I stopped seeking joy, that’s where it started.
Every day was another trudge through the norm: get up, go to the church, put out fires, make some phone calls, have some meetings, go home, cook dinner, eat, fall face first into a fictional book until I went to sleep. While all of those moments were useful, I began to notice that there weren’t many moments of ‘aha’ alongside them. So caught up in the worries of the world and the church, I’d forgotten my natural joy for life; the thing that kept me excited and ready for the next challenge.
This was three weeks ago.
Then someone I trust asked for some time with me. Shrugging noncommittally, I walked to my office, sat down, and waited. They nervously adjusted themselves in the chair adjacent to mine and said four words that struck like a hammer to my soul: “You aren’t the same.” Continuing, they went into detail, “You have always had a sense of joy around you, of happiness. The last year, you’ve seemed tired, sad, and temperamental. Some of the others are noticing, too. Not too many—maybe three or four—but enough to let me know that I’m not the only one. We love you and we need that version of you back, wherever he went.”
I sat back and didn’t say anything for a minute.
What could I say? You try doing this. You manage your sense of joy when everything seems to be going wrong; when people are dying left and right; when…when…when did I lose my joy?
We talked for a little while longer, them telling me about their life and me listening externally while my mind scurried around trying to figure out where it all went wrong. Then I realized, my fervent curiosity about the goings-on and wonders around me had disappeared, only to be replaced by a sense of the slogging automaton currently residing in my shell. We parted ways after about an hour and I left the office, a bit broken.
I didn’t want to be the person I was becoming. I wanted to be the curious and excitable man that I’ve always been—the one people laugh at and shake their heads with smiles on their faces. I wanted my joy back, dammit! But wanting and finding are two different things. I knew I had some work to do, and so I started.
I began with the little things: Asking how Trina was doing and then listening when I arrived in the morning; making phone calls to parishioners and old friends, taking time to share a conversation that meant something other than just going through the motions and playing at keeping tabs. I started reading fun trashy LitRPG a little bit more and put away the doldrum of “things I should read so people will thing I’m smart.” I sat outside on the patio instead of inside in the dark. I went for beers with a friend. And I looked at my wife, my home, and my life with new eyes. God hadn’t left me at all. God was being shoved aside so that I could trek on and do the work without distraction.
Yesterday evening, I sat outside on the back porch and watched the dogs play. Unbeknownst to me, my wife had come home and was staring at me through the back door (creeper). She didn’t have to say why, as, when I noticed her, I also noticed that I was smiling. For no reason. She walked outside and asked, “What’re you smiling about? You look…peaceful.” I just hugged her and welcomed her home, knowing that I was coming home myself—to myself.
I wonder how many others out there have been caught in the slog. I wonder how many people have shoved God aside to ‘get the work done’ and stopped living…really living. I wonder with wonder how long I would have gone on like that without someone who loves me taking the time and telling me. I wonder at their courage.
If you’re struggling and don’t know it, call a friend and ask. If you’re feeling empty and don’t know why, take some time to do some self-inventory. I’ll give you the same advice that is often given to me: You can’t serve others from an empty vessel. And my friends, my cup hath not runneth over for quite some time. But it’s starting to refill, thanks be to God and a good friend.
I hope you’ll find this message useful, and my story is taken as one with intent for you to do the same. And if you’re one of the lucky unscathed joyous ones? Use your joy to impact others, to infect them and make them see the good around them. People like you are doing God’s work right now, and you’re the ministers we need…the ones the world desperately cries out for.
To my friend: Thank you.
To my wife: I love you and am thankful for you.
To my people: It’s nice to be back. And I’ll be waiting for those of you who are away, too.
To my savior: Through you I live and move and have my being. Without you, I am nothing. With you, I am me. Thank you, Lord, and keep the grace coming.
Faithfully,
Fr. Sean+