The company of the discouraged is not an exclusive club, but it is a costly fellowship.
Bruce W. Thielemann
Discouragement in ministry knows no bounds. It spreads across denominations, regions, and ages. It strikes seminarians and seasoned pastors alike.
And it can devastate pastors and their ministries. “Regardless of what we believe about the strength of God or perseverance of the saints,” admits a Presbyterian pastor who’s struggling with discouraging times himself, “discouragement breaks some people. They leave the ministry. And it’s not sufficient to say they were never called. They were simply too discouraged to keep going.”
That applies, sadly, to even the most experienced, hard-working, and energetic pastors, as Roger Landis, a pastor in the Midwest, discovered. Though names and identifying details have been changed to protect the people involved, the following account is based on true events.
Roger Landis had been a pastor for a long time — thirty-five years, in fact — but in all those years he’d never seen a search committee interview go more smoothly. It seemed that everything this Indiana church was looking for, he fit.
“We want more Bible teaching and less evangelism,” Buck, the head of the search committee, said. “Pastor Fraley was a wonderful man, gifted in evangelism. Never a service went by without an invitation. But now, with all the new Christians we’ve got in the church, we need somebody who’s strong in teaching and preaching, who can guide them in Christian living.”
“Well,” Roger began slowly, considering his words carefully, “Bible teaching would have to be my forte, I’d say. I have led people to the Lord, but evangelism is not my primary gift. I love nothing better than to study and preach God’s Word.”
Roger looked around the table, and heads were nodding. Buck smiled at him. “We could tell that from listening to some of your sermons on tape,” he said, and then, looking at the others, “Really enjoyed those, didn’t we?” Heads nodded again.
This feels more like a family reunion than an interview, Roger thought to himself. He knew before the meeting was over that if the call came, he’d jump at it.
Sure enough, two weeks later he got a call from Buck. “The vote was unanimous, Roger. One hundred percent. The congregation can’t wait for you to come.”
“That makes two of us,” Roger said. “I’m ready to go to work.”
And go to work he did. Roger would go in to the office early — before seven, usually — and not get home till nine or ten at night. He’d never worked harder, but he had never had more energy, either. The congregation invigorated him in every way. Visitation, counseling, preaching — he was enjoying it all. “It’s unreal,” he told his wife, Jeanne. “I’m having so much fun here, when I go to sleep at night, I can hardly wait for morning to come.”
Kaneville Community Church now had 160 members, but attendance was running a solid 235. The thing that excited Roger, though, was the potential for growth. The church had good attendance at midweek and on Sunday night, a strong Sunday school, an active youth group, boys’ and girls’ clubs — it was waiting to explode. If there’s any church that will make it past the 200 barrier, it’s this one, he thought to himself.
Roger and Jeanne got close to the people quickly. They didn’t realize how much the Kaneville people had become their family until March. That was when they had to face the deepest tragedy of their lives. Early one morning they were awakened by a phone call from Sgt. John Kraybill of the Pennsylvania State Police. Their son, he said, had been driving on Highway 196 when his car slid off the road and struck an embankment. “I’m sorry to report this, Reverend Landis, but he was killed immediately.”
He was going to be twenty-two in a couple of weeks! Roger thought, but he was too stunned to cry. He just said “Thank you” quietly and hung up the phone.
Roger and Jeanne sat on the sofa and held each other until 6 a.m., when they decided it was late enough to call Harold, the church chairman.
“Oh, Roger, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” he said. But in the next half hour two people came by with checks to help them with expenses for the trip. “Anything you need, we’ll take care of,” they said. The prayer chain went into action, and several ladies came to help Jeanne make last-minute arrangements for the trip east. So many people called or stopped by to express their sympathies that finally they had to ask them to stop so they could get some rest.
Roger was proud of his people. They knew how to put Christian love into action. As they drove along the Indiana Turnpike, a trip they’d hoped to make in May for Tim’s Penn State graduation, Roger talked to Jeanne about it. “I wish they could come with us, Jeanne. I need those people. They’re our family now.”
Jeanne agreed. “We’ve been here only eleven months, but it feels like a lot longer than that. They’ve rallied around us.”
Roger was glad to get back home after the funeral. He wanted to be back with the church people, and he wanted to get back to work to take his mind off Tim’s death. The extra energy he expended began to pay off. Roger didn’t give an invitation every Sunday, because he knew his congregation well enough to know when that was appropriate, but the times he did, people responded. It was exciting to lead some people to the Lord. Several new families joined the church in just a couple of months. By May, they were pushing 300 on Sunday morning.
“Maybe it’s time to start thinking about a building program,” Buck said at the May deacons’ meeting. The board decided to bring in a denominational consultant to help them decide how to respond to the rapid growth. After two days of meetings and study, the consultant strongly recommended the church move to two services as soon as possible. “Your sanctuary’s already well over 80 percent full,” he said, “and at that point people stop coming because they don’t like to be crowded. Without two services, you’ll risk losing your momentum.” The board agreed.
The consultant and Roger met together in Roger’s office after the meeting. “I’ll tell you one thing,” the consultant said. “You are really making things move here, Roger.”
“I don’t think I’m being naive when I say this,” Roger responded, “but I’m beginning to think this is the perfect church. In thirty-five years of ministry in all kinds of situations, I’ve never felt happier.”
In August they made the switch to two services, and shortly after that Roger began hearing things, little things. Ellie, an older parishioner, said to him at the door one Sunday, “It just isn’t the same coming at 8:30, Pastor. I miss seeing all my friends.” Later, during the coffee hour, he overheard two ladies saying something like, “I never get to see you any more. I feel like we’re losing our closeness as a church,” and the other woman whispered, “When Pastor Fraley was here, it was like one big happy family.”
Roger couldn’t quite understand the comments. He’d led churches to almost double their size and never heard any complaints. And the church had said they were open to growth and wanted that. They could always switch services once in a while if they want to see their friends, he thought. But maybe this is that psychological barrier above 200 they talk about. Roger pushed the thought aside because at this point it didn’t matter. If they went back to one service now, they’d be stacked on top of each other’s shoulders.
By November Roger was starting to feel the need for some help. With his seventy-five-hour weeks, he’d been able to keep up with the growth, but now it was pushing beyond even that. He didn’t need someone full-time, he thought, just someone who could give him twenty or thirty hours and take over the visitation and evangelism. That would keep the growth moving and free him up to concentrate on preaching. When Roger suggested hiring someone to the board, they approved it unanimously, and they found someone before three months had gone by.
Two weeks after the new associate started, Buck’s wife invited Jeanne out for lunch, which Roger felt good about. Buck was influential in the church, so it was healthy to keep that relationship strong. But at two o’clock Jeanne called him at the office, not her usual practice.
“What’s up, Honey?” Roger asked.
“Rita told me at lunch that there are a bunch of people from the church who are really disgruntled, about seventeen families, she thinks. They planned a secret meeting for next Tuesday. Rita found out about it because they invited her and Buck. But when she found out you and I weren’t going to be there, she said she couldn’t make it. She said she’s really worried about it. Well, I am, too, Roger. I didn’t know what to say to her.”
“Not much you can say,” Roger said tensely. “I’m just glad Buck and Rita told us about it ahead of time. I’ll try to find out what’s going on.”
Roger hung up and then punched in the number for Warren Fraley, his predecessor. Warren had moved to a denominational post, and Roger had built a good working relationship with him. Right now Roger needed to talk to someone who understood the situation but wasn’t directly involved.
“I was afraid something like this might happen,” Warren said quietly after Roger had described the situation.
“What do you mean?” Roger demanded.
“Well, about a year before I left there, I started sensing something wasn’t quite right. But I could never put my finger on it. There wasn’t any blatant sin, just some friction that kept recurring.”
“Friction?”
“I don’t know if that’s the right word, but something was going on between Buck, Dominic, and Bert Kelsey.”
Oh, great, Roger thought. Two deacons and a trustee — nobody major, just half the leadership in the church. “What was going on between them?”
“Pushing and pulling, wanting to be in charge. I guess you could call it a power struggle. I kept thinking it would blow over. After all, it was only natural for three people who wanted to be pastors to try to assert themselves.”
“They all wanted to be pastors?”
“Yes. Buck was a Roman Catholic brother, then left the order, married a nun, and eventually they both left the Catholic church to join Kaneville. But he’s always had a yearning for church leadership.”
“I never knew that,” Roger said.
“And Dom and Bert attended either Bible college or seminary with dreams of becoming pastors. But in both cases, they had to give it up because of family pressures.”
“So Dom and Bert are behind the meeting, and Buck felt ousted, so he blew the whistle?” Roger tried to piece it all together.
“Could be, but with Buck you’re never too sure. He’s a sweet guy, but sometimes what he says doesn’t match what he does.”
Roger was floored. I guess I was naive, he thought as he hung up. He was astonished that he hadn’t heard anything earlier.
He spent the next three days on the phone, trying to find out whatever he could. It was the most awkward thing calling people without knowing what they knew, and them not knowing what he knew. He felt like a spy playing diplomatic cat-and-mouse. But gradually, after talking with Bert, Dominic, Buck, and others, he began to see that Warren had been right on target. The three were at the heart of the controversy.
Through the phone calls Roger found out what was driving the discontent. “There’s not enough evangelism in the pulpit — that’s what people are saying to me,” Buck told him. “When Warren was preaching we used to see souls saved every Sunday. They felt good about that.”
“But I thought people wanted less evangelism and more teaching now,” Roger said.
“Well, the Lord calls us to go into all the world, Roger. That’s not something we can put on the shelf.”
Roger couldn’t believe this was the same Buck who had told him they wanted a teacher and not an evangelist. But he decided not to get into a battle on the phone. “So evangelism is what people are upset about?”
“Yes, that and people say they’re not being fed on Sundays. They need the meat of the Word.”
“We’re not being fed.” What do you say about that? Ironically, this past Sunday one lady had told Roger, “We get so much from your sermons.”
Through Roger’s calls, word got out that the pastor knew about the meeting, and the plans for it fell through. Roger couldn’t feel relieved. He didn’t know how or when the discontent would surface again. For the first time, Roger began to feel tired at the end of a day.
Things stayed quiet for a month or so, and Roger tried to push ahead. The church hired a youth director, a young, energetic guy fresh from seminary. Roger felt good about having more support, and he knew a good youth ministry would help solidify the church’s base of middle-aged parents.
Two weeks later Marie, an outspoken woman in the congregation pulled Jeanne aside. “Jeanne, that new youth director has got to go.”
“Didn’t you vote for Todd?” Jeanne asked.
“Yeah, I did. But I don’t think he’s the man.”
“What’s the problem?” Jeanne asked.
“He’s just got to go,” Marie said, her hands on her hips. “We’ve got to get rid of him. The kids don’t relate to him.”
“That’s a valid concern,” Jeanne said, “but don’t you think it’s a little early to tell? He’s been here only two weeks.”
Marie could see she wasn’t getting anywhere, so she turned around and left.
When Jeanne told Roger about it that night, Roger couldn’t help but get angry. “The poor kid hasn’t even gotten his shoes off yet. I wish they’d just give people a chance.”
The next few weeks felt lighter. Roger really enjoyed working as a team with Todd and his other associate. He got several compliments on his preaching, and he felt things in the church were back on track.
But then twice, just a couple of days apart, he overheard people talking in the hall about “the situation in the church.” They’d stop talking and smile at him as he went by, but Roger caught enough to know the problems were starting again. He wanted to take action, but he didn’t know what or where to attack first.
The building tension kept Roger awake some nights. It was all just beneath the surface, like a giant Loch Ness monster. He’d see the water foaming and bubbling, or get a glimpse of some bumps coming up, but the slimy thing would never surface so he could see what he was dealing with. He decided he needed a fresh perspective, so he set up a lunch with Dick Berger, his district superintendent.
“Boy, that upsets me to hear all that,” Dick said, motioning to the waitress to bring more coffee.
“Am I doing something wrong?” Roger asked him. “I mean, how are you supposed to deal with this stuff?”
“You can’t — at least, not right now. That church has always had an overgrown grapevine, but that’s not exactly something you can call ‘sin’ and bring discipline for. The biggest problem, as I see it, is you’ve got a lot of immature leadership. They haven’t learned about Christian submission yet.”
“But why is the leadership so immature? Warren had a good ministry there.” Roger looked Dick in the eye.
“Yes, but a year or two before you came, when they started the daughter church up north, they commissioned forty people to go up there and get it going. And just by chance, mostly, that group included some of the strongest leaders in the church. It left Kaneville with something of a lay leadership vacuum.”
So that’s why the power struggle began then, Roger realized. He came away from the lunch understanding things better, but feeling worse than before.
At the church, Roger was spending a lot of hours in counseling, which normally he enjoyed, but lately he’d had a string of highly emotional and probably neurotic individuals. It was beginning to wear him down. He didn’t have a formal degree in counseling, but he’d taken a number of workshops and seminars over the years and had developed an effective approach. But this latest batch of people didn’t seem to improve no matter what he said or did.
The worst one was a woman named Marybeth. Her problems were numerous and recurring. One week it was her insensitive husband, the next week it was her relationship with her aging dad, the next it was her feeling that nobody respected her opinion. The concerns all seemed valid at first, but they were like spiders’ webs — they looked big, but they were flimsy and strangely sticky. After a couple of months with not the slightest trace of improvement in Marybeth, as far as either one could see, Roger tried to be as direct as he could. “Marybeth,” he said, “I care about you very much, and because of that I want you to get the best help you can. Since I’ve been seeing you for some time and you haven’t noticed any improvement, I’d like to refer you to a professional counselor for whom I have high regard.”
“Oh, no, Pastor, I’m getting so much from you,” Marybeth said. She was adamant about not switching. Roger thought, Well, if she really wants to work at it, I hate to turn her away, and he set up another appointment.
But after two more sessions, they were back to square one. Roger was getting discouraged. He tried to be as frank as he could. “Marybeth,” he said, “I’ve given you everything I know, and I think that for your benefit a professional counselor is the next step. Your problems seem to be beyond my expertise.”
“No, Pastor,” she said, “I want to stay. I feel like you’ve helped me get close to a breakthrough.”
Roger felt stuck. He really did not want to see her anymore; he obviously wasn’t helping. But if he refused to see her until she went to a professional, he’d create large political waves through the congregation. Marybeth was the kind who could blow something out of proportion; that was one of her problems. If there was anything Roger didn’t need, it was more turmoil. So he agreed to see her one more time.
Roger was always careful to take Mondays off, and he began to really look forward to them. Often he and Jeanne would get away from the house and take a hike in the woods. They’d talk things out as they went along, and usually by lunch Roger’s spirits would start to lift again.
“I don’t know, Jeanne,” he said as they sat down on a large fallen tree and zipped open their daypacks. “Lately I’ve been going to bed tired, but I’m not sleeping well, and then I get up tired. I have to push myself to get through almost every day.”
“I’ve noticed that, Honey, and it worries me.”
“But I can’t figure out why. I love being a pastor, and I know I’m right where God called me.” Roger paused and looked at her. “Then why am I dragging?”
“Roger, look what you’ve been through,” Jeanne said with urgency in her voice. “Just the funerals and hospital work alone — you’ve had so many lately.”
Roger thought back, and he couldn’t believe it himself. Since Tim had died, he’d had to lead some of the toughest funerals he’d ever had. One was for a man with eight kids, half of them at home. He died suddenly of a heart attack, leaving them all behind. Then there was a stillbirth. Not long after that, a college student came home for surgery because he’d been found to have testicular cancer. Then a two-year-old old was struck with Wilm’s Disease, cancer of the kidney. He had to have a kidney removed and begin chemotherapy. Not more than a few months after that, another college student had symptoms that were diagnosed as Hodgkin’s disease. All of that in less than a year. The whole church was reeling.
“You’re right, Jeanne,” Roger finally said. “I hadn’t thought through all that, but that’s got to be working on me. I’m not the kind of guy who can keep from getting emotionally involved with my people. I’ve poured myself into every one of those situations.”
The deacons’ meetings had been tense for the past few months, with occasional criticisms of something Roger was doing, so he went into the April meeting with his guard up. The meeting went along smoothly until about halfway through, when Buck said, “Pastor, I have something I’d like to bring up that isn’t on the agenda.”
Roger looked over the rest of the agenda, and nothing couldn’t wait if it had to. “Go ahead,” he said, his stomach tensing.
“I have heard several complaints about your counseling, and they greatly concern me. In fact, I think they should concern all of us here.”
“What exactly have you heard? It’s hard for me to respond if I don’t know the specifics.”
“They say that you’re counseling beyond your expertise. You string people along, don’t really help them, but refuse to refer them to the help they need.”
“Who’s been saying that?” Roger wanted to know.
“Several people. I don’t think it’s fair for me to break a confidence to give you names.”
“But several people have said that?”
Buck paused. Then he said, “Well, just one.”
“Who is it?”
Buck crossed his big arms across his chest. “I can’t say.”
Roger suspected it was Marybeth, who by now was seeing a professional counselor. Maybe she’s finally getting help from him, he thought, and that’s why she’s carping at me. He wanted to say her name, but as a pastoral counselor he felt an obligation to protect her and not get embroiled in the details of her case.
“If you’re not willing to tell me who the person is, how can I responsibly defend myself?” Roger finally said.
“Well, that’s not the only thing,” Buck said.
By this time, Dominic was leaning forward and drumming his fingers on the table. “Roger, do you realize you’ve run twenty minutes over time on several Sundays?” he broke in.
“That’s not true, Dom,” Roger said.
“But it is!” Dominic’s hands were moving rapidly.
“I watch the clock very carefully,” Roger protested. “And I’ve got tapes of every message I’ve given. If you go back and listen to them, you’ll see that I’ve never gone more than five minutes over. Ever.”
Dom was quiet then, and Roger knew it was because he was flat wrong. But the whole accusation rankled Roger. A genuine charge he could understand, but this kind of petty, imaginary thing was beyond his comprehension. And why was he the only one to defend himself? He looked around at the other deacons, and he knew most of them supported him. Why wouldn’t they speak up?
“If that’s all, then we’ll get back to the agenda,” Roger said.
“While we’re on preaching, I’d like to say something,” said Matt, a young businessman who sometimes crossed the line between being assertive and aggressive. “Why don’t you ever preach from the Gospel of John? That’s a great book for new Christians, but all we hear is Ephesians, Ephesians, Ephesians.”
“That’s because right now I’m in a series on Ephesians. But I regularly return to the Gospels.”
“Well, it’s important for our church to get some of that basic material. First Peter would be good, too.”
Roger didn’t mind a suggestion, but he balked at letting a brand-new Christian, which Matt was, set his entire preaching schedule. But he stayed calm. “I appreciate the suggestion,” he managed.
Then Buck was back at it. “You know, Roger, you use Greek words a lot in your sermons, and I think that’s just confusing to people. Nobody gets helped by that.”
“I sometimes will refer to the original language to highlight a certain meaning in the text,” Roger said, “but I don’t think I do that overmuch. And several people have told me how helpful that is to them.”
“The job of a preacher is to make the text plain,” Buck instructed him.
Roger didn’t know what to say that would make any difference.
When Roger drove home, at 11:30, he kept trying to think how he could explain how he felt to Jeanne. “I feel like I’ve been through a paper shredder,” was what he finally settled on.
That Thursday, he came home from the church for dinner and sat down in the La-Z-Boy until Jeanne finished getting things ready. The next thing he knew, she was standing next to him, shaking his arm.
“Huh? Did I fall asleep?” Roger asked her groggily.
“Yes, Honey. Come to dinner.”
After dinner, Jeanne said she had something she wanted to show him. She disappeared down the hall and came back in a few moments with a paperback book. “I’ve been reading a very interesting book about emotional depletion and discouragement and burnout,” she said, “and I want to read you just a portion of it.”
“C’mon, Honey. I’m okay.”
“No, I just want to read you this short quiz. Please, do it for me.”
“Okay.”
Jeanne began reading the questions — “Do you find yourself forgetting what you were saying in the middle of a conversation?” “Do you wake up tired?” — and marked Roger’s responses on a notepad. When they were all done, she tallied the results.
“How’d I do?” Roger was by this time intrigued.
“There are thirty points possible, and according to this, you’re in danger if you score sixteen or more. And your score is …” She stopped her pencil. “Twenty-eight.” She looked over at him. “Roger, I’m going to call the doctor right now.”
“Now wait, Jeanne. That’s just one little quiz.”
“You just about hit the top! I have watched you, and you are not the same person. You come home tired; you snap at me over little things; you drag around like the most discouraged, blue person I’ve ever met. That’s not right. Honey, I’m worried about you.”
Roger stayed silent. He hated the thought of going to a doctor over this, but he knew she was right.
Jeanne left a message with the answering service, and in about a half hour the doctor called back. After hearing the symptoms, the doctor ordered some medication to get Roger’s nerves calmed down and asked to see him the next day.
With the medication, Roger began to perk up. But when he was feeling good, he would set the pills aside, and then he’d take a nosedive again. The worst time of month was the night of the board meeting. He’d be tense for two days before. Business had basically ground to a halt; whatever Roger suggested, Buck and Dom fought, and usually they were able to persuade one or two people to their side. Without a lot of new programs to discuss, that left time to snipe at Roger. At the May meeting, Roger was amazed at how little things he’d done and said could be completely twisted and misunderstood until they looked bad. He was fighting hearsay, rumors, half-truths, and they seemed to be winning. Finally, he made an impassioned plea to the board: “Gentlemen, please, a lot of these things here are just the product of talking that has gotten out of hand and been greatly exaggerated. For the sake of the church, we’ve got to keep what is said here confidential.” Then he decided to go for the face-off. “Dom, I heard this week, for example, that you have been talking to several people in the church about matters before this board.”
Everyone turned and looked at Dom. “No way,” he said. “I haven’t said a word to anybody, and I resent the accusation.”
“I heard that from a very reliable source, Dom.” Roger held his ground.
“Well, they’re wrong.” Dom’s eyes flashed. “If word’s getting out, it’s not through me.”
After that meeting Roger thought for the first time, I don’t know how much longer I can take this.
The very next day a woman from the church called him. “Pastor Landis, what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” Roger asked.
“Dominic Perra is doing some carpentry work at my house today, and ever since he’s been here he’s been complaining about this person and that person. Is there something going on with the church?” I knew it, Roger thought. Everything I’ve said in deacons’ meetings has gotten out and been twisted.
Roger tried to assure her everything was under control and that people needed to be patient and prayerful while a few things worked themselves out.
If only I believed that, he thought as he hung up.
The June meeting was the worst yet. Buck and Dom rehashed complaints about using too many Greek words, counseling beyond his expertise, and others that Roger had already tried to explain. Then Buck looked at him and said, “You know, Pastor, we are really disappointed that you didn’t handle your son’s death right. We were looking for an example, and you didn’t give us one.”
Roger’s mouth dropped open, and he stared. He finally closed his mouth again and remained silent for a while. He didn’t know whether to try to explain, to lash back, or just cry. “Jeanne and I felt we handled it well. I mean, people said we did …” Then Roger trailed off and looked down.
The room got very quiet, and then Buck cleared his throat. “Well, let’s move on to the next item of business.”
Two nights later, as usual, Roger couldn’t sleep. He kept replaying Buck saying, “You didn’t handle your son’s death right.” He thought about Tim. Oh, if only you could see me now, Son, he thought. I wish you were here to help. Roger tried to pray and clear his mind, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the deacons’ meetings. In a few more weeks he was going to have to face another meeting, and it would probably be his last. He had heard Buck and Dom were pushing the other deacons to ask him to resign. He felt as if he were in a small, black room and the walls and floor and ceiling were all moving in on him. He got up and headed for the bathroom.
He switched on the light, put both palms on the sink counter, and leaned forward and looked at himself in the mirror. If only I could get to sleep and just rest for a long time, he thought. I need to rest. I’ve got to get out of here somehow. He reached up, swung back the mirror, and looked at his bottle of medication. Thirty pills. That ought to do it.
No, what would Jeanne do? She’d be crushed. Roger looked down, then back up at the bottle. They’d go down easy.
But then a picture of his daughter, Caroline, came to his mind. He straightened up and turned to go.
Then he turned around again and stood frozen, staring at the cabinet for a long time. They’d never understand, he finally thought. They’d think Jesus let me down.
He went back to bed. Lord, he prayed as he tried to fall asleep, I just can’t hack it anymore. I can’t.
Fortunately, Roger’s story does not end there, and we’ll pick up his story again in a later chapter. But his experience illustrates the painful fact that even skilled, veteran pastors can be shattered by discouragement.1
How can pastors overcome discouragement? How can they persevere through and beyond dark periods and continue an effective ministry? A Southern Baptist pastor wrote Leadership: “How can I live beyond, and be effective again after, disillusionment with people and the destruction of idealism? I’ve been betrayed and abandoned. How can I be restored to fellowship, to ministry?”
What are the secrets to staying power, to crossing the finish line after a lifetime of successful ministry? The rest of this book tackles that question.
Throughout the book I use the word discouragement to describe a broad range of common human emotions, such as frustration, hopelessness, and disappointment. I do not, however, mean it to refer to clinically discernible depression. Depression, while sharing some characteristics with discouragement, is more complex and does not necessarily respond to the same treatments (many of which are discussed in this book). For a helpful discussion of depression in the ministry, readers are referred to Coping with Depression in the Ministry and Other Helping Professions by Archibald D. Hart (Word, 1984).
©1988 Christianity Today
