Up until 1979, I honestly believed I could accomplish about anything I put my mind to, given enough time, tools, and support staff. My career, first as a campus pastor and then as a seminary professor, had advanced at a steady pace. Now there was talk of a major new doctoral program in marriage and family ministry, of which I would be the director if funding could be found.
That January, I became aware that something was definitely wrong with my body. A consortium of doctors finally determined the problem: diabetes. Their immediate orders were to lose at least fifty-five pounds, change my diet, cut back to twelve hundred calories a day, begin exercising regularly, take medication, and start getting adequate rest.
Diabetes would be with me till death, but in the meantime, its control was in my hands. I was suddenly forced to face my own mortality. I had always known I was a creature made by God, but now I was coming to terms with being a creature of space and time.
I was frightened, discouraged, even depressed. Could I shed fifty-five pounds and keep them off? I had been heavy all my life. I had lost large amounts of weight before, but this time I could not afford to gain them back. This was life or death.
That fall, the foundation grant came through: the green light was on for the doctoral program. My feelings split exactly down the middle. One part of me was exhilarated; this was my greatest opportunity yet. The other part of me was severely depressed. How would I find the energy and concentration to pull it off?
The rebuilding of my health was not yet complete when Tim, our son, became very ill in January, l981. A viral infection of the inner ear threatened his whole nervous system. He was in and out of hospitals for the next eight months, facing mortal danger at several points.
There simply were not enough “me’s” to meet the demands of a sick son, a needy wife and daughter, a growing academic project, and my own body. I remember very clearly one June day just after Tim had taken another turn for the worse. An adjunct professor named Carol Schreck asked me how everything was going. Tears began welling up in my eyes as I replied, “My deepest fear is that we could lose Tim, and given Jan’s investment of energy and her physical and emotional exhaustion, I also fear I could lose her.” I began to weep. Underneath, I was beginning to fear for my own life as well. “How much pressure can I take before I lose my sanity? How much can my body endure before it breaks?”
Sigmund Freud once wrote, “At bottom, no one believes in his own death. … Every one of us is convinced of his own immortality.” To accept mortality is to become conscious of life’s boundary. This awareness comes with fear and trembling, as we admit we are creatures of dust, earthen vessels.
For those of us in Christian ministry, such an admission need not be a sign of weakness or defeat. In fact, if taken seriously, it can defend us against four common occupational hazards:
1. Burnout. If we fail to accept ourselves as temporal beings with limited capacities, we are vulnerable to this all-too-common syndrome of total depletion.
It is common because our vocation is basically altruistic; ministry focuses on giving love and care to others rather than receiving. We believe our existence is justified only as long as we continue to serve. Most human relationships are equal in give-and-take, but not ours. To the degree that we define ourselves in one-way terms, we are in danger of overgiving and overworking, assuming all the while that this is what God demands. That is the road to burnout.
Since preachers are mortal, we must intentionally find time to nurture the body, mind, emotions, and spirit. Our idealism and commitment need to be balanced with an understanding of human limitations. We must give to ourselves even as we give to others.
2. Family neglect. In our attempt to be all things to all members of the congregation, we soon begin feeling indispensable. The only members left out are our marriage partners and our children. Their feelings are more often covert than open, but they smolder under the surface. Sometimes they burst into the full flame of a domestic crisis.
Albert E. Brendel, Jr., an Ohio hospital chaplain, says, “We have seen a disproportionate number of clergy couples come to Marriage Encounter looking for another program to use in their church while closing their eyes to their own relationship. Many of these have come and gone with no other benefit, hiding behind the we-have-a-perfect-marriage syndrome.”
Brendel also notes that many ministers’ wives who seek counseling carry a sense of defeat. They feel their families are fighting not only against their husbands for time, attention, and involvement, but against God, too. After all, their spouse is employed by somebody bigger than either of them.
If we are married, our families need us. But we also need them. They do not expect perfection of us. We can be mortal creatures of dust in their presence. They will be the ones who, at the end of our years, will return us to the soil. They are very important to us.
3. Congregational adulation. If we see ourselves as more than earthy witnesses, we fail our congregations. We present ourselves rather than Jesus Christ. To the degree we deny the limitations of our humanity, we shade the face of God from our people.
The task of the preacher is to be so transparent that others see God rather than you or me. That task can never be done perfectly; only Jesus could say, “He who has seen me has seen the Father.” But people should be able to look at us and see something of God-not that we have become the superstar or the idol of the congregation. That is cultic. Rather, we need to be like John the Baptist, who was essentially a pointing figure to the greater One. In Leonardo da Vinci’s painting, one finger is raised, longer than normal, pointing to heaven, in such a way that it dominates the entire portrait of John. It epitomizes his testimony:
I am not the Messiah.
I am not Elijah.
I am not the expected Prophet.
I am a voice crying in the wilderness, “Make straight the way of the Lord.” I am the herald, clearing the way for the King!
Our task is no different. We are messengers, not the message. We are earthen vessels, not the treasure. We are creatures, not the Creator. We are dusty witnesses, not superstars.
4. Assumptions of power. Since we are mortal, the transcendent power of our ministry belongs to God, not to us. We are utterly dependent upon him. We succeed and fail according to our memory of where the power lies.
Burned-out preachers have relied on their own power rather than God’s. If he is the power behind our ministry, then there is time for family life; everything in the church does not depend upon us. His goal for us is faithfulness, not burnout, nor divorce. He is transcendent, and we can draw on his power, which is sufficient for life and greater than death.
-Myron Chartier
Eastern Baptist Theological Seminary
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Copyright © 1984 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
