nothing had really changed. The excitement of Christmas baking and stocking stuffers was over (not that it had been that great to celebrate on Zoom anyway). There were a few days of vacation left during which I slept a lot and barely left my house. And months of waiting for the vaccine rollout to (hopefully) get us to herd immunity lay ahead.

2021 Has Been A Second Marathon

Those nine months of pandemic in 2020 were so challenging; I thought for sure that 2021 would be better. But as Elizabeth Felicetti wrote beautifully in her recent article for The Atlantic, “Last year was hard, but at least the answers were straightforward.”

2021 has been an absolute roller coaster. The spring brought vaccination excitement, low COVID-19 numbers, and wide-spread hope. The weather in many places allowed for low-risk outdoor gatherings. Then, by late summer, we were headed into a “wave” as serious as the one that kept many of us from traveling for Christmas 2020. And, the way forward became less clear.

Some folks were vaccinated. Children were not yet eligible. Variants and breakthrough cases made the risk analysis even trickier. Many regional church leaders gave individual congregations the freedom to discern what COVID-19 precautions were appropriate for their context. As Jenny Smith eloquently described in this article, 2021 became a second marathon. And most of us never even had time to rehydrate after the first.

If you are exhausted, of course you are.

Recently, I sat across the screen with a young clergy person discussing Christmas Eve 2021. Some parents were longing for the traditional 4pm Christmas Pageant complete with carols, costumes, and hundreds of attendees. Some parents were tired of the same old script and looking to shake things up. Some were worried about having all the children so close together around the manger. And no one was responding to email requests for volunteers. Together, we came up with a reasonable approach to Christmas Eve 2021 in this person’s specific context. But the conversation left me with a deep heaviness in my soul.

All I can say is…
If you are exhausted, of course you are.
If you are depressed, of course you are.
If you are grieving, of course you are.
If you are angry, of course you are.
If you have decision fatigue, of course you do.
If you feel out of your depth, of course you do.
If you never want to hear the word “pivot” again, of course you don’t.
And, if you have thought about quitting, of course you have.

It’s not you, this is an impossible situation.

So, What Do You Need?

I often find myself asking “What should I do?” But in this unprecedented season, I’ve been finding the question, “What do I need?” much more helpful. Lately, I’ve felt the need to lament, to cry out to God: “Do you not care that we are perishing?” (Mark 4:38). I’ve needed the hope of Advent, the reminder that Jesus was and is and is to come.

In this season, I’m finding a beautiful mix of hope and lament in music.

“O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” has taken on new meaning for me. It is a plea. It is lament. It is hope. In this time of waiting and darkness, of uncertainty and light, I am singing. I am singing in the shower and in the car. I’m humming while making a cup of tea and grocery shopping. I’m sending forth my lament and my hope and my petitions in an off-key version of every song that feels right: O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, Wake Up Jesus, and Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

So, what do you need? And where are you finding it?

The Reverend Pauli Murray famously wrote, “Hope is a song in a weary throat” (Dark Testament: Verse 8). If you’re looking for a practice, I invite you to join your weary voice to mine in lament and in hope. In whatever words feel right, let us together cry out, “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.”

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Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash.