I often blog about how autism impacts my life, family, and ministry and in the past I have openly shared how I continue to manage my own periodic walks through the valley of mild depression. Today, in light of the pressure of pastoring during a global pandemic and the ongoing racial tensions in America, I want to share a few reasons why the struggle is so significant for many pastors and church leaders.
Depression and anxiety are real challenges for many people; pastors are no different. Pastors are normal people just like the person in the pew next to you, yet pastors can struggle in ways that are unique to their vocation.
I love the local church. Like many pastors whose only desire is to be true to their calling, I have given more than half of my still young life to serving the church and to serving our community, but the reality that most people will never know is that our calling comes with a hefty price tag.
The writer of Hebrews pens the reality of this work when saying “...Their work is to watch over your souls, and they are accountable to God” (Hebrews 13:17 NLT).
This. Is. Heavy. Our work is not merely as public speakers and personal life coaches, we are called to bear the weight of watching over the souls of our congregations.
Granted, there are some pastors who are in the business of ministry for the wrong reasons. Some are driven by fame, fortune, and even the fear of failing, but the vast majority of pastors are good men and women who fear only God and want nothing more than to be true to their calling: caring for and watching over the souls of those they have been blessed with the opportunity to serve.
But watching over souls can make one weary. In fact, the word that the writer uses for watch over literally means “without sleep.” That means when a pastor is following their calling, they can become weary, because there is no such thing as a part-time or full-time pastor. There are no office hours. Watching over souls is serious business, and as the writer suggests, we are accountable to God.
I cannot speak for all pastors, so I will speak for myself and for those whom I personally know who struggle with remaining silent with their own struggles, while watching over the souls of others. These are just a few reasons I have struggled—and continue to struggle in some ways—with sharing. Maybe, just maybe we can have a real conversation absent of platitudes and pseudo-psychology, and just get to the heart of why many pastors are hurting, especially during this difficult time.
Secrets
Pastors are trained and encouraged to be shelters for secrets. Sure, we have our own, but most pastors carry the secrets of people who have confided in them. We value confidentiality. It is one of the few tools in our pastoral tool belt that helps us to earn the trust of the people we are called to lead. We know the real reason you haven’t seen that family in a while. We know the marriages that aren’t healthy. We know the issues that your children have. We know who is struggling with addiction. We know when the bills are not getting paid. We know when giving is low. We know that we may not make payroll this week. We know why that program was cut. We know who is cheating, lying, drinking too much, abusing drugs, mistreating their spouse, and threatening to leave the church. We know what people say about us behind our backs, and yet we say nothing because we are shelters for secrets.
When you live that kind of life, it becomes extremely difficult to share your own struggles. Most pastors are drowning in so many secrets that they can’t find the strength to share their own. I have literally had periods in my life when I have forgotten how hurt I was about something, or how I was struggling with an issue, simply because I was being suffocated by everyone else’s secrets. Sometimes pastors carry so many secrets that their own secrets become secondary—and subsequently silenced—by the secrets of others.
Photo credit: Oliver Mussiett on Pexels.com.
Separation of Church and Faith
Pastors are often vulnerable to the influence of the church in their personal life and faith. I am guilty of this and I will openly admit that I don’t really have an answer to fix it. I call it the curse of leadership. When you’re out front, your back is exposed. You’re vulnerable, and good leaders don’t spend time trying to protect themselves, because putting up walls doesn’t protect you; it poisons you. Yet when you are totally open to the influence of the church and those you lead, you run the risk of allowing your faith to be undeservedly dictated by the status of the church.
I have found myself at times struggling immensely with my own faith, when the church is not going well. This sense has become extremely heightened during this pandemic. The problem is that our faith should have the freedom to stand on its own, over and against the success or failure of the church. Pastors carry a unique burden because we worship where we work.
I can’t explain it, but for pastors, Sundays are not the time that we have the chance to check our cares at the door. When most people show up on a Sunday, they show up from their week-day environments, and visit the church environment for a few hours. Pastors live here, if not literally, we live here spiritually, emotionally, and mentally. There is little-to-no separation between the church and our personal faith, and this makes it difficult to manage our own spiritual and mental well-being.
Salary
Outside of those who have large churches with large budgets, most pastors simply don’t have the resources needed to adequately manage the self-care that we are taught and encouraged to have. Most churches are not mega-churches, and most pastors do not have health coverage, retirement benefits, or paid vacation time. Seeing a counselor and taking frequent breaks is something that all pastors should do, but many simply can’t afford to do it. Pastors who are bi-vocational are often challenged with juggling multiple jobs and responsibilities, in addition to watching over the souls of their congregation. The reality that we must face together is that church work creates stress in pastor’s lives that their salaries can’t support.
Shame and Stigma
Watching over the souls of others is spiritually and emotionally draining. When you think about the actual weight of being asked to engage in the critical work of soul care for others, you realize that pastors are asked to carry the mantle of a calling that has eternal implications. Pastors live in the land of extreme emotional highs and intense emotional lows, yet to say it out loud is only seen as a tool to be considered “authentic” by others—but not as a real cry for help.
One of the reasons why many pastors share their struggles only on a surface level is that there is still a culture of shame and stigma in the church. Many pastors struggle in silence because they are ashamed to publicly admit that they are not the people you see on the stage or in the pulpit. They are burdened and broken. They are ashamed to say that they are not okay. They are embarrassed to admit that they are scared and lonely.
I can honestly say that in my nearly 20 years of ministry, I have spent many Sundays preaching about a faith that I didn’t have in the moment. Like the prophet Elijah hiding in a cave, many preachers do an incredible job of being used by God publicly, while privately begging God to end their suffering. Why won’t we share this? Because it is embarrassing.
Suspicion
The work of the pastor and preacher is not to ignite the faith of God’s people, it is in fact the work of eroding the suspicions of God’s people. Most people won’t admit this. Many others probably have never noticed it. The work of faith is the erosion of suspicion. The church by nature is rife with suspicion, and that’s actually a good thing. We want people to bring their doubts and fears through the doors of the church. We want our communities to be places where people can wrestle with their faith in ways that help to erode their suspicions about the Bible, about God, and about church. People are suspicious of the church, of the Bible, of God, of requests to give and serve, and people are suspicious of each other.
This is the work of soul care, to help naturally suspicious communities of people become more trusting of God, the teachings of Jesus, and the need to submit our will to God’s greater plan. The challenge for most pastors is that in communities that invite suspicion, the first or only moment that something confirms their suspicion, the pastor becomes the face and the church becomes the culprit. If the pastor makes a mistake, makes a decision that doesn’t pan out, or has one moment of being anything less than pastorally perfect, people’s hearts are reset to their default mode which is suspicion.
I have personally encountered this throughout my years of pastoral ministry. People are suspicious of what you decide, how you decide it, who you decide it with, when you decide it, why you made that decision. When the pastor is not present at the church for any reason, people become suspicious. COVID-19 has only made this more challenging. While we want communities where the culture is curious, living and leading as the constant source and target of an entire community's suspicions can be an emotional and mental weight that pastors silently struggle with.
Symptoms
Most pastors honestly do not know the signs and symptoms of depression and anxiety. When I was completing my doctoral work, I came to this harsh realization when a professor challenged us with being able to identify when we were approaching burnout. Most pastors love what they do. They love people. They love their churches and their communities and honestly, when you love serving you have a hard time drawing lines, creating healthy boundaries, and doing ministry with margin. I have been guilty of this, and I continue to struggle with this.
Many pastors assume they just need a Sunday off, or to go to a conference to be inspired, or to join a small group where they can share their secrets and “keep it real,” but seminary didn’t prepare me to be able to recognize when I’m depressed, need help and possibly even need medication. Just four years ago, after years of silently struggling with trying to pastor beyond my human limitations, I finally broke down and sought help only to discover that I was autistic. I wasn’t just weird, weak, or wrong. I was human, and my humanity was not something to hide, but rather something to protect.
When pastors don’t know the signs and symptoms, and they don’t have language to describe their silent struggles, they push beyond their human limitations. I have been guilty of eating this fruit time and time again, the fruit that says “if you consume this, you will be just like God.” The problem is that I am learning that God never asked me to make my primary pursuit to be like Him because that would make me more than human. No, His request is for me to be with Him, so that I can be human and still be His.
How you can help: Pray for your pastor. Care for them. Check on them. Protect them.
They are human and they need your help.
Lamar Hardwick is the lead pastor of Tri-Cities Church in Atlanta, GA. Visit his website www.autismpastor.com for more information.
