One Important New Year's Resolution for the Weary Pastor

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A 19-year-old Jonathan Edwards sat down and wrote 70 resolutions. Seventy! And when I say, “sat down,” we shouldn’t envision him doing this in one fell swoop. He came up with these over about a year’s time. But still… seventy! And these aren’t lightweight resolutions, either. They’re filled with resolutions like this one:

Resolved, to improve every opportunity, when I am in the best and happiest frame of mind, to cast and venture my soul on the Lord Jesus Christ, to trust and confide in him, and consecrate myself wholly to him; that from this I may have assurance of my safety, knowing that I confide in my Redeemer.

When I was a new pastor, not much older than Edwards, I found these to be encouraging and refreshing. They provided a foundation for something to shoot for. I still find them to be good and helpful, but if I’m being honest, I’d add another word—exhausting. When you’re already weary and feel as if you can barely drag yourself into another meeting, a list of 70 resolutions isn’t exactly life giving.

That’s why, rather than giving you something like 10 resolutions or a more manageable seven, I’ve narrowed it down to one. Just focus on this one thing. But before I give you that resolution, I want us to think a little about resolutions.

Resolutions Are a Symptom, Not the Cure

There is something about the new year that can be refreshing. It can feel especially empowering if we’re already incredibly weary. When things feel like they are piling up, it’s nice to kind of hit a “reset” button and start over. Resolutions are that time of year when we tell ourselves, “Things are going to be different this year! I’m going to exercise! I’m going to spend more time with my family! I’m going to win my fantasy football league. I will read through the Bible again, and this time, I’ll do it devotionally and not just think about what will be good material for preaching!”

Those are all well and good. But listen to what is bubbling underneath them. If I do X, then I’ll finally have some peace and satisfaction. If I do this—work a little harder—then I’ll finally get rest for my dusty old bones. There is an assumption in there that if you just try one more thing, or try an old thing even harder, then it’ll fix all that ails you.

John Newton once wrote a letter around New Year’s. He was talking about being in spiritual decline. He lamented some of the coldness in his own heart. Newton shared with a friend some of the symptoms to watch out for in regards to decline. First, he said there would be a dullness in service to God. And secondly, you’ll get bored with the simple truths of the gospel. Newton said it this way, modernized a bit:

To the healthy man, plain food is savory—but the [taste buds], when [spoiled] by sickness, becomes picky and [choosy], and hankers after [diverse foods] and [luxurious food]. Likewise, when the sincere milk of the gospel, plain truth delivered in plain words, is no longer pleasing—but a person requires curious speculations, or the frothy eloquence of man's wisdom, to engage his attention, it is a bad sign. For these are suited to nourish, not the constitution—but the disease.

A resolution is one of these “luxurious” foods. It’s a new thing. Something for you to try in order to finally be settled. But as Newton says, this constant running on a performance treadmill is a symptom of the disease—it’s not the cure. Making a list of resolutions might rejuvenate you for a few weeks in January, but if the foundation isn’t secure, you’ll fizzle by February. And then you’ll be once again weary and now with the added guilt of having failed at one more thing. Or worse yet, you’ll end up successful in your resolution and become further addicted to this foolish game.  

That’s why my resolution isn’t much of a resolution. Are you ready for it?

Photo Credit: ©GettyImages/Robyn Hodgson / EyeEm 

The One Resolution for This Weary Pastor

I will pursue rest in Christ.

That’s it.

You know that gospel you preach? Believe it for yourself. Jesus said, “Come to me all of you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” Now what am I to make from this verse if I would describe myself as “weary” and “heavy-laden”? Do I say that Jesus has failed in His promise? Do I turn inward and beat myself up for not trusting in Christ hard enough? Or do I admit that idolatry doesn’t die quickly?

We’ve become so accustomed to the ways of idolatry that even after being rescued by the Lord, we cannot seem to resist weighing ourselves and others down with burdens. “You must…you have to… you need to…” We pastors can be the worst at doing this. We’ve seen so much brokenness that we become jaded. We begin to wonder if God is really doing His job in redeeming things. And we take up the mantle ourselves, assuming that it’s now our task to fix all that is broken.

But Jesus is telling us here that worship is meant to unburden us. Idols are the ones that are always asking for sacrifice after sacrifice after sacrifice. They are never satiated. But ponder the words of that old hymn:

Nothing in my hands I bring,
Simply to Thy cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress,
Helpless, look to Thee for grace:
Foul, I to the fountain fly,
Wash me, Savior, or I die.

‌God isn’t inviting you into an exhausting life. It’s tough, yes. It’s a path marked with suffering, blood, sweat, and tears. But somehow, through His grace, it is an unburdened life. It begins and ends with resting in Christ. If we do not rest in His accomplishment, we will run ourselves ragged.

Pursue ordinary things, simple things that help you grab hold of Christ. As a pastor myself, I can feel your eyes rolling in the back of your head. I’m sure I don’t understand how busy you are, how many people you might risk letting down, or this massive burden that you feel. Yeah, I don’t. I don’t know the weight you carry—I’m too busy lugging around my own. But I do believe Jesus is calling us to a much slower life.

‌Have you ever thought about how unhurried Jesus seems in the gospels? I think He’s calling us into that. And if you’re really stressed about all that you won’t accomplish if you slow down—let me give you a short defense of the ordinary.

In Defense of the Ordinary

Decades are a long time. But they also go by much quicker than we imagine. Can you believe it’s already been over a decade since Elsa was telling all of our children to “Let it Go”? But on the other hand, did you know that the Apple Watch will turn ten in April of 2015? Let’s think then about what a decade might look like if we engaged in a few ordinary disciplines.

• If you read one chapter of the Bible per day for a decade, you’d have read through the whole Bible four times.
• If you prayed 15 minutes per day, you’d spend 912 hours in prayer over that decade
• If you shared the gospel with only one person per week, that’d be 521 people in ten years
• Want to spend one quality hour per day with your family? Do that, and it’ll be 152 entire 24-hour days with them over that stretch. That doesn’t feel like enough, still, does it? But we’re talking quality undistracted time.
• What if you decided to give a friend two hours per week over coffee? That’d lead to 1000 hours over that span. How much relational depth will be fostered in that time?

When we consider the four hours per day, we spend on our phone—that accounts for 608 days in a decade. You’ll spend two years of that decade on your phone. And then another two years watching television. Those are ordinary activities that are shaping us. We like to think that it is those big epic moments that transform us—it’s not. It’s the little things.

We’re trained to move from week to week and judge our faithfulness by weekly cataclysms. What I mean is that as a pastor, a big chunk of your week is centered around what happens for a couple of hours on a Sunday morning. Much of our identity pours into that moment. My guess is that much of your weariness doesn’t come from the Sunday morning experience. It’s the times afterward. It’s what happens on Monday morning. But really, it’s in these moments where discipleship is happening and where we’re being shaped. It’s on Monday mornings that we need to learn how to find rest.  

Jared Wilson says it well:

How we see God on Monday morning will affect whether we oversee his church willingly or under compulsion…Our omnipresent Savior is waiting for me in the office on Monday morning. ‘Come to me, all who labor and are heavily laden, and I will give you rest,” he says (Matt. 11:28). I am plum tuckered on Monday morning. I face ample temptation to wallow. But Jesus promises rest. I may be a shell of a pastor at this time each week, but God is no less God. His might is no less mighty. His gospel is no less power. His reach is no less infinite. His grace is no less everlasting. His lovingkindness is no less enduring. (The Pastor’s Justification, pg. 33-34)

Live in this rest.

Photo Credit: ©Getty Images/4maksym