Being a Minister of Word and Sacrament is, to me, one of the best jobs in the world. It’s a deep joy to walk alongside people at all stages of life—be it leading worship on Sundays, speaking in schools, officiating weddings and funerals, opening Scripture beside someone who is dying, reading bedtime Bible stories with my boys, or chatting faith while training on the rugby pitch. It is a rich, rewarding calling. It’s also one that asks a great deal of us—our time, our energy, our hearts. We pour ourselves into others, and that is beautiful……….. but it is also where the danger lies.
If we’re not careful, burnout begins to lurk. It becomes all too easy to confuse working for God with spending time with Him. The lines blur between the devotional and the professional. Prayer gets booked between appointments. Time for personal Bible study becomes sermon prep, and I am not so sure if that is always a good and healthy thing.
I often ask myself three questions when preparing a service: What does this reading teach us about God, about our faith, and about ourselves? It’s a helpful framework—and a faithful one. But in my personal reading, I reduce it to one question only. Not “What will I say on Sunday?” but “What is God saying to me?”
For me, that shift begins with a change of setting. My study, while sacred in its own way, is my office. It’s the engine room of my ministry, where I wrestle with texts, emails, liturgies, and the occasional leaky pen. But when I want to hear the quiet voice of the Spirit speak to my heart, I step away from that space.
More often than not, I find God outdoors. A walk in nature, a verse read on my phone, or even a physical Bible taken into the hills—with scribbles in the margins and sentences highlighted in bright yellow—can crack open a new sense of presence and peace. If weather or time doesn’t allow, I’ll relocate to another room in the manse with a cup of coffee and some Christian music in the background. I’m amazed how often God speaks through those lyrics when I’ve let my guard down.
In these quieter moments, whether it is outdoors, indoors, or even in the car if things are really busy, I begin to let go of the need to be useful. I stop searching for what I can extract from the Word for others, and I simply receive. Not because I have a sermon to write or a meeting to prepare for, but because I need Him. Because, before I am a minister, I am a follower. A child of God.
I’m learning that soul-tending isn’t a luxury reserved for sabbaticals—it’s a rhythm we must intentionally weave into the week. That may look different for each of us, but it begins with permission. Permission to unplug from productivity. Permission to let Scripture wash over us without analysis. Permission to be nourished first—so that when we return to the pulpit, or the hospital bedside, or the school assembly—we do so not out of exhaustion, but out of overflow.
And that, I think, is the bread for the journey we need.
By Adriaan van Tonder
Minister at Brechin and Farnell Parish Church