In surveys, pastoral ministry often rates as one of the hardest and most emotionally taxing professions. I’m convinced part of the reason is because the range of expectations and competencies is about as varied as with any line of work. The person who serves as a pastor is, depending upon who you ask, supposed to be an inspiring communicator, a wise counselor, a creative thinker, an astute scholar, a shrewd financial manager, an adept supervisor of people, a skilled planner, an efficient administrator, a competent organizer, an effective recruiter, a strong motivator, an incisive interpreter of culture, and have solid interpersonal and leadership skills … all while having a relentless work ethic and never becoming frustrated or discouraged.
News flash! None of us that serves as a pastor is going to be gifted and strong in every single area. At times we will have to operate out of our weakness … and do so in a very public arena where we’re being evaluated and scrutinized.
Granted, there are incredible rewards that come with the territory of pastoral ministry. For me, having someone share their testimony before being baptized about how God used something I said to facilitate a breakthrough in their life is very gratifying. Having someone express how helpful my presence was at the hospital, or how timely and appropriate my words were at the funeral of their loved one, is extremely satisfying. So much of pastoral ministry takes place on the interior of people’s lives where I never really knew whether I was having any influence or not. Those occasional moments where I got a glimpse of the fact God had indeed used me, in spite of my imperfections and shortcomings, were profoundly rewarding.
But the challenges of serving in pastoral ministry are many to where a number of us step away at some point. I know when I announced my retirement after 33 years (even though I technically could have continued on for a few more years), I was definitely feeling the wear and tear. While the joys were still there, the burdens were becoming heavier and heavier.
Maybe there was something substandard about my relationship with God to where I wasn’t drawing the strength from it that I was supposed to … I don’t know. But I do know this—one of the most difficult things for me to deal with was the “depersonalization” that came with the territory.
What do I mean by that? Let me put it this way: Relationships are the ground of pastoral ministry. If you don’t have relationships with your people, you’re sunk! But at the same time, while I had many relationships, I had few genuine friendships. If I was known as “Pastor John” to my congregation, the overwhelming majority of people related to me as “Pastor” rather than as “John.” Most people related to me on the basis of my role rather than on the basis of who I was. After a while I got really tired of having every conversation be about the church … or some perceived problem … or some ministry issue. There were times I’d be talking to someone but privately screaming in the secrecy of my thoughts, “Don’t you want to get to know me?”
Granted—in every church, God gave us a few relationships that transcended the pastor/ parishioner mold. But for the most part, I often felt like I wasn’t viewed as a person; I was seen as an interchangeable part.
Another way the depersonalization came out was in how people avoided and evaded me when there was something they didn’t want to talk about. For instance—in every church I pastored, people left. Whenever that happened, there were a few that made an appointment, sat down with me, and told me what they were doing and why before they made their exit. While I didn’t particularly like hearing what I heard, I always respected the fact they cared enough about me to share it to my face. But most people not only left without saying a word, but they didn’t reply to voice mail messages or emails when I tried to follow up with them. I’ve been around the block enough times to know that, many times, a misunderstanding or misconception was at the heart of the issue and a respectful conversation could shore up whatever issue was sparking their decision. If nothing else, such a conversation would help to facilitate a healthy sense of closure. But many people didn’t want to have the conversation. Their leaving felt more like an amputation than a cordial departure. It was like I wasn’t a person … or wasn’t worth the time. My guess is they’d never treat a close friend or family member that way. But because they’d “depersonalized” the pastor, they could justify actions that, in most other contexts, would be considered impolite or downright rude.
That’s why pastoral ministry can be a notoriously lonely profession. It’s not because there’s a void of relationships. It is because, in many of them, I was depersonalized to where there was no deep and meaningful connection. One of the best gifts you can give your pastor is a relationship where he or she can be who they are—without judgment … without scrutiny … and without feeling like the furtherance of the relationship hinges on whether he or she does what you think he or she ought to do.