For each of us there comes at least once a year at a time where we have to account for the entire year. Of course, one of those is the April 15 moment of accountability when we must finally look at our accounts and see where the money has been spent.

For some of us, there are other times. As United Methodist clergy, we have what is called a yearly Charge Conference in which we have to account for a full year of ministry, activity, finances, properties, history, membership, and future plans for the church where we serve. Who has come to be a part of our community of faith? Who left? Why? How many passed on to glory? How many baptized? How were the donated funds spent? Is the accounting clear and understandable for anyone who needs to know? How did we minister to the larger community? What about the world beyond our shores? What have we done with our physical plant? Did we love the children well? Care for the sick and infirm? Offer the good news of Jesus Christ to all, to the stranger and the friend, the neighbor and the sojourner? Did we feed the hungry? Clothe the naked? Visit the prisoner?

Complicated forms designed by experts in confusion are handed to us with little explanation. As a denomination, United Methodists haven’t yet exactly entered the computer age, so many of these forms must be filled out by hand. Or, if they are sent as an electronic document, they are sent in a way that they can’t be saved onto the computer, which means they essentially still must be filled out by hand.

For me, filling out these forms with precision and accuracy requires huge amounts of energy that leads to huge amounts of fatigue. I want to say enough but not too much. I want to include everything that has to be included, but not more than necessary. Very much indeed like our tax returns—be honest, and still hope we don’t get audited.

Talk to most any clergyperson and they will tell you that they are completely spent after delivering their sermon on Sunday morning. Why? Talk to any athlete and they will say they are spent following the completion of a game. Why? Because when we focus so acutely on being perfect, it just takes it out of us. And when we must face this kind of excruciating accountability, that same type of fatigue follows. Completely spent.

When I prepare for my charge conference it is my signature alone that validates the reports. As pastor, I take responsibility for everything that was done even though I didn’t do most of the ministry—so many gracious and capable people breathe life into this church and offer countless hours of service. Nonetheless, the buck really does stop with me. If I were to drop dead tomorrow or suddenly be appointed to another church, whoever takes my place would rely on those reports for accuracy and a base on which to begin his or her ministry here.

But I am weary. As I look over the huge accomplishments of this past year, I keep hearing, “it is never enough.” It is never enough. There is always someone I won't have visited adequately in the hospital, someone who didn't find grace in my words and actions, someone whose special moment I forgot; always sermons inadequately prepared, articles hastily written, paperwork undone. Always someone I've disappointed so egregiously that they've decided never to come back to this church as long as I am pastor here.

This is indeed the human condition. I am no different from any other who has a position of significant responsibility. It really is never enough. Yet the words of Jesus as he hung on the cross haunt me and hold me right now. “It is finished,” he whispered as he breathed his last. It is finished. Yet, it was hardly enough. He left behind a ragged band of disciples, most of whom disappeared when the real hard times came. He had actually touched so few—the vast majority of the world at that time never had a clue that God became uniquely present in the one who called himself the Son of Man. His work was hardly finished. Really, it had only begun. But, “it is finished.” A whisk of refreshment enters my soul when I myself whisper those words. It is finished, and God gets the glory, because it is God’s passion to bring all into reconciliation and holiness.

It is finished. To God be the glory, great things God has done. Amen.