I am husband to Carrie, dad to Matthew, Lucas, and Natalie. I have a desire to see people grow in their relationship with Jesus. My personal mission is to move people forward in their faith life.
It’s really no secret – I don’t do instant coffee. Not Starbucks on the go. Not a Keurig pod that spits out something brown and vaguely caffeinated. Not that weak, paper-cup, convenience-over-quality nonsense. Some people live for the speed. For the instant jolt. For the easy fix. Me? I make my coffee the hard way, a French press.
It’s a lot of steps. Measure the beans. Grind them fresh. Heat the water just right not too hot, not too cold. Pour. Bloom. Sit. Steep. Press. Pour again. It’s deliberate. It’s slow. It’s…frustrating sometimes. And I love it.
Because life isn’t instant either.
We live in a world addicted to speed. Fast food. Fast replies. Fast fixes. Fast solutions. But the truth? Some things don’t work that way. Growth. Understanding. Perspective. Even your own heart. They need time. They need patience. They need to steep.
Patience doesn’t mean that you’re sitting around and waiting like a loser. It’s showing up, doing the work, and letting the process happen. Grinding your beans. Pouring the water. Blooming. Waiting. Watching. Paying attention. That’s how good things happen. That’s how clarity hits. That’s how insight, strength, and progress come to life.
And here’s the kicker: the results are bold. Rich. Worth the effort. Worth the wait. The slow stuff always is.
So here’s my challenge for you today: embrace the slow. Stop reaching for the quick fix. Don’t skim through your life like a K-cup. Measure it. Bloom it. Steep it. Sit with it. Let the heat do its work. And while you’re at it, pour yourself a good cup of coffee, lean back, and savor it. Smell it. Taste it. Let it remind you that good things, the things that matter, take time.
Life doesn’t have to be instant. Some of the best things – clarity, growth, perspective – take time to steep. They’re French press strong. Bold. Worth the wait. And yes, they hit harder than anything that comes out of a pod.
That’s the thing nobody warns you about. Burnout doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t send a calendar invite. It doesn’t tap you on the shoulder and say “hey, you’re about to lose it.”
It just quietly rewires you.
And one day you realize, almost always way too late, that the person looking back at you in the mirror is someone you don’t fully recognize anymore.
Maybe it showed up at the dinner table.
You snapped. Hard. Over something small. The kind of thing that wouldn’t have registered six months ago. Your kid spilled a drink. Your spouse asked a simple question with bad timing. And something in you detonated that had no business being that close to the surface.
You apologized. You moved on. But somewhere in the back of your mind a small voice whispered, Yikes that wasn’t okay.
Or maybe it went the other direction entirely.
You came home feeling the weight of everything you carry at work. All of the needs, the crises, the impossible expectations. And you couldn’t fix any of it. So you bought things. Gifts you couldn’t really afford. Experiences designed to compensate for your absence, physically or emotionally. You showed up with dinner and flowers and a smile and nobody knew you were drowning behind it.
Because you didn’t know you were drowning behind it.
Here’s what nobody in a high-demand profession wants to admit.
When you spend your days carrying other people’s weight – their grief, their chaos, their emergencies, their spiritual crises, their trauma – something has to give somewhere. And it almost never gives at work. At work you are professional. Composed. Capable. You are the one with the answers.
So it gives at home.
It gives in the car on the way home when you someone cuts you off and you go nuclear.
It gives at 11pm when you can’t sleep but you also can’t explain what’s wrong.
It gives when you start reaching for things – food, alcohol, screens, control, conflict, isolation…things that scratch an itch you can’t quite name.
You’re not a bad person. You’re a depleted one.
And depleted people do things that are out of character. They control what they can because they can’t control what matters most. They withdraw from the people who are safest because safety feels like a place where the mask can come off. And they’re terrified of what’s underneath it.
Anyone who has ever held space for broken people while quietly falling apart themselves knows this.
The problem isn’t that you’re weak.
The problem is that you were handed a calling, a profession, a sense of purpose so compelling that you quietly agreed to trade your wellbeing for it. Nobody forced you to sign that agreement. Most of the time, nobody even told you it existed.
You just started living it out one skipped day off at a time.
One “I’ll rest after this season” at a time.
One “they need me” at a time.
Until the person who was supposed to be doing the helping quietly became someone who desperately needed the help they had been providing.
This series isn’t about working less. It’s not a manifesto for laziness disguised in spiritual language.
It’s about something far more urgent than that.
It’s about the reality that you cannot sustain what you’re sustaining. That the people who depend on you need a version of you that is actually whole. That rest is not a reward you earn after you’ve given everything. It is the very thing that makes giving everything possible in the first place.
So hear this clearly. And yes I’m saying these words to myself as well.
Your day off is not a reward.It is a requirement.
And if you don’t start treating it like one, something in your life – maybe your health, your marriage, your relationship with your kids, your sense of self – something is going to make the decision for you.
Friend, this is not a threat. This is just what happens.
The question is whether you’re going to wait until the wreckage to believe it.
Next week: You’re not God. Stop acting like it. Don’t miss it.
I recently came across an email from Carey Nieuwhof listing seven signs that a church is struggling. Reading through them made me breathe a little easier because this is not the church I serve. I am beyond blessed by some powerful leaders, selfless servants, bold brothers and compassionate sisters in Christ.
But these signs are real challenges for many churches, and we can learn a lot by looking at them head-on. Let’s break them down one by one and talk about what thriving looks like instead.
1. Leaders Losing Their Passion
The struggle: When pastors or leaders go through the motions, you feel it in the pews. Worship becomes routine, ministry feels stale. Sermons drone on. Songs have no energy or joy. Even the air in the room feels heavy.
Our response: At Living Word Galena, we prioritize spiritual vitality. Leaders are encouraged to feed their own relationship with Jesus first. We do this because you can’t pour from an empty cup. Passion is contagious, and we guard it fiercely. Every leader and staff member (paid and volunteer) is encouraged to spend time in Scripture, attend worship for personal spiritual gain, set healthy boundaries for commitments and service.
Action step: Encourage ongoing personal devotion, retreats, and coaching for leaders. Protect the sacred space where God fuels our fire.
2. Fear of Innovation and Change
The struggle: Sticking to “the way we’ve always done it” may feel safe, but safe doesn’t grow God’s Kingdom. Doing what we’ve done will get us what we’ve got and not a whole lot more.
Our response: We embrace creativity in worship, ministry, and outreach. From KidConnect to Littles Connect, and our growth groups, we experiment boldly while staying rooted in Scripture. This isn’t about changing things for change sake. It’s about seeing the needs in the congregation and community and with strong biblical confidence meeting those needs with creativity and passion.
Action step: Celebrate small wins, pilot new ideas, and view failures as learning opportunities not disasters. Innovation isn’t optional; it’s essential for life in Christ. New doesn’t mean the old was bad. Actually if you can build something new on the foundation of something existing, you’re setting yourself up for great success!
3. Church Management Replacing Church Leadership
The struggle: Paperwork, budgets, and meetings can easily take over the heart of leadership and leave serving people in the shadows.
Our response: We structure leadership so that mission drives management, not the other way around. Every decision starts with “Does this help families encounter Jesus?” We evaluate our building needs, worship space, instrumentation, A/V set up, building temperature, date of events…all of it is done through this lens. Does this help someone connect with Jesus more fully? Having the right framework for evaluation prevents the tail from wagging the dog!
Action step: Delegate administrative tasks, empower leaders to focus on shepherding and vision, and keep ministry first.
4. Maintenance Overtaking the Mission
The struggle: When we focus on fixing buildings, finances, or programs over reaching people, the church slowly stagnates.
Our response: Maintenance matters. That’s a given. But it can never happen at the expense of ministry. We balance stewardship with innovation, ensuring every effort serves the mission of helping people experience Jesus’ grace.
Action step: Audit your priorities. Ask: “Does this investment of time, energy, and money bring people closer to Jesus?” Be willing to do some radical things to lower maintenance for the sake of the mission. If the building is more important than the mission, then you have the wrong god already. Pause and think that one over.
5. Fixation on a Singular Personality or Talent
The struggle: Worship isn’t about one gifted singer. Leadership isn’t about one charismatic pastor. Churches that revolve around personalities crumble when those individuals leave.
Our response: We strive for team ministry. From volunteers to staff to small group leaders, everyone plays a role in helping families grow in Christ. Our goal is to give the ministry away. We give authority not permission. Authority has a clear lane in which to function whereas permission is task focused.
Action step: Develop leadership pipelines. Train, mentor, and release others so the mission isn’t dependent on one person.
6. Criticizing Younger, Upstart Leaders
The struggle: Skepticism toward fresh ideas or young leaders kills momentum before it even begins.
Our response: We invest in emerging leaders. Youth, new members, and first-time ministry leaders are encouraged to step up, experiment, and make mistakes in a safe environment. We truly believe that new reaches new. We’re not afraid to bring new faces into our teams. And young voices are always welcome!
Action step: Ask younger leaders for their vision, give them space to lead, and mentor them instead of dismissing them.
7. Personal Relationships with God on the Back Burner
The struggle: Programs, events, and strategies are useless if our hearts aren’t burning with God’s presence.
Our response: Everything begins with intimacy with Jesus. Worship, prayer, Bible study, and personal growth are non-negotiables. We cannot lead people closer to God if we are running on autopilot. No one is an island so we do a lot in community. Everyone is encouraged to be part of a group or team around the church. We take this very seriously.
Action step: Model spiritual disciplines. Make personal connection with Jesus visible and a top priority in every ministry conversation.
The Bottom Line
These seven struggles aren’t inevitable. They’re choices. And at Living Word Galena, we choose passion over apathy, mission over maintenance, innovation over fear, and Jesus over everything else.
The result? A church where leaders thrive, families grow, and the good news spreads far beyond the walls of our building.
If you’re a church leader here are two questions for you to ponder:
Which of these seven struggles could your church be facing? And how can you step into the solution today?
Because a thriving church isn’t about avoiding struggle. It’s about responding with faith, courage, and relentless focus on Jesus.
He’s is tired, walking through Samaria, and stops at a well. A woman comes to draw water, alone in the heat of the day. She probably thought she was invisible. But Jesus sees her.
Not just her. Her whole story. Her mistakes. Her shame. Her loneliness. And He doesn’t lecture her. He doesn’t condemn. He invites her: “Come, drink. Live.”
Think about how radical this was. He’s a Jewish Rabbi talking to a Samaritan woman. A woman of questionable reputation. Culture said they shouldn’t even speak. Yet Jesus breaks the rules. Grace doesn’t wait for permission. Grace doesn’t care about status, race, gender, or reputation. Grace just shows up.
And the well? It’s not random. In the Old Testament, wells are where life meets love. Rebekah met Isaac at a well. Jacob met Rachel at a well. Wells were places of connection, of covenant, of new beginnings. Here, Jesus is offering the same but bigger. He’s offering living water. He’s offering a life that quenches thirst forever, not just for this woman, but for anyone who’s lonely, isolated, or carrying shame.
She doesn’t need a theology degree. She doesn’t need a perfect life story. She just needs to see Him, and in that moment, her life changes. Jesus’ invitation is clear: it’s about a new way of living, rooted in grace, not rules.
This story isn’t just a story. It’s today. There are wells everywhere in our lives. Moments where we feel stuck, unseen, or unworthy. And Jesus is there, ready to offer life, ready to show grace, ready to invite anyone into something new. All it takes is to come and see, drink and live.
Marriage is a great teacher. Sometimes the hardest. Sometimes the wisest.
If you’ve been married for any length of time, you know relationships only work when you fully lean into one another with mercy. You can’t keep score. You can’t file mental receipts every time your spouse messes up. Because if you do, it becomes a ledger of resentment instead of love.
That’s exactly what the Bible talks about in 1 Corinthians 13 when it says love does not keep a record of wrongs. It’s not a naive rule. It’s a practical truth about human relationships. Mercy is the grease that keeps the gears running smoothly.
And that’s what Psalm 51 invites us to experience. Not just in marriage, but in all areas of our life.
God doesn’t just slap a sticker on our mistakes and call it good. That’s cosmetic. That’s like spraying perfume on a dirty heart. Real mercy goes deeper.
Mercy, by definition, is not getting the bad we deserve. It’s not receiving the punishment or consequences we truly earned. Grace, on the other hand, is getting the good we don’t deserve. The positive blessings that we never could earn on our own.
Psalm 51 isn’t about shame. It’s about a clean heart. It’s about God offering a deep, thorough cleaning of the parts of us that are broken, wounded, or hardened. And the invitation is for us to lean in and receive it.
Think about marriage again. When you truly lean into your spouse with mercy, the relationship doesn’t just survive. It thrives. There’s freedom, trust, and space for growth. You stop being defined by your mistakes. And the same goes for your spouse.
God is inviting us into that same type of relationship: a relationship grounded in mercy. A place where our mess doesn’t disqualify us, and where a clean heart is possible.
So today, pause and ask yourself: Am I holding onto grudges, against others or even myself, that are keeping me from experiencing mercy? Am I leaning in fully, allowing God to clean the heart that only He can reach?
The amazing truth here is that when God cleanses a heart, it’s not surface level. It’s deep, it’s thorough, and it changes how we relate to others and ourselves. Mercy isn’t weak. It’s powerful. It’s transformative.
Lean in. Let it happen. Because a clean heart is the foundation for living fully, freely, and with genuine love.
I’ve been spending a lot of time with my old 1980s truck lately. It’s the kind of vehicle that looks solid at a glance. Rust isn’t creeping in. The paint mostly holds. And it always starts when you turn the key. Ok well most of the time it starts. From the outside, it seems fine.
But getting behind the wheel told a different story. The steering felt sloppy. I was turning that wheel nearly 6 inches in each direction and the tires didn’t turn at all. Driving down the road was a challenge to say the least.
It didn’t handle right. It wasn’t unsafe, exactly, but it wasn’t operating the way it was meant to. And the more I drove it, the more I realized: years of small, overlooked maintenance issues had added up.
Tie rod ends, ball joints, leaf springs, shocks, wheel bearings… the list goes on. Little things that weren’t obvious on the outside were wearing down the whole system. It took time, effort, and patience, and a little help from the neighbor, but now it drives like a dream. Solid inside and out.
Here’s the thing: life works the same way.
It’s easy to focus on the outside. Our jobs, our image, our success. The parts other people can see. We polish them. We maintain them. We make them look good. And from the outside, things often seem fine.
But if we never check under the hood – our habits, our mindset, our inner life – the system can start to wear out without us noticing. Sloppy steering shows up as impatience. Worn bearings show up as stress and exhaustion. Tiny misalignments in the heart show up as frustration, resentment, or emptiness.
Left unchecked these lead to broken relationships, addictive behaviors, compulsive lifestyles, and destructive actions.
Real purpose, real satisfaction, real meaning come from the inside out. You can have everything looking perfect on the surface, but if the internal parts aren’t aligned, life never drives as smoothly as it was meant to.
This week, Lent gives us a chance to do a little under-the-hood work. To pause, check the invisible parts, and tighten up what’s loose.
Because when the inside works, the outside starts working too. When your heart is in the right place, the rest of life starts following its design.
And here’s the best part: when we let Jesus take control of our life direction, the maintenance we can’t do on our own starts to happen. More of Jesus. Less of me. Suddenly, the life you’re driving every day begins to run the way it was meant to.
There’s a short line in the Bible where a guy named John says something brutally honest about life:
“He must increase, but I must decrease.”
In normal language?
More of Jesus. Less of me.
At first that sounds strange. Maybe even unhealthy. We live in a world that constantly tells us the opposite.
Build your brand. Promote yourself. Protect your image. Be the main character.
But if we’re honest… that approach isn’t really working.
People are more anxious than ever. More exhausted. More pressured to prove something.
Maybe the problem isn’t that we think too little of ourselves.
Maybe the problem is that everything revolves around us.
Life Gets Heavy When You’re the Center
Try being the center of your own universe for a while.
You have to hold everything together. Your success defines you. Your failures haunt you. Your reputation feels fragile.
Every criticism stings.
Every comparison drains you.
Every setback feels like a verdict on your worth.
That’s a heavy way to live.
And most people don’t realize they’re doing it. It’s just normal. Or so we’ve been conditioned to believe.
The Story Behind the Line
The line “He must increase, but I must decrease” came from a moment where John’s followers thought things were going wrong.
John had become popular. People were listening to him. His movement was growing. Everyone was looking to him for answers as sort of the fresh view on ancient truths.
Then Jesus showed up. And suddenly people started leaving John to follow Jesus instead. John’s friends panicked.
“We’re losing people.” “We’re losing momentum.”
But John didn’t see it that way at all. He basically said:
Relax. Life doesn’t belong to us anyway. Everything we have is something we’ve been given.
Our abilities. Our opportunities. Even the influence we have in other people’s lives.
None of it is really ours to control forever.
And once you realize that, something surprising happens. You stop gripping life so tightly.
The Lie We’re All Taught
Most of us have been trained to believe that life works like this:
If I can build the right life… achieve enough… earn enough… be impressive enough…
then I’ll feel secure.
But people who reach those goals often discover something uncomfortable.
The pressure doesn’t go away. It actually increases.
Because now you have something to protect.
That’s why so many people who “have it all” still feel restless.
Life wasn’t designed to revolve around us.
What Happens When Jesus Gets Bigger
John had figured something out most of us spend years learning.
When life revolves around you, it shrinks.
When life revolves around something (someone) bigger, it opens up.
For John, that something bigger was Jesus.
Not a philosophy. Not a rule system. A person.
Someone he believed came from God and showed people what God is actually like.
And John was strangely okay stepping out of the spotlight if it meant people could see Jesus more clearly.
That sounds backwards in our culture.
But it’s also strangely freeing.
Because if life isn’t about proving yourself anymore…
You can breathe.
You don’t have to win every argument.
You don’t have to impress everyone in the room.
You don’t have to carry the pressure of being your own savior.
You don’t have to be a church person either to recognize this tension.
Every human life eventually asks the same question:
Is this all about me…or is there something bigger going on?
Because if everything rests on you, that’s a huge weight to carry.
But if there really is a God who stepped into human history in Jesus, then life suddenly has a center that isn’t fragile.
And that changes how you live.
You can admit mistakes without collapsing. You can be humble without feeling small. You can care about people without competing with them. You can actually experience peace.
A Simple Experiment
Try this for a week.
When your pride flares up. When your stress spikes. When you feel the need to prove something.
Pause and think:
More of Jesus. Less of me.
Not as a religious slogan.
As a bit of a reset.
Maybe life works better when everything doesn’t revolve around us.
Maybe the center we’re looking for isn’t inside us.
Maybe it’s the one John was pointing to all along.
A little over a year ago, I hired a young woman to join our church family and help lead our kids and students in the way of Jesus. At the time, it was about calling, gifts, and mission. We were excited about what God might do through her leadership with our families.
What I didn’t know was that God was quietly writing another story at the same time.
Over the months, she and my son started spending time around the same ministry spaces. Financial Peace University. Spiritual First Aid. Church events. Conversations after things wrapped up. The kind of ordinary moments where you slowly start to realize someone matters to you more than you expected.
They encouraged each other. They laughed together. They shared life in the natural rhythm of church and ministry.
And eventually… they started to like each other.
In fact, there was a moment when they sat down with me and said something along the lines of, “We don’t think we should like each other… but we can’t seem to help it.”
As a pastor and a dad, that’s a unique conversation. It’s one that seminary can never prepare you to have!
But sometimes the best things in life are the ones God gently grows when nobody is trying to force anything.
What started as friendship slowly turned into something deeper. And last night, it became something official.
My son asked her to marry him.
He took her back to the place where they had their first date. The whole evening involved a bit of strategy on his part. The rest of us were part of the distraction so she wouldn’t suspect what was coming. Watching it all unfold was one of those moments you wish you could slow down and hold onto for a while.
And when the moment finally came… she said yes.
As a dad, there are moments that fill you with a quiet kind of pride. Not pride in accomplishments or achievements, but pride in the kind of people your kids are becoming.
Watching my son step forward with courage and commitment meant a lot to me.
And watching the woman he chose, the same woman who has been faithfully investing in our church’s kids and families, made it even more meaningful.
Sometimes God writes stories that none of us could have planned.
A year ago, I was welcoming a staff member into our church family.
Last night, we celebrated welcoming her into our actual family.
Life has a funny way of doing that.
To both of you: we are proud of you, we love you, and we can’t wait to see the life God builds through your marriage.
Congratulations Matthew and Molly! The best chapters are still ahead.
We walk forward. We kneel or maybe we stand. A thumb presses into our foreheads. Dust mixed with oil is smeared on us. And we hear words we spend the rest of the year trying to avoid:
You are dust, and to dust you shall return.
No filters. No catchy spin. No branding strategy. Just reality.
And if we’re honest, most of us don’t like reality when it strips us down that far.
We prefer curated strength. Polished faith. Manageable struggles. We want a Jesus who enhances our lives, not one who exposes how desperately we need Him.
But Ash Wednesday refuses to play that game.
The ashes are not there to shame us. They simply tell the truth. You are not self-sustaining. You are not invincible. You are not in control. Your body will age. Your strength will fade. Your plans will unravel. And beneath the busyness and bravado, you are more fragile than you’ll ever admit.
That’s not morbid. That’s merciful.
Because until we face our need, we will never reach for grace.
Lent begins when pretending ends.
It begins when the successful professional admits the anxiety is real. When the exhausted mom whispers that she can’t keep carrying it all. When the pastor confesses that he, too, wrestles with doubt and pride. When the teenager realizes popularity can’t quiet loneliness. When the strong one finally says, “I’m not okay.”
Ashes level us.
They remind us that sin isn’t just out there in the headlines. It’s in here in our impatience, ego, lust, greed, resentment, self-righteousness, comparison, secret bitterness. It’s in the subtle belief that we can manage life without daily surrender.
And the truth? We can’t.
We are dust. And dust doesn’t fix itself.
But there’s a whisper of beauty in the ashes of Ash Wednesday: the ashes are placed in the shape of a cross.
Death is spoken. But hope is outlined.
The same God who formed Adam from dust stepped into dust Himself. Jesus didn’t avoid our frailty. He took it on. He walked toward our mortality. He carried our sin. He entered our grave. Not symbolically. Actually.
Ash Wednesday tells the truth about us. Good Friday tells the truth about God.
He doesn’t recoil at our weakness. He moves toward it.
When the ashes mark your forehead, they are not just a reminder of what you are. They are a reminder of whose you are. You belong to the One who went into the ground and walked out again.
Lent is not a spiritual self-improvement program. It’s not about proving your devotion with stricter habits or impressive discipline. It’s about coming back to the basics:
I am dust. I am a sinner. I need a Savior.
And I have One.
Honest self-awareness opens the door to transformation. Not self-hatred. Not despair. But honesty. The kind that says, “Without Jesus, I am lost.” And the kind that hears Him whisper back, “With Me, you are found.”
Ash Wednesday is an invitation.
Come and see your need.
Not to wallow in it. Not to be crushed by it. But to let it lead you to the cross.
Because when you finally stop pretending you’re strong enough, you discover something better: Grace.
According to a recent study from Barna Group24% of pastors are seriously considering quitting ministry altogether.
One out of four.
Admittedly that number is significantly down from where it was during the Covid era but 24% is still shockingly high!
If one out of four airline pilots were reconsidering their career mid-flight, we wouldn’t clap because it used to be 60%. If your heart surgeon was 25% likely to walk out of the operating room, you probably wouldn’t be super excited to get on that bed.
We’d call it what it is: A warning light on the dashboard at a minimum. And something any garage mechanic knows, ignoring warning lights doesn’t fix engines.
This Isn’t Just About Burnout
In case you were curious. Most pastors don’t quit because they one day just stopped loving Jesus.
They quit because:
The expectations never stop.
The criticism never sleeps.
The boundaries never existed.
The church became a machine that runs on one exhausted leader.
We have built a church model that quietly (and sometimes not so quietly) says:
“Be everywhere. Fix everything. Preach perfectly but not too long. Lead boldly. Be emotionally available. Never show weakness.”
Friends that’s not shepherding. That’s setting someone up for failure!
Consumer Christianity Isn’t Helping
If we’re being totally honest, we’ve created a monster that we’re having a hard time taming. Churches today are often treated like content platforms.
People compare sermons like podcasts. They critique decisions like Google reviews. They leave quietly instead of reconciling biblically.
And pastors are trying to lead people who are being discipled more by algorithms than Scripture. So many people evaluate their church experience by what the church they visited on vacation is doing. Even though they don’t evaluate the million dollar budget that campus uses to pull off that level of production.
Simply put the weight adds up.
But here’s the part that matters most: We are not powerless in this. There are solutions.
Five Pieces of Hard-Won Advice
1. Never Make a Permanent Decision Because of a Temporary Season
If you’re a pastor in that 24%, hear this clearly: Quitting because it’s hard won’t remove hard.
It will just relocate it.
Every calling has difficulty. Every workplace has dysfunction. Every community has broken people. Don’t make a permanent decision in a season of emotional depletion.
Find a way to rest. Get counsel. Take a sabbatical if needed. Restructure yoru schedule. Heck repent if necessary.
But don’t confuse fatigue with a change in calling.
Hard seasons end. Permanent exits don’t.
2. Love Your Pastor. Not Just the Version You Wish He Was
If you’re in a church, this is for you.
Love your pastor.
Not the polished online preacher you compare him to. Not the friend-version you wish he would be. Not the always-available-on-demand spiritual concierge.
Love the real human being called to shepherd you.
And understand this: A faithful pastor cannot overlook sin just because you’re friends.
If he offers correction or even a gentle rebuke, that’s not betrayal. That’s biblical love. If you’ve been in this situation from a pastor who’s also your friend, then you’ve experienced one of the hardest forms of love and care you can imagine. Don’t throw that one away.
We can’t say we want courageous preaching and then resent it when it hits close to home.
3. Set Safe Boundaries (Before It Gets Ugly)
Pastors are notorious for living in the margins. We laugh about the “one hour work week” myth. But here’s the truth: ministry expands endlessly if you let it.
There is always one more meeting. One more crisis. One more call. One more email.
If pastors are not careful, they trade family for ministry in the name of faithfulness. And it gets ugly.
A truth I live by is simple yet changed everything for me. Every “yes” is a “no” to something else.
Say yes to every evening meeting? You’re saying no to dinner with your kids.
Say yes to every emotional demand? You’re saying no to your own soul care.
Boundaries are not selfish. They’re stewardship.
4. Build Teams, Not Pedestals
The future of the church does not belong to exhausted heroes. It belongs to healthy teams.
Shared leadership is not weakness. Delegation is not laziness. Plurality is not compromise.
If your church rises and falls on one personality, that’s not revival. That’s fragility. And fragile systems eventually crack.
5. Measure Faithfulness, Not Applause
Social media metrics lie. Attendance spikes fluctuate. Online engagement is not the same as spiritual maturity.
Pastors burn out when they measure themselves against applause instead of obedience.
Faithfulness rarely trends. It rarely goes viral. It often goes unnoticed.
But it lasts.
And lasting ministry matters more than loud ministry.
Let’s Be Clear
This isn’t about protecting fragile pastors. It’s about protecting the future of the church. Twenty-four percent is not just a stat!
It represents shepherds who are tired. Families who feel the strain. Congregations who don’t always realize the weight their leaders carry.
The trend may be improving. But it’s still a warning. And warnings are gifts if we pay attention.
The church does not need more burned-out heroes. It needs healthy shepherds.
And that starts with courage, humility, boundaries, and a community willing to love its leaders well.
Twenty-four percent is too many.
Let’s not wait until it climbs again to take it seriously.
