I haven’t written a blog post in several months because, honestly, it is discouraging to not get any responses and thus have no way of knowing how people are reacting to what they read here and whether or not the reflections I share are helpful to anyone. Today, however, I came across a website that identifies 53 different possible causes of clergy burnout, and was motivated to share the link in hopes of generating some discussion. You can read the full list here.
One cause of clergy burnout that I think is particularly significant, and widespread, is this one: “Because of perfectionistic expectations, denial, pride, and fear of telling anyone about their real weaknesses, failures, fears, stresses, and discouragements, pastors are some of the least likely to seek help – from counselors, doctors, friends, co-workers, or even from ministries like PastorCare.” As a pastor, I know that no matter how I really felt about how things were going, I wanted my parishioners as well as my colleagues to see me as confident and competent, able to handle whatever challenges came my way. There were very few people that I was close enough to and trusted enough to share my personal struggles and feelings of inadequacy. Usually, I felt the need to keep my own emotions (especially sadness or anger) in check, and always be the calm, cool professional with an enlightened spiritual perspective on every issue.
I’d really like to know what you think. Do you believe that each item affects every pastor at some point, to some degree? If not, what makes some pastors able to avoid a particular risk factor, or handle it better than others? Of the many causes listed, which ones do you think are the most significant stressors that can lead to clergy burnout? Are there others you can think of that are not listed? Most importantly, how do you cope with those stressors and what could other pastors, church members, and denominational officials do to help support you when you are feeling overwhelmed?
These days, when I use the word “saints” in conversation, I’m usually referring to the football team. I grew up in New Orleans, and the Saints will always be my home team. If they beat the Vikings, the Saints will be in the Superbowl for the first time ever.
“Saints” is not just the name of my favorite team, though; it is a word of great religious significance. While it can refer to anyone – we are all both saints and sinners – it is most often used to refer to people we admire for their strong faith, exceptional generosity, and willingness to give up a lot, sometimes even their lives, in order to do what God calls them to do.
I met a saint in church this morning. We had a guest speaker, The Rev. Bob Graetz, who spoke of his experience serving as a white pastor of a black church in Montgomery, Alabama, at the time of the bus boycott. Pastor Graetz lived across the street from Rosa Parks and knew her well. He encouraged his parishioners to participate in the boycott and told them to call him if they needed a ride.
That support led some whites to consider him a traitor to their race, and he received hundreds of threatening letters and phone calls. His house was bombed three times.
Of course, like most saints, Pastor Graetz is a humble man who credits God with giving him the courage to speak up publicly despite the risks. His message was that God has given all of us gifts meant to be used for the common good.
As he spoke, I found myself wondering what I would have done in his shoes. Today, it is easy for me to speak out against racism or the unjust treatment of any other group of people for any reason. I’ve been verbally attacked for my “liberal” views, both in person and in print, but never had to fear for my safety. If speaking out meant risking getting beat up or murdered, and also endangering my family and friends, would I still be so bold? I’d like to think so, but I’m not sure I would.
It’s easy for me to judge those pastors and other Christians from earlier generations who actively supported slavery or segregation, or at least chose to play it safe and not speak out against those practices. I also have a negative view of the Christians in Nazi Germany who either bought into the idea of Aryan superiority or stood by mutely as innocent people were killed by the thousands.
It’s not so easy to admit that there are times, even when all I have to fear is social disapproval or a heated argument, that I choose to keep silent in the face of injustice.
I thank God for people like Martin Luther King, Jr., Rosa Parks, Bob Graetz, and the many others through the years who have fought for what is right, even when they had to risk their lives to do so, and pray that God will give me the courage to do the same.
With all of the concerns about maintaining healthy boundaries and warnings not to have close friendships with parishioners or share information that might be used against you later, many pastors are understandably reluctant to disclose the details of their own personal struggles. Certainly, clergy must be careful about how, what, and with whom they discuss deeply personal issues, and inappropriately sharing too much can be harmful to both pastor and congregant.
However, in the right situations and with the right people, acknowledging painful realities in our lives and sharing lessons we have learned by going through difficult experiences can be very helpful. Henri Nouwen’s classic book The Wounded Healer includes the statement that “In our own woundedness, we can become a source of life for others,” and I have certainly found that to be true in my own ministry.
For example, I have battled depression for most of my life, and have learned the hard way that if I decide my life is going well and there is no need for me to take antidepressants, within a matter of months I will be spiraling downward again and start having suicidal thoughts. At first, I believed that if I truly had a strong faith and trusted God I would not get depressed, and that taking medication for it amounted to seeking a drug-induced artificial high instead of addressing the underlying issues. I now know better.
I also know that shame often keeps people from seeking help for mental health issues, or even acknowledging to themselves that they might possibly benefit from counseling and/or medication. Because of that, I have chosen to be open about my own history of depression. The first time I briefly mentioned that fact during a sermon, I was amazed at the response. One person said she never would have guessed that I struggled with depression since I was always smiling and seemed so happy, a few thanked me for talking about it as they shook my hand at the end of the service, and several other church members met with me for pastoral counseling sessions during which they discussed their own or a family member’s struggle with depression.
Another pastor I know has told me that when he counsels couples he mentions a difficult time in his own marriage years ago, and that admission often helps them feel confident that really does understand what they are going through and believe that if his marriage survived and is now so happy maybe there is hope for their relationship after all.
Other pastors have found that the death of a loved one, or a physical disability, makes them far more effective at helping parishioners cope in similar situations.
What have your experiences been? If you are a pastor, how have parishioners reacted when you have acknowledged your own woundedness? If you are a parishioner, how did (or how would) you feel if your pastor shared information about his or her personal struggles? Please share your thoughts here.
As pastors, we are busy people. Just about every pastor I know regularly works more than 40 hours a week, has evening meetings most nights, and has back-to-back appointments throughout the day. Pastors commiserate with each other about our hectic schedules, but at the same time we consider our crazy hours to be evidence of the importance of our work and our level of dedication to it.
I suspect, though, that pastors and parishioners would both be better off if pastors spent less time doing and more time reflecting. Andrew Carnegie, Thomas Edison, and other well-known leaders recognized the importance of “sitting for ideas,” as Dan Miller notes in his blog. Click here to read it, and let me know what you think.
We also have the story of Mary and Martha (Luke 10:38-42) to remind us that it is more important to sit at Jesus’ feet and listen than to be busy with many tasks. When we take the time to do so, we may discover that God is calling us to reorder our priorities, and that spending time praying and reflecting on our lives, journaling, vacationing, or otherwise pausing from our responsibilities long enough to ask why we do what we do, is actually our most important task.
One of the responsibilities of pastors serving congregations is to visit members who are hospitalized, home-bound, grieving the deaths of loved ones, or otherwise in need of pastoral care. What happens when the pastor is the one in need of care, though?
While parishioners can certainly visit and pray with their pastor, this role reversal can be awkward for both. Furthermore, the pastor’s role as leader of the congregation makes it inappropriate to share too much information about his or her personal struggles, just as it would be inappropriate for a counselor to do so with a client. Finally, in most denominations lay people cannot provide the sacrament of Holy Communion.
Who does provide pastoral care to hurting pastors? In theory, the bishop is supposed to be a pastor to the pastors; in reality, the bishop has so many other responsibilities that there is rarely enough time to do so. In addition, the bishop is often unaware of those needs; there are too many pastors for him or her to keep track of what is happening in every pastor’s life at any given time. Last but not least, because bishops are also the ones who recommend pastors for future calls and discipline those guilty of misconduct, pastors are unlikely to seek care from their bishops in some situations. Would you go to your boss for personal counseling?
The reality is that all too often, when pastors need a pastor, that need goes unmet. Sometimes, other clergy in the area provide pastoral care to their colleagues, but pastors are often reluctant to acknowledge their need for such care, even to themselves, much less seek out someone who could provide it.
There are no easy answers, but acknowledging the problem is the first step in solving it. If you are a pastor, who do you turn to when you need pastoral care? What suggestions do you have for bishops and others within the church who want to help hurting pastors? Please share your comments here and invite others to do the same.