In a new book titled Career Burnout, psychologists Ayala Pines and Elliot Aronson describe the work they are doing with professional groups suffering from high rates of burnout. One of these groups is dentists. Burnout among dentists? That caught my eye!
According to Pines and Aronson, while dentistry may seem like a relatively easy profession-respected, lucrative, autonomous-the experience of pouring in maximal effort for minimal appreciation, week after week, causes serious erosion of spirit.
Most patients enter the dental office in a high state of anxiety. They do not want to be there, a message they clearly communicate to the dentist. It never enters their minds that the dentist might need appreciation, respect, and approval. Since very few dentists collaborate with their peers, neither patients nor peers are in a good position to express meaningful appreciation; there is no one nearby who has the expertise to say, “Wow, what a wonderful job you did capping that molar!”
Pines and Aronson go on to say that professionals who experience their work as a “calling” are especially vulnerable to burnout. Common symptoms include feelings that emotional resources have been depleted. The zest is gone; there is nothing left to give. Daily life consists of “toos”-too many pressures, too many conflicts, too many demands, too few acknowledgments, too few rewards.
More serious symptoms are feelings of despair and failure-the painful realization that one’s efforts have not made the world a better place, the needy have not been helped, the problems have not been solved, and “the called one” has been consumed.
Many times during the last twenty years, I have heard parish pastors, with great anguish of spirit, express feelings like those described above. I’ve listened as they tried futilely to reconcile the immensity of their ministry task, the life-and-death nature of their responsibility, with the meagerness of their resources and the apathetic responses of their people.
The greatest pain of all was expressed when they tried to reconcile their intense, personal call to ministry to the hollow, drained persons they had become.
Their cry sounded like the prayer of the fourth-century church father Saint Gregory of Nazianzus, who prayed: “I am spent, O my Christ, Breath of my life. Perpetual stress and surge, in league together, make long, oh long, this life, this business of living. Grappling with foes within and foes without, my soul hath lost its beauty, blurred your image.”
What does one say to a burned-out pastor who has been investing maximal effort for minimal response?
Where does the pastor find the wherewithal to persevere with meager resources in apathetic situations?
Ironically, Saint Gregory’s prayer of despair may contain some answers. Admitting a blurred image of Christ may be the first step toward renewed emotional and spiritual vitality. Implicit in the call of Christ is the understanding that the service rendered is service unto him. It is service that only he can fully understand, appreciate, evaluate, and reward.
To expect this kind of response from others suggests only a distorted understanding of Christ’s call, a blurred image. Though the need for appreciation from others is most desirable, pastoral ministry can’t be compared to dentistry. Pastors don’t solve the problems of people; they can’t fix things. At best, all a pastor can do is try to lead people to the One who can solve problems. But if the pastor’s image of Christ is blurred, not only will the pastor lose his way, but the people will also wander in darkness.
Ten years ago, Richard Foster, in his book Celebration of Discipline, put together a brief comparison of the characteristics of service that is focused more upon ourselves and service that is focused more upon Christ. In paraphrased form, it becomes a self-help test worth taking. Why not measure your clarity of vision against his conclusions?
Self-focused service is concerned with impressive gains. It enjoys serving when the service is titanic or growing in that direction. Christ-focused service doesn’t distinguish between small and large. It indiscriminately welcomes all opportunities to serve.
Self-focused service requires external reward, appreciation, and applause. Christ-focused service rests content in hiddenness. The divine nod of approval is sufficient.
Self-focused service is highly concerned about results. It becomes disillusioned when results fall below expectations. Christ-focused service is free of the need to calculate results; it delights only in service.
Self-focused service is affected by feelings. Christ-focused service ministers simply and faithfully because there is a need. The service disciplines the feelings.
Self-focused service insists on meeting the need; it demands the opportunity to help. Christ-focused service listens with tenderness and patience. It can serve by waiting in silence.
This list offers a way to begin refocusing our blurred image of Christ in the midst of ministry.
Paul D. Robbins is executive vice-president of Christianity Today, Inc.
Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
