Not everyone has to be a fire fighter to put out a fire. Some of us have to be water carriers.
The answer is simple, but not easy: the work of spiritual care still matters. In fact, it matters more.
Naming the Tensions
In a moment like this, we’re pulled in many directions.
- Panic: Drop everything. Scream. Mobilize.
- Grief: Lie down and cry. Lose faith in what we do.
- Numbness: Pretend it’s not happening. Keep busy. Keep scrolling.
- Determination: Carry on with work and routines as if nothing has changed.
And for those of us whose work centers around care, spirit, healing, and justice, there’s an added tension:
How do I do this work now? Is it selfish to keep tending to my practice, to my livelihood, to my own healing while the world is burning?
Yes, Your Work Still Matters
I want to say this clearly: spiritual care is not a luxury. It is not optional. It is not secondary to “real” resistance.
Spiritual care is part of resistance.
The practices we offer—presence, reflection, discernment, connection, grief-holding, joy-tending—these are what keep people human in the face of dehumanization. These are what make the difference between despair and determination, between burnout and resilience.
If you’re a caregiver, a healer, a spiritual companion, your work is part of the resistance. You are offering people a lifeline. You are helping them find their ground when the world is shaking.
Personal Crisis in Public Crisis
And what if your personal life is also unraveling? What if you’re navigating divorce, illness, poverty, grief?
Well, of course that is happening. Life is still “life-ing.”. That’s not a disqualification. That’s part of the truth.
Your heartbreak does not make your care less valuable. It may, in fact, deepen it.
Your questions about what to keep, what to let go, and what to rebuild—those are holy questions.
There’s no shame in regrouping. There’s no shame in starting over. There is no shame in needing care and offering it. We are in this together, and none of us is immune to the ache of these times.
So How Do We Go On?
- Gently. With ourselves. With one another. With the work.
- Imperfectly. Trusting that “enough” is still sacred.
- Creatively. Letting old models go if needed, experimenting with what still resonates.
- With discernment. Listening for what’s real, what’s needed, what’s yours to hold.
Try This
- Set a timer for ten minutes.
- Ask yourself: What part of my work still feels alive?
- Write down whatever comes. Don’t judge.
- Then ask: What needs to rest? What’s worth tending now?
You’re not alone in this.
The work of care—spiritual, emotional, communal—is never easy, and even less so in times of crisis. But it is still ours to do. Not perfectly. Not endlessly. But with presence, with honesty, and with courage. The world may be on fire, and still, we keep lighting candles. Not to deny the dark, but to remember we are not forsaken. Our work remains. We remain. Let’s keep tending the sacred together.
Beloved, you are whole, holy, and worthy,
Rev. Amy
