Leadership Journal

I was having coffee with a fellow pastor who needed more than caffeine to pick himself up. Summer attendance was down. Key people were leaving because of disagreements about the direction of the church. And money was very, very tight.

I felt nothing but empathy. Yep, been there, felt that.

"Jim," he said, "I knew seasons like this would come. I just didn't know how stressful they would be."

I agreed. To this day, the disappointments can still blindside me. Nothing prepares you for how ministry can drain you emotionally, leaving you in pain or, even worse, feeling numb or in despair or seething with anger. This is why so many good men and women in ministry have careened into moral ditches or still soldier on with plastic smiles and burned out souls.

A few years ago, my wife Susan and I were part of a mentoring retreat with about a dozen couples. We started off with an open-ended question: "What are your key issues right now?"

As we went around the room, the recurring answer was "emotional survival." We heard about the hits and hurts that come our way as occupational hazards. And how they tear away at our souls, sapping our enthusiasm, our creativity, our missional stamina. They leave us creating dreams of finding ourselves on a beach with a parasol in our drink—permanently.

How can we develop the survival skills to withstand the hits and hurts? It starts by recognizing the most frequent causes of spirit-drain.

When you enter ministry, you can't help but dream. For many of us, we dream big. That's one of the marks of a leader—a compelling vision for the future. But for almost everyone, it's not long before the dream collides with reality.

When I planted Mecklenburg Community Church in 1992, I just knew (though I wouldn't have said so) that we would be a church in the hundreds, if not approaching a thousand, in a matter of weeks. Willow Creek, eat our dust.

The reality was starting in a rainstorm with 112 people, and by the third Sunday, through the strength of my preaching, looking out at 56 folks. Actually, 15 or 20 of those were kids in another room, so maybe 40 were actually in worship.

Yes, our numbers did eventually increase, but I don't care what kind of growth you have—you usually had hoped for more. And that can be draining.

It's even worse when you play that dark, insidious game called comparison. When you compare yourself to other churches, inevitably you look to those that are bigger or newer or more prominent in some way. You measure yourself against them, whether in size or style or impact or atmosphere. And that sets you up for a letdown. We say, "It's all kingdom work," but too often, the comparisons drain us of energy and motivation.

And then there are the day-in, day-out realities of serving in a church that is very real, very flawed, and very challenging. No matter how well it goes, you have problems, issues, hassles, defections, setbacks, barriers, and defeats. You have to live with a level of quality about ten miles below what ignited your dream. It's work—hard work—and you realize that it could take years for even a glimpse of your dream to become reality.

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