As I perused the readings for this Sunday, what jumped out at me was a line in Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians: “I have become all things to all, to save at least some.” This may be what Paul aspired to, but being all things to all people is something I’m trying to get away from. Learning to put boundaries around my time and energy has been a lifelong challenge for me. I’m here to tell you that trying to be all to all is exhausting.

Following Jesus around in the Gospel is a little exhausting too. He spends the day preaching in the synagogue, comes home and cures Simon’s mother-in-law and then spends the evening driving out demons and curing more sick people. He finally catches a moment’s peace when he sneaks out before dawn to pray, but Simon and the others come and get him. He suggests that they jump up and visit all the surrounding villages, and the preaching and healing begins all over again. Jesus is being all things to all people, and I’m tired just thinking about it. He can’t even take a little time to himself without being interrupted, and he doesn’t chide those who interrupt him either. Instead, he just keeps going, driven by his mission. “For this purpose I have come.”

This may seem counter to how we should react to Scripture, but the call I hear is to not be like Jesus, at least in this. I mean, I’m not Jesus. Jesus actually is all things to all people, but I’m just me. Jesus lived his life so connected to God that he could move from prayer to ministry without being worn-out, but when I skip prayer to get more work done, I get depleted. He had limitations too, of course, but Jesus was the son of God, and I can’t help but to think that helped him to stay focused and driven. Also, he had several years of intense ministry followed by death and resurrection, and I want to have sustained and prolonged ministry, not followed by an early death, with my afterlife down the road a ways. I’m not denying Jesus his humanity; I’m just really feeling my own humanity right now.

This week I happened upon an article in the New York Times, “Your Brain Is Not for Thinking,” by psychologist and neuroscientist Lisa Feldman Barret. She asserts that brains evolved to ensure that our bodies function well, and she compares the way the brain runs the body to managing a budget. Every time we use resources our body needs, it’s a withdrawal from our account, and every time we replenish resources, it’s a deposit. The brain is constantly trying to predict and respond to the body’s needs, and this affects our mental health too. “Every thought you have, every feeling of happiness or anger or awe you experience . . . is part of your brain’s calculations as it anticipates and budgets your metabolic needs.” This is a different way of looking at distress and anxiety. “If you feel weary from the pandemic and you’re battling a lack of motivation, consider your situation from a body-budgeting perspective.” She advises that we look at how much sleep we’ve gotten and if we need to get some exercise or to talk with a friend. I would add prayer and quiet time to this list.

The budget analogy is a helpful one, and I realized that I tend to manage my brain-body needs like we sisters do our accounts, which is a little unique. Since we value and vow poverty, we try not to spend much money, but when we do, we mostly use zero-balance accounts, so any amount we spend automatically gets put back in. It sounds magical, and it works for us, at least financially. A brain-body relationship, though, is not a zero-balance account. Even so, I withdraw and withdraw, expecting all of what I need to magically get reimbursed, and that’s not working for me. When I allow myself to get overwhelmed, I also get persistent headaches, the kind that start as tension in my shoulders and soon become a vice grip of pain across my head. Then it’s hard to do anything productive. When I tend to my own needs, though, like getting enough sleep and human interactions and prayer, my tension eases, and, ah, relief. I can’t be anything to anyone, including God, including myself, if I don’t regularly make deposits into my wellness account.

Speaking of God . . . when it turns out that I have withdrawn too much, I need God’s help to make a deposit. I need God to restore me when I’m depleted, and I need God to help me set boundaries when I feel pressured to be too much to too many. This puts me in mind of another quote from Paul: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Phil 4:5). That’s more like it. Paul doesn’t try to be all to all on his own; he relies on Christ to help him. Maybe we’re called to try and be like Paul in this. God doesn’t want us to be so much for others that we exhaust ourselves. God wants us to open ourselves to the tremendous resource who is Christ and be strengthened. Only then can we serve.

For reflection:

• Do you tend to manage your brain-body budget like a zero-balance account, or do you regularly deposit and withdraw in a balanced way?

• What in your life depletes you the most?

• What restores your energy and sense of well-being?

• What do you need from God to help you to live in a balanced way?

By Sister Leslie Keener, CDP

Leslie is the director of God Space, a community-building spirituality ministry in Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky. She’s a Sister of Divine Providence with a Masters in Ministry and a Certificate in Spiritual Direction and Retreats from Creighton University. She directs retreats, meets with people for spiritual direction, and serves as the vocation director for her community. She also serves on the Coordinating Council of Spiritual Directors International. She enjoys music, dancing, and meaningful conversations.