This one is for the caregivers. This one is for the ministers. This one is for those who open their arms and carry the burdens of the heavy-laden.
This is for you – who always end up as the listening ears for weary hearts, the eyes to those who are blind, the feet to those who are lame. You do it because you must, because your compassion drives you, compels you. You do it because you see where others do not. You do it because you feel where others are numb.
You notice the tears in the corners of the eyes of the girl speaking, in amongst the bustle of the church lunch. It is you who softly asks the question when no one is looking, and she cries, and even you are surprised by the flood that is released. “No one ever asked me that before,” she says, and there is relief as well as pain in that statement.
You do it because of them. You do it because of God. You are Job – Job the Righteous, Job the God-fearer.
This is how Job speaks of his life before he lost everything:
“Whoever heard me spoke well of me,
and those who saw me commended me,
because I rescued the poor who cried for help,
and the fatherless who had none to assist them…
I was eyes to the blind
and feet to the lame.
I was a father to the needy;
I took up the case of the stranger.
I broke the fangs of the wicked
And snatched the victims from their teeth.” (Job 29:11-12, 15-17)
God boasted of Job for good reason: he was eyes to the blind, a parent to the needy. Before Job was a sufferer, he was a comforter.
This one is for the comforters. This one is for the righteous and compassionate ones.
****
But what happens when the comforters need comforting? Who ministers to the ministers?
You had your feet on a rock and you were lifting people out of the pit, and now you have fallen down yourself. It is the loneliest place in the world. You have been helping others – but who is there to help you?
Job laments that when he had lost everything and was in a place of tears, there was no one to help him:
“And now these young men mock me in song;
I have become a byword among them.
They detest me and keep their distance;
they do not hesitate to spit in my face…
They break up my road;
they succeed in destroying me.
‘No one can help him’, they say.” (Job 30:9-10, 13)
For Job, even the people he had once helped detest him for being so needy. They mock him in song. ‘No one can help him’ is the verdict, and as a result, they find him repulsive – threatening, even. They keep their distance.
There is nothing quite so devastating as being open and vulnerable, only to have it used against you as a reason to despise you. There will always be some who respond to suffering like this, who keep their distance, as though your suffering were somehow contagious.
This one is for the sufferers. The ones who need comforting. The caregivers who have given and given until there was nothing left to give. The pastors who have been so used to shepherding that they are ashamed to be a sheep. The feisty mamas who now weep like a baby.
*****
This one is for those who have lost and are grieving. This one is for those who feel alone in their grief, their pain too great to carry themselves.
“Have I not wept for those in trouble?
Has not my soul grieved for the poor?
Yet when I hoped for good, evil came;
when I looked for light, then came darkness.” (Job 30:25-27).
He looks for light but there is only darkness: he searches but there is no one who will help him. There’s now no caregiver for the caregiver. This is at the heart of Job’s great suffering: not only that he has lost, but that he carries it alone. There is no ‘Job’ for Job.
This one is for the hurting. This one is for those who cry out to God in the dark of night, “Have I not wept for those in trouble? Why is there now no one to comfort me?”
This one is for the Jobs. This one is for the sufferers who feel there is no one like them, no one who can say the right thing, no one to comfort them.
May your tears not go unnoticed.
May your vulnerability not be mocked.
May you find a righteous and compassionate friend who seeks out the sufferers.
May you find a Job for your Job.
Over to you:
- Do you ever feel like Job – that you have given out to others, but when you are low, there is no one to comfort you?
- Who has been a ‘Job’ to your Job?
With thanks to Brandy Walker, whose Shalom Session restored my sight; and Tara Owens, who got my feet working again. Last week, you were both ‘Jobs’ to my Job.
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Thank you! I was just telling God that I needed some support this week because I’ve been so busy supporting everyone around me that I feel burntout. This post really makes feel that He’s listening and I feel a bit more hopeful. So thanks.
This makes me VERY happy. Thank you for letting me know. 🙂
This is a most interesting read, and study done here; by the author; and perhaps from experience too. I do hope my comments here are not out of order in any way.
At the most critical times in my own life I have been fortunate to have my first born son there for me and when it was time to move on he knew God was present and I would be well cared for. Myself, I know from experience from a very young age, that the ones’ who know us, can and will have words to say even after they have walked away. I wonder and often ask “did they walk because they couldn’t cope with what was going on before their eyes ?” so much so, they were not able to even express the necessity to walk away. Somehow I believe this to be very true.
Each day of my life I thank God for my son whose hand signed the papers to keep me alive by the use of a life support machine, until such time as God brought me out of that terrible coma, without a machine breathing for me. I can recall the stories I heard of how my son said was asked to sign so the doctors could put an incision on my body (which if you saw it today is in the form of a cross) and how it was so soul destroying for him, yet without his signature to do so, the Drs. would have taken over and he wouldn’t allow that. The end of all this story is what I said to my son, don’t worry about the scar that is on my body, I am alive and that’s all that matters right now. God gave me these words for my son to hear “I wear a cross upon my throat for the whole world to see, that my God; My Jesus; and my Son; they all love me” Many are the afflictions of Gods children but He brings us through them even as He did for Job, meeting us where we are at, if necessary. We may be without anything at all yet God is with us and He restores back to us, be sure to pray for the ones who walked also.
I am so moved by your story. Thank you for sharing it. I think it is beautiful, in a sort of sad way, that you wear the cross around your neck in such a permanent fashion.
Tanya, thank you for this. I work in early childhood ministry (part-time, not ordained) at a large church, and this brought me to tears for several dear friends who are in ministry. Two run a campus ministry together and are married and raising kids at the same time, another does care and counseling at my church–she’s single with grown kids and a grandson. In all these cases, I’ve seen times when they needed support from the outside and it wasn’t there, or they needed a break and couldn’t find space to take one, or been human and were judged far too harshly. These three would bleed themselves dry for their flocks, yet struggle to truly cope with their own lives because they’re more used to being Job than having Job come to them. Thank you for putting this real downside of ministry into such lovely words. May you also be blessed with comforters as you provide comfort.
Thank you so much – for this story and for this blessing. I am glad that those ministers have you as a friend.
Hi Tanya.
This really spoke to me.
When I was depressed, I could not stop listening and caring.
There were times when I was so low, but no one seemed to notice or care.
I am so much better now, and I have wondered why. I think I have the reason. My family is having to cope with something of a tragedy at the moment, and I am having to be strong. I am surprising myself with how successful I am being.
I thank The Lord that He has granted me the strength to cope with this.
God bless.
John.
Hi John. I am so glad that you could relate to this. But I am sorry to hear about your family tragedy – thinking of you all.
Thank you for this. It was refreshing to my soul.
Thanks so much for stopping by, lovely Joy!
Breathtaking and beautiful post, Tanya. You speak for many. For the weary and worn, the burdened and burnt-out, the stressed and strained, the carers and those who desperately need compassion and grace like water to the thirsty. We are all in need at some point, either as the workers or the worried ones needing a willing pair of hands yet so often feeling sad at being served instead of serving.
As an ex nurse, it has taken me years to adjust to being cared for rather than the one doing the caring. Even as a mother and wife I know I am not really fulfilling the traditional role expected of me by society. Reading through the responses here, I can identify with so much. Mia’s comment has echoes in our church where compassion fatigue takes over as needs greatly outstrip all given ability to meet them.
Then one feels like a drain on resouces and the temptation is to struggle on regardless and hope to get by as you are, avoid contact, and maybe avoid being seen as an intractable problem no-one has the answer to. Sorry for the outpouring. I think your words have tapped into a deeply sad place in me during a period of increased dependence. Thank you for such an honest and reassuring post. Really good to see you back on form, Tanya. Blessings and love. Xx
I always love your outpourings, and I’m glad it was so powerful for you.
Sweet Joy, you are not a burden. You are a blessing. I just want to say that to you really loudly, because I know how hard it is sometimes to believe that.
Much love to you.
“There is nothing quite so devastating as being open and vulnerable, only to have it used against you as a reason to despise you.”
^ that was basically the reason why what was said to me earlier in the summer sent me reeling.
This post is balm, Tanya. So thankful for you and your words and the way you comfort.
Oh yes. I totally see that for you.
I am so glad it was balm to you, lovely Elora. And I am thankful for your words and the way you comfort, too.