I recently read a story about one of my favorite writers and pastors, Frederick Buechner. He was preparing a sermon on Jesus’ statement in John’s Gospel, “I am the resurrection and the life.” During the week he wrote that sermon, he and his wife went to a dinner party. On their way to the party, they remembered they needed to pick up some groceries. They pulled into a grocery store parking lot, took their shopping list, and tore it in half. Buechner headed down one aisle, and his wife headed down the other.

No sooner had they gone their separate ways when Buechner remembered something they'd left off their list . . . the Cheerios. He shouted across the aisle to his wife, “Don’t forget the Cheerios.”

She shouted back, “And you don’t forget the chocolate syrup. But remember, you're on a diet.”

Buechner responded, “Well, you only live once.”

At that point, the woman at the cash register leaned over the breath mints and tabloid magazines and said, “Don’t you think once is enough?”

That’s what the cashier said out loud, but Buechner said he thought he really heard her say something else. He wrote, “I looked at the woman at the cash register, her hair soaked with perspiration, her face lined with weariness. I think what she was actually saying was, “I’m tired. I’m tired of my job. I’m tired of these people and their groceries. And I’m tired of myself. I’ll do my job until the end, but when the end comes, I won’t complain.”

The cashier rang up the groceries and said to Buechner, “Once is enough, thank you.”

Sometimes it feels that way, doesn’t it? Once does feel like enough.

With a sabbatical coming up, I’ve been thinking a lot about work. That sounds counterintuitive, I know. Because … isn’t a sabbatical about getting away from work?

You’re not supposed to come to work while you’re on sabbatical. The whole thing’s designed to offer a break from the potentially exhausting labor of being a pastor.

And yes, being a pastor can overwhelm you—even if you’re careful and do plenty of yoga, take your days off, and get your eight hours every night. I’m not going to get into all the reasons pastors sometimes experience burnout; sermons aren’t about the pastor and the pastor’s life, except inasmuch as that pastor and their life often act as touchstones in preaching—not because the pastor or the pastor’s life is especially important, but because our selves and our lives are the door through which we must all pass on our way to meeting Jesus.

But I’ve heard my colleagues talk about Covid burnout over the past three years. Pastors have been big players in what’s been called “the great resignation.”

So, add Covid burnout to the increased anxiety over the decline in participation in almost every religious community over the past few years, the reality of too few full-time pastorates, too many passive-aggressive (and sometimes, just legit aggressive) troublemakers, and failure to meet secret unarticulated expectations—to name but a few. As a result, according to all the studies, my colleagues are heading for the exit in record numbers.

Sabbaticals, at their best, therefore, are designed to help provide a break from the often heavy cognitive and emotional demands of serving a church. So, you’re supposed to use the Sabbatical-at least in part—to get some distance, a little perspective.

But a sabbatical isn’t meant to be an extended vacation. Part of what you’re supposed to do is find new perspective on your life as a pastor. It’s intended to reignite the guttering flames of passion that too often threaten to burn out in the face of the strong winds that blow through parish life.

When I tell non-clergy about it, they say, “I wish I had something like that at my job.”

And my first thought is always, “I wish you did too.”

I do. We all need time dedicated to rest and a chance to reflect on the lives we lead, not to mention all the lives we touch.

So, thinking about sabbatical and the need for vocational perspective keeps me focused on my job. But it also makes me think about the nature of work, the nature of employment in general, and, perhaps, more pointedly, the conditions under which we all work.

Because I’ve got to tell you, I’ve had some pretty awful jobs in my life. And I didn't ever want to be in a situation where I felt trapped, where I had to choose between a job I didn't like and not having any money—which pretty much sums up most people’s attitude about employment. I’ve worked in telemarketing, fast food, and the service industry. I’ve framed houses, rust-proofed cars, cleaned factories, and been the guy who sits at a gatehouse in the middle of the night checking in cars.