I love it when a plan comes together.  Several weeks ago, the Outreach Committee made a plan for today, that would kick off our May mission of the month, lift up our special UMCOR offering for those affected by severe weather so far this year, and tie in beautifully to our scripture lesson.  If you love me, Jesus says, “Feed my sheep.”  Tend my lambs.  Look out for the vulnerable in your midst.  Lilian recorded a reflection about her experience as an ASP volunteer, we found a couple hymns about Jesus as our shepherd, and I was going to get a chance to thank the Lima congregation for always putting missions first and for being so generous.  Sounds like a good Sunday, right?

But on Monday morning, when I got my letter from the Outreach Committee about the special UMCOR offering, I didn’t feel excited at all.  My first reaction was, “Oh not.  Not another place of need!”  This surprised me, because I had just come into the office after having been on vacation for two weeks, where I paid very little attention to anyone’s needs except my own family, and those of our wedding guests.  I did not watch the news even once.  I did not check my email.  I spent time enjoying family and friends, taking in nature and scenery and even getting to see my favorite, Beluga whales, at the Georgia Aquarium.  For two weeks I didn’t think at all about things pastors generally care a great deal about, such as poverty and justice and suffering.  As my exercise class instructor says, I “took my rest.”  I used my vacation time to vacate my regular routines, and get away physically and mentally from the demands of my job.

So it surprised me to have such an exhausted reaction on Monday when I saw the letter about the special UMCOR offering.  It wasn’t that the letter was asking for money, although that can be stressful, too.  It was just the idea of being confronted once again with the never-ending needs of our broken world.  Instead of being excited about being able to work together with others to make a difference, I felt immediately discouraged and depleted.

Have you ever felt that way?  Like the needs of your family, or your community, or your world, are just so great, you don’t want to even look anymore?  We call this feeling, “compassion fatigue.”  Compassion fatigue is a relatively new term, coined in the early 1990’s and used to describe a phenomenon seen in health care workers, first responders, caregivers, and mental health clinicians.  The term is new, but the phenomenon is not.  It gets tiring, caring for others.  Compassion fatigue is more than being physically weary.  It’s a weariness that sets in our spirits.  It can change our outlook, make us start to think our contributions don’t matter, make us numb or disengaged, and greatly impact our interest in loving our neighbor.

At Lima, we are so proud of our mission mindedness.  But the flip side of that is, we make ourselves vulnerable to compassion fatigue.  We do so much for others that at times we might be tempted to give up!  There are a lot of theories as to why Jesus said to Peter, three times, to feed and tend to the sheep.  Maybe it’s to correlate to the three times Peter denied knowing Jesus on the night Jesus was arrested.  But maybe Jesus instructed Peter three times to care for others because Jesus knew, it gets tiring.  It’s hard.  It’s wearying.  Three times Jesus said, “Feed my lambs, tend my sheep, feed my lambs.”  And to top it off, Jesus said, this will be the death of you!  But follow me anyway.  Do the work I have called you to do.  Make the difference only you can make.

Feed.  Tend.  Feed. Follow.  Jesus asks an awful lot of Peter.  But let’s look at the context in which Jesus makes these demands.  While the disciples were out fishing, Jesus prepared a fire and cooked some fish.  He had bread there, too, and was waiting to serve the disciples a hearty breakfast after working all night long.

It wasn’t a very productive night of fishing, but Jesus took care of that, too.  The disciples let down their nets, and pulled up 153 fish.  A haul so big, it would have normally torn their nets!  But Jesus didn’t let the net tear.  Jesus came with an abundance of grace, and abundance of love, and abundance of provision.  Jesus asked Peter to give all he had in service to the Lord, only after providing for him all he needed and more.

“All I have needed, thy hand hath provided, great is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.”  Every week, we start worship with a hymn of praise, reminding ourselves of God’s abundant provision.  Like Peter, we have at times let God down.  But God’s grace never ends.  Like Peter, we might wonder if we are worthy of our calling.  But God believes in us and chooses to work through us!  Like Peter, we may get frustrated from time to time, working all night and not seeing any results.  But God is in it for the long haul.  Feed my sheep.  Tend my lambs.  Love me more than these.  Follow me.  This is what Jesus asks of us.

In order to be compassionate, caring people for the long haul, we are going to need support.  One way we get that support is by coming together for worship.  Even if you are worshipping from home, you are connecting with other people of faith to strengthen the bonds of love between you, God and neighbor.  Our scripture lesson today reminds us that Jesus never calls us to serve without providing nourishment.  So we make an effort to regularly participate in communion, where we take into ourselves the real presence of Christ.  We have many other resources we can call upon, including prayer, scripture reading, taking our sabbath rest, enjoying nature, family, friends, and hobbies, and taking good care of our bodies, that can help sustain us for the long haul.

But thinking about my experience on Monday, seeing the letter for UMCOR and feeling so overwhelmed by that even though I had just been on vacation for two weeks, reminds me that there is another facet to caring for others that doesn’t get talked about much in church, and that is having compassion for ourselves.  Many of us grew up in churches that sent mixed messages, where “Amazing Grace” was a cherished hymn, but where being hard on ourselves was an unwritten test of real devotion.  We have not been taught to be as compassionate and gracious with ourselves as we’re expected to be with others.

I first noticed this in seminary, when a professor apologized because he had lost our homework.  I know, usually it’s the other way around, and the student apologizes to the teacher for losing their homework!  But this time, our professor had taken papers we had written on a trip over spring break, and he graded them during the flight home.  But when he got to his house, he could not find the papers.  He was sure he had graded the papers, put them back in a manila envelope, and put that envelope in his bag.  But they were simply not there.  He called the airport to see if they had been turned in by the cleaning crew, but no luck.  The papers were gone.

The first day of class after spring break, the professor apologized for losing our papers.  He said he was going to give everyone full credit for the assignment, and if we had saved a copy of our work, he would re-read our papers to give us feedback, but no matter what, everyone was going to get an A on the assignment.  He apologized again, and then started his lecture, excited about whatever the topic was for that day.  I don’t remember the content of his presentation.  I do, however, clearly remember my classmates being very agitated.  How could the professor lose our papers, and then go on in a good mood?  Shouldn’t he feel terrible?  Shouldn’t he be beating himself up?  People raised their hands and asked these very questions.  The professor listened to people’s concerns and then said simply, “I made a mistake.  It happens to everyone.  I wish I could change things, and give you back the papers you worked hard to write and I worked hard to grade.  But I can’t.  So I am going to move on.  I am going to be as gracious with myself as I would be with anyone else.”  There was a stunned silence in the room for quite a long time.  Eventually the professor resumed the lecture.  But I don’t remember him being as cheery or energetic as he was when he first started.

How do we treat ourselves when we make mistakes?  When we sin?  When we fail our mission?  This is something all people have to grapple with.  Look at Peter!  He denied knowing Jesus, even though he had pledged hours before to die for him if need be.  Peter found himself in the same boat as every other person who has ever walked the earth, except for Jesus:  he isn’t perfect.  He cannot live up to his own expectations or standards for himself.  It doesn’t make him a bad person.  It makes him a regular person!

Into the universal plight of being a regular person comes Jesus.  And what does he do?  He prepares a meal.  Arranges for an abundant catch of fish.  Works it so the net doesn’t break.  Demonstrates his support, his power, his love.  Sets a table for people like us, people who wish we never let anyone down, who wish we never hurt anyone, wish we could be helpful and kind and generous and patient 24/7.   But we can’t meet that mark.  Instead of judging us, or speaking harshly to us, or being angry with us, Jesus loves us.  Jesus embraces us.  Jesus welcomes us.  Warts and all.  Failures and all.  Mistakes and all.  Jesus loves us!

But we have to learn to love ourselves.  And often, the church doesn’t teach that. The students in my seminary class would have preferred the professor berate himself, criticize himself, be hard on himself.  That would have made them feel better.  That our professor could extend loving kindness to himself was shocking.  Isn’t that sad?

The thing is, extending loving kindness to ourselves is the only way to ensure that we will be able to extend loving kindness to others.  Self-compassion is a set of habits that need to be built up in ourselves in order to ward off compassion fatigue.  The more compassion we can offer ourselves, the more we can give to others.  Because it turns out, resisting compassion is exhausting.  Judgment and criticism and harsh words take the wind out of our sails, they deplete us!  I could feel that in that seminary classroom.  The students’ disapproval of our professor, their judgment and criticism of him, make it all that much harder for him to do his job.  The only way we can feed, tend, feed and follow for the long haul is to be compassionate first and foremost with ourselves.

Obviously, this is a developing skill for me!  I wish I learned it sooner so I could have taught it to my children, and to my congregations.  I think the church is just now waking up to the necessity of self-compassion.  We are still afraid of what might happen if we ease up on ourselves.  But maybe we could try bringing out the best in ourselves by being kind to ourselves!

This requires treating ourselves the way we would treat our best friend.  When we make a mistake, self-compassion means talking to ourselves with the same kindness and perspective we would use to talk to our friend.  It means remembering that everyone makes mistakes, welcome to the club!  We know that self-criticism and judgment trigger stress hormones that ultimately cause a lot of harm to the body.  Instead we could try feeding and tending to ourselves with loving care.  Just like Jesus did for the disciples in our scripture lesson today.

Feed my lambs.  Tend my sheep.  Over them a vigil a keep.  In my name, lead them home, gently, gently, as loving servant of the Lord.  Jesus calls us to do this for all the vulnerable and needy people in our midst—including ourselves.  Now that is a plan I would love to see come together!  Amen.