Pastor Lisa Vick, Peace UMC, Virginia, MN

As clergy, much of our call is to care for others—to show up at hospital bedsides, lead worship with joy, and walk with people through both the brightest and darkest seasons of life. But what happens when the body you bring into ministry carries its own invisible challenges? 

I live with fibromyalgia, a chronic illness that isn’t visible to the eye but is very present in daily life. It shapes how I prepare for Sunday mornings, how I pace my week, and even how I understand God’s grace. 

When I arrived at Peace UMC, I met our administrative assistant, Rachel, and learned that she also lives with fibromyalgia. I almost cried when I found out. After years of feeling like I had to “explain” or minimize what I was going through, here was someone who already understood. And I think she felt the same way. That quiet connection has been a gift—a reminder that we’re not alone in this. 

I think back to my years on Appalachian Service Project mission trips with youth. And wouldn’t you know it—we always went the hottest week of the year, right on my July 9th birthday. One year our project was to dig a trench around a homeowner’s house. My first thought was, are you kidding me? You want us to do what? I could handle one day of heavy digging, but the next day my body simply said, “nope.” So I sat on the porch with the homeowner and visited instead. At the time, I felt lazy and ashamed. But looking back, I realize that the ministry of presence on that porch was just as valuable as the trench we dug. Maybe more. 

Over time, I’ve learned a few things about living—and even thriving—with fibromyalgia. (Disclaimer: I’m not a doctor, just a pastor with a body that argues with me more than I’d like.) I’ve learned you must enlist help. I can’t put on a dinner for six without it. If I try, I’m too tired to enjoy the party. I’ve learned to know my limits. Years ago, I overdid it lifting heavy weights, and my body completely shut down. Never again. Now I stick to light weights and short bursts of cardio, which keep me stronger without overwhelming me.

I’ve learned that heavily processed foods are bad for everyone, but especially for those of us who live with chronic pain—our bodies are already working overtime. I’ve learned that a compassionate doctor makes all the difference. I’m grateful mine recommended Mayo Clinic’s online learning tools and helped me find medication that eases my symptoms. And most of all, I’ve learned to give myself grace. Don’t compare yourself to others. Don’t measure your worth by what you used to be able to do. 

Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 12:9, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Some days, I don’t like that verse. But over time, I’ve come to see that my limits don’t disqualify me from ministry—they shape it. They deepen my compassion. They remind me that ministry has never been about endless productivity or superhuman strength; it has always been about showing up with the love and presence of Christ. 

If you live with chronic illness, know this: you are not alone. And if you ever need someone to talk to, I am here. We can laugh about digging trenches on your birthday, cry about the hard days, and remind each other that grace is enough.