“It is a ruse of the devil, by which he deceives good people, to induce them to do more than they are able, so that they end up not being able to do anything. The spirit of God urges one gently to do the good that can reasonably be done, so that it may be done perseveringly and for a long time.” – St. Vincent de Paul
As I visit with Councils or Conferences, or attend SVdP meetings across the country, I hear about the impact that stress and burnout is having on our Vincentians. Too many cases…not enough money…not enough caseworkers. People are doing too many Encounters in a week. Encounters are becoming transactional instead of spiritual experiences. These are leading to burnout and frustration, and more importantly, they prevent us from growing spiritually in our service to people in need.
Burnout often begins with a holy desire: “I want to help. I want to sacrifice. I want to make a difference.” But the evil one twists this virtue into vice. He whispers, “If you rest, you’re selfish. If you say ‘no,’ you’re failing God.” Before long, we’re like Martha in Luke 10:40, “anxious and troubled about many things,” resentful of our own service.
How many of you have felt the subtle voice that whispers, “You could do more”? How many have looked at the endless line of need before you and thought, “If I just work a little harder, stay a little later, sacrifice a little more of myself, perhaps I can make the difference”? This voice masquerades as the call of conscience, as the voice of love itself. But Vincent warns us, this is deception dressed in the clothes of virtue.
St. Vincent called this “the devil’s ruse,” and it’s particularly insidious because it appeals to what is best in us. He takes our love for the poor, our genuine desire to serve Christ in the least of our brothers and sisters, and he whispers, “More, always more.” He convinces us that our worth is measured by our exhaustion, that true love demands we burn ourselves out completely. He makes us believe that to set any boundary, to acknowledge any limitation, is to fail in our calling.
The devil doesn’t need us to stop serving; he simply needs us to serve in a way that drains our souls. He knows that a burned-out volunteer, however well-intentioned, cannot reflect the love of Christ. When we push beyond our limits, we risk becoming like the lamp in the Parable of the Ten Virgins (Matthew 25:1-13), burning brightly for a time, but eventually sputtering out, with no oil left to sustain the flame.
Rooted in the Love of Christ
The deepest spiritual truth Vincent reveals is this: God’s way preserves us for the long haul. The gentle spirit that allows us to do reasonable good ensures that we can do it “perseveringly and for a long time.” God is not interested in spectacular burnouts that flame bright and die quickly. God is interested in steady flames that burn consistently, giving light and warmth year after year, decade after decade.
The poor and marginalized we serve need us to be whole, not broken. They need us to serve from a place of strength, not depletion.
Why do we feel this relentless pressure to do more?
Some of it comes from the real needs around us. The poor are still hungry. The sick are still suffering. The injustices still cry out. But some of that pressure also comes from within, from pride, from perfectionism, from fear that we are not enough unless we are constantly producing, constantly giving, constantly saying “yes.”
But our identity is not rooted in our performance. It is rooted in the love of Christ.
We are not loved because we serve. We serve because we are loved.
The Lord does not ask us to save the world. That job is already taken. He asks only that you do your part, with love, and that you trust Him to fill in the rest.
Consider Jesus Himself. Did you ever notice how often Jesus rested? He withdrew to lonely places to pray. He got in a boat and went to the other side. He even slept through a storm. The Savior of the world, perfect love in the flesh, knew when to stop.
If even Jesus rested, how can we think ourselves holier for working ourselves to the bone?
St. Vincent gives us the answer: Do the good that can reasonably be done, so that it may be done perseveringly and for a long time.
A Different Type of Courage
This kind of goodness is not flashy. It doesn’t make headlines. But it is faithful. It is rooted in reality. It listens to the limitations of the body, the mind, and the heart. And it lasts. It reminds us that we are branches, not the vine. We cannot produce fruit unless we abide in the Vine, unless we rest in Christ.
So, I call you today to a different kind of courage, the courage to trust God’s gentle spirit rather than the harsh demands of false urgency. The courage to do reasonable good rather than impossible good. The courage to serve perseveringly rather than spectacularly.
It’s this courage that will allow you to trust that God’s work will continue even when you step back to breathe. Remember that the same God who calls you to serve also calls commands you to love yourself as you love your neighbor.
So, rest when you need to rest.
Say no when you need to say no.
Seek help when you need help.
If you are empty, be filled.
If you are questioning, bring your questions to the One who holds the answers.
Take time to pray, not out of duty, but out of hunger.
Take time to laugh, because joy is holy.
Take time to say no, because that too can be an act of faith.
In short, let yourself be human again.
And when you do serve, serve not as one who must fix everything, but as one who trusts God is already at work.
Remember what St. Vincent knew so well: it is better to do a little good with great love and do it for a long time, than to do too much and lose yourself (and lose the mission) in the process.
The poor will still be with us tomorrow. But so, thank God, will His mercies, new every morning.
May you be filled with that mercy today.
And may you serve from it.
Peace and God’s blessings,
John