Pastoral burnout is a real thing

Smile on face. Energy in eyes. Hair in place. Face of happiness … something I had refined over many years. Heart wounded. Mind and body tired. Soul empty. One word summarized my personal being — burnout. Something no human can refine but must face when it becomes too much to bear.

This 2020 picture of me represents many present-day pastors: alive on the outside, but dead on the inside. I personally know this because of conversations with my colleagues over the last 4 years, and it’s confirmed by Barna Research Group reporting in 2022 that 42% of pastors were seriously considering stepping away from full-time ministry. (I was one of them). In 2020, 20,000 pastors quit the ministry. (I was almost one of them).

According to the same study, a 5-alarm fire is going off as 40% now show a high risk of burnout. That’s a 400% increase since 2015. Like me, pastors hide it, fight hard against it, and try to suppress it. They say, as I did for several years, “I can get through this, and do it on my own.” The ironic thing is, I had people telling me, “You look like you’re doing well.” What was my response? “Thank you, I am!”

I’ve had two intentional 6-week sabbaticals in 30 years of full-time pastoral ministry. One in 2005 and the other in 2014. Both came at a time when I was worn out, but not burned out. Both sabbaticals were instrumental in helping me rest, recharge, and rethink. Enter 2020. After a string of personal tragedies in a 16-month period, a life-altering pandemic, and church and staff challenges, I found myself feeling trapped, isolated, and lonely. The voice (from the enemy) that was yelling inside my head said, “but I’m a pastor, I can’t feel this way. I can’t let people see this side of me.” And the other voice (from the Spirit) was whispering, “Pastors struggle, too. You are human.” Then there were a few external voices that said, “why aren’t you past this?” “If you truly love the Lord and are a child of His, you wouldn’t struggle so deeply.”

Which voice would be victorious?

Finally, for the sake of my own personal well-being, my marriage, my family, and my future ministry, I stood before my church and said these words, “I’m not healthy, I need help.” It was at that moment; I felt a burden lifted. The whisper had won. I was finally honest with God, myself, my wife (who was very instrumental in me taking that step), and my church (who was incredibly supportive). It didn’t matter at that point what people thought, it was a matter of choosing to stay in the fight no matter what judgment might come my way, and from a few, it did. But overwhelmingly, I received so much love and support. Out of that, a seed for a vision for what I needed as a pastor, (before, during and after burnout) was planted.

What kind of help did I receive? God directed me to a Christian counselor in Northwest Arkansas, and over the next several months, he helped me unpack not only the past season of tragedy, not only leading a church through a worldwide pandemic and church challenges but also the last 54 years (at that time) of what we call life. He helped me identify the core issue I struggle with, which is that I’m not good enough. He gave me a strategy, tools, and resources to overcome it. And he helped me discover my purpose and calling for the second half of my life and ministry, which is to come alongside pastors and churches to assist them in becoming healthy, but more importantly, remaining healthy.  What could it look like if pastors and churches were proactive before, rather than reactive after challenges or crises arise?

Pastors, are you being honest with yourself? With God? With others? Don’t let the face of burnout deceive you into thinking you can get through it on your own. You can’t and you shouldn’t! We were made for connection, support and care for one another. Don’t let pride keep you from receiving the help you need. Here’s my challenge to you — say yes to that small, quiet whisper.