I needed rest, or some relief at least. I was a preacher of Sabbath rest, but I knew little of that rest myself. I needed to speak to the lay leaders in the parish, to share my love for them and for the ministry but also let them know how heavy it had become. I was stressed, trying to be there for everybody, trying to be a good husband, a good friend, a good priest. The way I put it to them was this: “I love what I’m doing. It’s fun, but I need help. I just worry that at this pace I’ll be dead at sixty. I really could use a little help.”

I will never forget the answer. Maybe my tone wasn’t quite right. Maybe they didn’t register what I was saying. Perhaps I could have said it better. Surely they didn’t intend to be so cold, so mean, to laugh. “Well, we’ll get a good thirty years out of you, anyway,” said one of them. 

A priest tries to chart a path between self-sacrifice and burnout.