I'm No Quitter, But I Feel Like Giving Up (Part 1)

I nearly didn’t write it, it was a fleeting whim, a brief window of introspection, but my pen captured it. Most times I plan what I’m going to write, not always with intricate detail, but at least an outline. I didn’t with this piece. This one began with no view of the end. Like a spring that bubbles to the surface on a grassy rise, the words trickled downhill until they pooled onto my page. They just sat there still, and I saw my reflection in them.

In October, 2019, ‘I Finally Wrote My Resignation Letter’ landed on my page, and without much thought, I uploaded it here. I could not have imagined the response. In terms of numbers, it soon stacked higher than any other article on Ploughman’s Rest in total reads. It is now, by far, the most read page on this site. Numerous other sites have since run it, and here and there, I keep bumping into it as I wander around the Christian internet. Yet more significantly, I was surprised by the response it elicited from readers. You may be aware I don’t run a comments section here (if you write, I’d recommend you don’t either), but I do have an email address people can contact me with, kind of a ‘letter to the editor’ approach. In the weeks and months that followed my original post, messages poured in, some were checking in on me to make sure I was doing okay (which I am grateful for), but many were reaching out to tell me their own story. I read every one. My heart ached for the sorrow and pain many other church leaders were silently suffering through.

Something is wrong. When a little voice is raised, but in that voice countless others have heard their own silent prayers, something is wrong. Shepherding the flock was never meant to be easy. Difficulties should be expected. But why has a culture coalesced with such toxic symptoms that ministers of the gospel feel as though they can’t admit their pain?

Reading through the stories that continue to trickle in, and reflecting on my own experiences, here are a few observations that may be helpful in beginning a much needed conversation:

We’re ill-equipped to deal with disappointment. In all the preparation that does take place, the training that ministers and leaders undertake, even the Professional Development many engage with, I’m not sure we’ve taken seriously the toll that disappointment can take. Disappointment in others, in ourselves, in our ministry, in our platform, in our gifting, in our — well, the list goes on, doesn’t it? Disappointment is like a noxious weed that will not die. Not unless we remedy it with the gospel. Somehow, the gospel has become appropriate for other people, but less so for us. The gospel has become a commodity to do ministry with, or title sermons by, or even a theme by which we sell our books. We’ve forgotten that it is first and foremost the power of God unto salvation. We’ve appraised ourselves with measuring sticks that don’t measure up, and the results have made us feel like the short kid that never gets picked on the basketball team.

Our ministry has become our profession. Most letters I received began with a sentence like this, “Thank you for saying what I’ve wanted to say but couldn’t.” I’m certain it wasn’t an observation of my eloquence they were highlighting, it was something far more sinister. Hundreds of ministers and pastors feel they have no voice because they are afraid of losing their livelihood. If we are professionals, then our performance puts food on the table. If my performance drops, if I admit my failings, where will I go then? Who will hire me? Will I have a job? What else could I do, this is all I know? How will I provide for my family? These were the questions asked of me. This is the anguish maybe you feel, or the fear your pastor is experiencing right now. By monetising the ministry we’ve silenced the shepherds. We’ve forgotten that the Chief Shepherd has called to himself helpers whose job is to equip the saints for ministry, not do the ministry for the saints. This expectation develops an unhealthy relationship between congregation and minister; as a minister I can heap unhealthy expectations on myself, but also, have them thrust upon me by a needy flock. Caught in a Catch 22, many pastors just keep their head down, use up their 3 years of prepared sermons, and then move on (or are moved on). Onward and upward breeds frantic platform building, while circuit preaching short-circuits the intimacy and accountability that we fear will expose our deficiencies.

We’re disconnected and competitive. Some of my loneliest years have been in ministry, and the irony of that, is that I’m not alone in saying so. Because we’re measuring the wrong things, because ministry has become a profession, competitiveness is rampant and isolation is inevitable. I’ve sat across from guys who have tears streaming down their face, or who speak with hollow hearts of the lonely calling of a pastor. The sad thing is, we have bought into the lie that this is way is has to be. That shepherds must stand apart from their sheep, as we warily eye off other shepherds working around us. We greet each other at conferences with a faux camaraderie, pretending that we ‘get each other’, yet all the while trying to figure out how to move up the pecking order. We post our preaching to social media in the guise of blessing others, while feverishly monitoring our likes and shares. We network in the hope of discovering the illusive silver bullet that will put our church (and ourselves) on the map. Yet deep down, we’re all longing for a band of brothers we can stand shoulder to shoulder with, and when the few who find it do, you see them speak of it like the treasure it is.

Something is wrong, that much is clear. And I’m no quitter, but some days I really do feel like giving up.

So what should we do? The answer is buried in the hope of the gospel, I know it, but we must tease it out. We must sift the earth for it, like a pearl of great price hidden in a field. Pray. Read. Consider. Then join me next time as we dig down a little deeper.

But if you too feel like giving up, hold on just a little longer. As we cling with hope to Christ, he is no man’s debtor. He is a prize worth enduring for.