Near the ten-year anniversary of my ordination, I was floundering. I felt isolated, weary, on the edge of that overused but apropos termburn-out. There were signs: heart palpitations, fatigue, a cranky and critical spirit.
During the day, my energy level sagged, and the simplest tasks, such as returning phone calls and cranking out another adult education brochure, became chores. I awoke at three o’clock in the morning with a mile-long list of gnawing worries. I read the want ads and studied college brochures, trying to discover if there were anything else I could do to make a living.
With the help of a therapist, I came to see I was so busy taking care of everybody else, I wasn’t taking good care of myself. I began to make changes: to take more time off and develop interests outside the church. Then a new call came. I, a native Californian, packed up my life and journeyed some thousand miles away from my family and growing sense of community. I began the challenging process of starting over in a new church setting. This time, I had a chance to do things differently. But would I?
Not quite a year later, I feel as if I’m doing great. It may be that I’m still in the honeymoon period, but I’ve intentionally put in place some components of support and accountability.
A friend
First, I have cultivated a friendship with a person I knew, who moved here before me. She and her family live forty-five minutes away, a bit of a commute, but it’s fun to get out of town on my day off (and the telephone bills are manageable).
The best thing is that she is not a member of my church, but she is a committed Christian who understands church. Our conversation is no-holds-barred and runs the gamut from side-splitting laughter to heart-wrenching tears. Her heat-seeking-missile questions don’t allow me to get away with anything.
One post-sermon, blue Monday, as I bemoaned the lack of congregational feedback, she made a direct hit: “Why is affirmation so important to you? Is enough ever enough? How much of your ego is wrapped up in your preaching?”
There are two additional bonuses with our friendship: I often go “home” to her place for the holidays, and we have an ongoing cribbage tournament, which I’m winning.
A sounding board
I have been meeting monthly with a small group of seven denominationally and theologically diverse women pastors. However, we rarely talk theology, and we don’t pray together.
What we do is talk shop.
They were the ones I told about the hurt and frustration I felt when long-time members of my new congregation invited me over to their home to tell me they were leaving the church. One reason was because they didn’t believe that a woman could be a senior pastor.
These women pastors laughed with me when I told about a recent Sunday morning, after our third worship service, when I was accosted by two mothers in the narthex telling me a child had just thrown up in the sanctuary. “What can you do about it?” the mothers asked.
When I told my group what I told those two women (“I don’t do barf!”), we laughed uproariously.
We wonder aloud about how women pastors do ministry differently than men. We talk about how to get a life outside the church. We talk about problems in our churches and how to lead effectively. Recently we went on an overnight retreat, ate ourselves silly, went for walks, and talked nearly nonstop about power, depression, and the fine line between spirituality and sexuality.
This group is unique, a sounding board where we share our vocational lives. When I share out loud, I see in the eyes of one or more of these sisters the bright glint of recognition.
A spiritual director
I consciously stepped a bit outside the comfort zone of my tradition and sought out a spiritual director.
She has helped me to listen to my life, to look at my fears, to own up to my mixed motivations, and to slow down long enough to hear what God is saying. She takes God seriously. She takes me seriously.
She has been a reminder that there is a huge difference between working for God and being with God. That thought is nothing new, but when you’re in the business of making God known, it’s easy to forget. There are light years of difference between knowingabout God and knowing God. She encourages the latter.
No doubt one of the greatest sins in my life is pride; I think too much of myself. But I have also struggled with what I call the “sin of humility.” I suspect this may be a specialty sin of women: thinking too little of ourselves. Early on when I met with my spiritual director, I told her my misgivings about my ability to lead. I didn’t feel I knew what I was doing, trying to guide a new church into the future. I told her I often wondered if God had made some kind of horrible mistake by calling me to ministry. I told her I sometimes felt like that dumb, 14-year-old kid, the disenchanted ex-Mormon, who came to faith as a theological neophyte and a denominational orphan.
Her gentle, heartfelt reply blew my socks off: “Heidi, Jesus doesn’t want you to get out of the way of what he’s doing at your church, because you’re not in the way. Jesus wants to know what you think! You know some stuff! He’s not waiting for you to mess up. Jesus is excited about your being there to lead those people!”
A peer group
I recently covenanted to meet monthly with three other Presbyterian pastors, all of whom happen to be men. Our ministries are fairly dissimilar: one is a pastor of a new church development; two are solo pastors of smaller churches; and I am pastor of an 1,100-member, multi-staff church.
Yet we desire to support each other because (1) ministry can be so incredibly isolating, (2) we’re all relatively new to the area, and (3) we’re more or less neighbors. We help each other get some questions answered such as, “Do you have a food closet?” “Can we build a Habitat for Humanity House together?” “How did your stewardship drive go this year?” “Our budget is behind several thousand dollars; how about yours?” “What do you do for officer training?” “What session [board] member is driving you up the wall?” “Do you have any good counselor referrals?”
Our hope is that we can talk openly about our joys and struggles in the church, even to debate theological hot potatoes, and, perhaps most important, to pray together. I am looking forward to our partnership.
Heidi A. Husted is senior pastor of Columbia Presbyterian Church in Vancouver, Washington.
1996 by Christianity Today/LEADERSHIP journal
Last Updated: September 17, 1996
