The thing about pastoring is that, at any given moment, someone is experiencing one of the most significant moments of their life—and they need their pastor. Someone is in the hospital. Someone is getting married. Someone is dying. Someone is welcoming a new life.
At the same time, someone is angry that the pastor’s sermon didn’t speak to the latest national tragedy. Someone is ready to leave the congregation if the pastor’s political opinion doesn’t match their own. Someone is asking for advice but not actually ready to receive it.
Pastoring is marked by a myriad of needs for leadership and pastoral care. Shepherding souls is a noisy task, one that can drain even the most called and equipped. Set these demands against the backdrop of an increasingly chaotic cultural moment, and it’s no wonder that pastors are burning out and daydreaming of a cubicled nine-to-five.
For some, the decision to step back from vocational ministry is a wise and honorable choice. For those called and determined to persevere; sometimes the question becomes how?
Perhaps the answer to this present problem lies in centuries-old monasteries. From the Lowcountry of South Carolina to the heights of the French Alps, Christians who have committed themselves to these borrowed rhythms are exchanging exhaustion for renewal and cynicism for wonder. Though a cloistered existence is markedly different from the calendar-ruled days of congregations, these monastic spiritual practices offer special benefits to pastors looking to find rest for their weary souls.
Psalms and Sweat
Father Joe Tedesco of Mepkin Abbey in Moncks Corner, South Carolina, spends most of his time in silence. Yet, he makes a deliberate departure from his quietude to uphold another cherished virtue: hospitality. This commitment to welcoming others is why Tedesco is regularly featured in local news segments, where he shares insights into the daily lives of the monks and invites others to visit and experience their serene way of life.
“Our work is prayer,” Tedesco says, “prayer for the church and the world. And so it’s that praise of God, and worshiping God, and living in the Word that is our life.”
The monks converse with God in the quiet of their own hearts and in groups throughout the day. Vigils begin at 4 a.m., the first of five daily gatherings. The brothers chant from Psalms—twice a month reciting the entire book—before spending 30 minutes in silent meditation.
In addition to their communal reflections, the monks at Mepkin Abbey also embrace the somatic spirituality of physical labor, finding God not just in quiet meditation but also in the sanctity of sweat. The brothers make a point to engage in farming, cleaning, and landscaping. This work generates some income, while it exerts and exhausts their bodies, which frees their hearts and minds to maintain a posture of prayer.
Though this dual devotion to prayer and physical labor may seem simplistic, it serves as a powerful tool. They are able to resist what the monks refer to as acedia, or the state of “spiritual boredom” that is often followed by “apathy and subsequent despair,” as defined by Harold L. Senkbeil in The Care of Souls.
And while apathy and despair may also seem like legitimate threats to the modern pastor, the Mepkin brothers’ solution—hours spent in silent reverie and reflection, followed by planting a field by hand—doesn’t seem directly replicable for those leading and shepherding congregations. Indeed, it isn’t. However, even though these practices are unique to monastic life, the underlying principle of nurturing both body and spirit through dedicated prayer and physical activity can be adapted in various, equally impactful ways.
For some, this may simply look like setting aside time each day for Scripture memorization. For others, it could include thinking about a name of God while walking around the neighborhood or praying while mowing the grass. The goal is neither perfect prayer nor intense physical training. Instead, the Mepkin monks demonstrate that the goal is found in the act itself: deep connection to God through ongoing conversation with him.
Walking with Fellow Pilgrims
Just as the silence of the monks allows for greater devotion to prayer, it also grows their love for one another. The Carthusian monks of the Grande Chartreuse in the French Alps take four-hour walks together each week. While they spend most of their time together in silence, these walks are dedicated to speaking with each other.
“The purpose of these recreations and walks,” one of the Carthusians explains in the documentary Into Great Silence, “is to maintain mutual affection and to further fraternal union, while ensuring good physical relaxation.”
The practice of a four-hour walk, as embraced by the Carthusian monks, may not be feasible for a ministry leader immersed in the demands of congregants and calendar requests. Yet, the purpose behind this practice—a consistent rhythm of mutual edification—holds special significance for those in ministry. In relationships, pastors are often required to give far more support and guidance than they receive, so reciprocal relationships, where pastors feel deeply understood and valued, are vital for their long-term health and success.
Pastors often think about their relationships to those whom they are leading. Drawing on the wisdom of the Carthusian brothers, pastors should also consider how to nurture relationships with those walking alongside them. “One who has unreliable friends soon comes to ruin,” says Proverbs 18:24, “but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.”
Even the most selfless, self-sufficient shepherds need such friendships. Jesus certainly did. As the perfect Son of God, Jesus sought, nurtured, and relied upon friendships for encouragement and support. Despite the risk and complexity of those relationships, with 12 men who rarely understood his teachings and one who would betray him, Jesus still chose to invest in his community. Instead of isolating himself, Jesus ate meals together with people, joined in celebrations with others, and even shared his sorrows with his disciples.
Victoria Atkinson White, director of grants at Leadership Education at Duke Divinity, interviewed hundreds of pastors and Christian leaders about the ways they stay holistically healthy. Many pointed to their friendships. “Early in my ministry, I remember thinking that as a pastor, being vulnerable and revealing my shortcomings could diminish the message of Christ through me,” recalled Lance, one of White’s interviewees. “Through time, therapy, and some periods of intense loneliness, I figured out I have to be totally real with . . . my inner circle. I have to choose these people wisely, but I have to have them.”
The journey to forge this inner circle is not for the faint of heart. It demands introspection and intentionality because it’s not merely about finding people to fill a void. Pastors must discern those with whom they share a profound, soul-nurturing connection. The value of these relationships is not found in the frequency of interactions but in the authenticity and depth of the connection. Whether it’s through a simple annual retreat or regular honest conversations (even via digital means like FaceTime), the key is in creating a space where pastors feel genuinely supported and understood. If that level of trust and connection is absent, consider what practical steps can be taken to build such relationships. Maybe it means confiding honestly and humbly with elders and chosen congregants who are too often held at an arm’s length. Maybe it is literally walking side by side with someone once a week. This intentional cultivation of deep, meaningful relationships is not a luxury; it’s a lifeline, essential for the well-being and sustainability of ministry.
Creation's Melody
At the heart of monastic life is an integrated approach, purposefully designed to create deeper spiritual and communal bonds. This approach also profoundly influences how the monks engage with their environment, reflecting a holistic connection to the natural world.
Tedesco notes the significance of the name Mepkin, a Native American word meaning “serene,” which is fitting with the abbey’s chirping birds, sprouting ferns, and hanging moss. Engaging with this backdrop, the monks devote themselves to gardening and contemplative walks along the river, seamlessly integrating their spiritual practices with the rhythm of creation.
In parallel, the Carthusian brothers of Grande Chartreuse are similarly connected with the physical world, as captured in the documentary. Into Great Silence is almost deafening with its lack of sound—limited to footsteps, prayers, and occasional singing. It invites viewers into the heart of a monastery nestled deep in the French Alps. In this near-silent world, Carthusians live a calm, disciplined life, deeply rooted in contemplation and prayer.
It might be easy to assume this Carthusian setting is entirely somber and austere, but that isn’t the full story. In one scene, several monks stand on a snowy mountain. Their white robes mirror the flake-covered ridge, the darker hues of their bald heads clearly visible. Two brothers climb higher than the rest and sled down, collapsing in a tangled heap at the bottom. The laughs of monks abruptly rupture the silence of both the serene mountainside and the film depicting it. The only thing more shocking than the sound is the beauty of it.
This moment is an expression of joy, delight, and worship, all harmoniously, gloriously intertwined. While a stark contrast to their usual solemnity, the laughter serves as a poignant reminder of the multifaceted nature of spiritual life, where prayer and reflection and grief and monotony often commingle with joy and lightheartedness and affection.
For the overworked and overburdened pastor, finding similar moments of joy and reprieve is crucial. It might not be a sled ride down a snowy mountain, but it could be as simple as a walk through the woods, a stroll on the beach, or a jog down a local park trail. These moments offer the chance to reconnect and step back from the demands of ministry to sit in the presence of God and nature.
Pastors can incorporate this monastic practice into their lives, be it in daily intentional moments or with retreats to monasteries or by spending time in nature. Spending a few hours every month in nature—equipped with a Bible, book, journal, and water bottle—echoes the monastic commitment to solitude and contemplation.
Monks show us the value of quiet devotion to God, dedication to community, and delight in the natural world. By embracing these principles in our own context, we can cultivate a spiritual rhythm that balances the demands of ministry with personal well-being. Through these rhythms and the Spirit’s guidance, we can find rest, connection, and the space for laughter to emerge as a shout of praise.
