Why We’re So Tired

We’re tired. Not just physically, like we need a nap (though we do), but we’re also emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually exhausted by modern life. Our weariness is lethal. “An over-busy, digitally distracted life of speed is the greatest threat to spiritual life that we face in the modern world,” explains John Mark Comer. We pour ourselves out in prayer, study, counseling, keeping up with the news, responding to needs, caring for our families, and feeling guilty when we don’t do it all perfectly.

I’m with you.

I’m tired, too.

In such a hurried state, rest becomes a luxury many of us don’t think we can afford. Beneath all the reasons and rhythms of exhaustion, more often than not, I’m forgetting two things. I wonder if you can relate…

I forget the Father loves me.

This isn’t a shallow Sunday school reminder—it’s the very foundation of faith. As Soren Kierkegaard said, “guilt always results in an inhibition of love.” When we lose sight of the Father’s love, we start living as though life with him must be earned or proven. We preach about grace while running on fear. The result is a faith that becomes conceptual instead of experiential—something we know but don’t live. Yet, the truest thing about you and me is that we’re loved by our Heavenly Father. Forgetting that will always make you tired.

I also forget that I’m a messenger, not the mediator.

People often want pastors and leaders who feel “special”—we’re expected to have the answers, carry the burdens, and stand between members of our community and God himself. If I’m honest, most of the time, I want to be their mediator. I want to have special access that I share with others. But trying to be that person will crush you. As J. I. Packer warned, “Being special is the Achilles’ heel of many churches today.” When we confuse our calling with Christ’s role, fatigue follows fast.

You are not the Savior. But you are sent by him. You aren’t holding the church or your organization together. But Christ is. So, we can rest.

Rest comes when we remember both truths: we are deeply loved children and messengers of grace. So, like Elijah, take a nap (see 1 Kings 19). Eat something good. Step into silence. Grace sounds like a low whisper—not wind, earthquake, or fire—and in that stillness, God reminds you again: You are loved. Rest here.