Ministry might just be the perfect storm.

If you have a marketplace job, your life has some definable components: your work, your family and your personal life.   You might get up, spend some time with God, head off to work, come home and hang out with your family. 

In ministry, these worlds get fused.  You wake up, spend time with God. Go to work, which in some ways is spending more time with God and serving God.  Then you go home, and wait – you are a Christian family.  And you attend work with your family. Or hang on, is that work or is that personal or is that family?  

See what I mean.  It gets confusing. 

In my first year in ministry, I found I was tempted to combine my personal spiritual walk with sermon prep.  If I was preaching Exodus anyway, why not hang out in the text during my quiet time?  

I don’t know why, but early on that just struck me as unhealthy.  So I decided to adopt a discipline of personal bible reading that had zero to do with "work".  My plan the first year was just this:  read through the Bible in a year.  I did, and it revitalized my devotional life.  Fourteen years later, I’m still reading through the Bible every year. I’d never say everyone should do it.  But for me, it’s been awesome.  For whatever reason, it’s liberating to be reading through 2 Chronicles and realizing you may never preach on it all year long.  

Naturally, I find things in the Bible I end up preaching on.  But the point is that that wasn’t the point.  

I do pray for things that impact our ministry, but I try to spend a lot of time praying about things that I would pray about if I wasn’t in ministry.  For me, it’s boiled down to a simple, haunting question:

If I stopped ministry tomorrow, what would be left of my spiritual life? 

By cultivating a spiritual walk that has little do do with work, I hope I can answer that question with a resounding "quite a bit."  

This principle has helped my family sort out the thorny question of what to participate in as well.  The rule we adopted early on was that as a family, we would do those things we would normally do if we were just Christians and I wasn’t the pastor.  It would be normal for our family to serve in some ministries, but not every ministry. Normal to be out at church a night or two a week, but not every night of the week.  Normal to attend church, but not necessarily multiple services every Sunday just because we hold them.  So my wife and kids serve because they are Christians, not because I’m the pastor.  It’s been so healthy. 

We’ve been fortunate to be part of a community that understands that principle, respects it and even thinks it’s healthy.  So grateful for that! 

This is the fourth practice that’s helped me stay alive and engaged in ministry more often than not over fifteen years:  to cultivate a spiritual walk that has little to do with "work".

How about you?  What helps you?  If you stopped ministry tomorrow, what would be left of your spiritual life?  If you stopped ministry tomorrow, what would that do to your family’s rhythm of service? 

I was terrible at this for years.  Rest was for people who just couldn’t handle a real workload.  If you went home at 4 p.m., it was because you really weren’t committed to the cause.

There was a strange justification that happened in the back of my mind that told me the harder I worked, the more pleased God would be with me.  After all – I was doing his work. And if you were working for God, why wouldn’t you give it everything you had plus an extra 30%. 

People would tell me all the time: your pace is unsustainable.  You’re going to burn out.  I just ignored them. I thought I was stronger than that, and the strange thing is, for the most part, I was.   I could sense burn out and pull back from the edge just in time.  And for years I just ran in overdrive.

But I’ve come to realize some things:

• Just because you don’t burn out, doesn’t mean you don’t miss out.  I told my oldest son (who’s 18) the other day that if I could get one thing back in life it would be some of those hours when he was in elementary school.  He’s heading off the university this fall, and we’ve had some great times together over the last few years (as we did when he was very young), but I can’t get his formative years back.  God redeems time, but I’d love to get some of those hours back.

• Rest is a gift.  It’s also great strategy. We all know that God rested on the seventh day.  But life was also designed with regular pauses scripted in.  There was to be no work done once every seven days.  And if you’ve ever read the Old Testament, you might realize God loves a party.  There were regular holidays, festivals, and even mandated celebration in Old Testament life.  For us A types, remember – God wants us to enjoy life. As the creators of our bodies and souls, he also realized that we function best when we’re rested and full of good things.  Most of us realize that we’re not nearly as productive on hour 12 of a day as we are on hour one.  Pay attention to that.  Rest is also a strategy.  We’re so much better at work when we’ve rested.

• You’ll actually get the rest you’re ignoring one way or another.  Even though God mandated regular rest, there’s little evidence the Israelites took him up on his advice.  The Sabbath was probably broken more than it was observed. And most people believe that the Sabbath of Sabbaths – (the year of Jubilee, where work was shut down for a full year every 50th year) was never actually celebrated.  Well, that’s not exactly true. Consider this:  

So the message of the Lord spoken through Jeremiah was fulfilled. The land finally enjoyed its Sabbath rest, lying desolate until the seventy years were fulfilled, just as the prophet had said. (2 Chronicles 36:21)

Did you hear that?  I mean, seriously… Did you actually see what God is saying there?  He’s basically pointing out that if you don’t take the rest, the rest will take you. Israel never celebrated the Jubilee, so God said "I’ll make you take it – you’ll be invaded, and against your will, you’ll be in exile for seventy years. There’s your Sabbath.  There’s your Jubilee."

I wonder if burn out and stress leave are the modern equivalents of exile. 

Over the last number of years I’ve had to work a rhythm of rest and refuelling into my life.  It’s meant huge changes.   In fact, we’ve programmed Connexus so that staff and volunteers are home most nights.  I actually take my vacation now.  I have work from my home Mondays and Fridays because I write best when I’m alone out of the office.  I’m only good with people about 50% of my work week.  Being home Monday means I can pour into staff and volunteers Tuesday – Thursday with enthusiasm. That might not be your rhythm, but it’s mine. 

This principle is not a blank cheque for laziness. This isn’t about counting your 37.58 hours down the minute to make sure you’ve got what’s coming to you. Not at all.  But it is about realizing that ministry happens deepest and most profoundly when you pursue God’s work using God’s ways and not your own.  You end up accomplishing more in every sphere of your life. 

When I started, I wanted to run this marathon like it was a sprint.  I still sprint in seasons, but I’ve come squarely to terms with the truth that this is a marathon.  A marathon God actually even intends us to enjoy. 

In what ways are you tempted to cheat rest?  Why?  What rhythm of rest and refuel works best for you?  

Chances are you’ve had it happen before – you completely navigate a difficult situation and your friends ask "how do you stay so calm and composed when everyone’s losing it?"  You don’t really know the answer to that question, but you make something up and tell yourself you’re doing really well.

Then someone cuts into your lane on the drive home and you almost lose it. His action was a two out of ten, but your reaction was an eight.  Or someone sends you a slightly critical email and you brood around the house dumping on the people you love and then can’t sleep for two nights because you’re so angry/upset/emotional about it. His slight was a three out of ten.  You reacted with an eleven.  

Sometimes the things we think don’t bother us really bother us.  The emotions we never process don’t disappear, they just go underground and decide to bubble up in the most incovenient and inappropriate ways.  

A mentor told me a few years ago that he’s convinced that one of the silent killers in ministry for church leaders is what he calls "ungrieved losses".  I think he might be on to something.

The Jews have an elaborate mourning ritual when someone dies. Consider how Job’s friends responded to the tragedy that Job experienced.  When was the last time you said nothing for seven days, tore your clothes and sat in silence when something catastrophic happened?  Today, many of us process grief while talking on the phone with iTunes playing in the background while we’re trying to finish making breakfast so we can get the kids off to school.

My mentor friend’s theory is this: people in ministry suffer loss every day. Heck, life brings loss every day. Every time the grocery bill runs too high and the bank balance gets tight, it’s a loss.  Every time someone leaves your ministry, it’s a loss.  Every time someone steps back from your team, it’s a loss.  Every time you give something only to find ungratitude, it’s a loss.  Every time someone tells you’re great but you should really see the other guy who’s awesome, it’s a loss.  Then add in death, illness and strained or lost relationships and, well, you get the picture. 

And my friend’s theory is that so many people up and quit ministry or lose their effectiveness in life not because any one incident made them snap or quit – but rather because the loss that provoked their exit is tied to dozens or hundreds of ungrieved losses along the way.  They might not even understand why they’re stepping back, shutting down or resigning.  All they know is they just can’t take it anymore. 

One of the practices I’ve adopted over the last few years, as strange as it still seems to me, is to try to grieve my losses as they happen.  I try to take time daily and weekly to review what’s bothering me and simply pray about it. Sometimes I talk to others about it.  I try to let myself stop and feel what I’ve experienced.  And when I feel it, something surprising happens – the negative feeling pretty much disappears.  If I do it promptly when a loss occurs, I can even respond to a four out of ten email or remark with a two out of ten reply – not a twelve.  I can actually offer grace.

How about you?  Do you find life full of losses?  How do you grieve them?  What have you found helpful?

You got into ministry or serving in a local church with a sense of calling and passion, and months or years later, the flame looks more like a pilot light.  Your passion is all but barely detectable and your cynicism is at a personal high.  

What happened?  The stories vary, but the bottom line is the same.  Ministry is a lot more difficult than most of us expected. I certainly don’t want to pretend I’ve had it hard in ministry.  In fact, I may have had it easier than many of you reading this series.  But my passion has come and gone and come back again.  My calling never left, but there were seasons where I’ve wanted to leave my calling.  And I have felt the gnawing advance of cynicism threatening to become my default.  

How do you stay fresh for the long haul?  If ministry is a marathon, how do you make it to the finish line? I’m in a good seasons these days, and that’s given me a chance to reflect. In this series I’ll outline seven habits or practices that have helped me over the years.  And I hope you’ll add your ideas and experiences. 

Practice #1:  Process privately while leading publicly. 

I think we’ve all seen variations of this principle.  Some leaders never process the complex things that are happening to them or around them while they lead publicly, and one day they snap.  They do something irresponsible or immoral, simply quit or end up on leave.  They didn’t process what was going on inside and around them, tried to lead publicly and found it was unsustainable.  I tried that for a while (we’re all invincible, right?).  Not good.  

Most of us have seen the opposite too:  we’ve seen people process publicly while leading publicly.  They try to process what’s happening to them publicly, using the platform as a personal couch.  I’ve heard sermons used as weapons, positions used as bargaining chips and people with no one else to talk to talk about everything to anyone who might listen.  It’s just not healthy.

I’ve learned (sometimes the hard way) to process privately while leading publicly.  For me, this has meant keeping an open, healthy dialogue with a variety of people. Naturally, what’s going on is constant grist for my personal prayer life and scripture reading.  But I think God intended us to be cared for in community too. Toni, my wife, is my best counselor and friend.  We talk a lot.  But your marriage shouldn’t bear every stress you experience.  At times I’ve seen a counselor.  My closest friends and community group have helped immensely. I also track fairly closely with our elders (we’re fortunate to have incredible elders).  And over the last dozen years, I’ve developed a small network of trusted friends, mentors and colleagues who live hundreds to thousands of miles away.  It’s like we’re sitting in the same room (which sometimes we do) and we always pick up where we left off. 

Processing privately as issues arise has allowed me to keep leading for 15 years through some interesting times, personally and in ministry.  The congregation ends up hearing about much of it over time.  But I think what’s healthier is that I don’t expect them to be responsible for making me well.  They want to know that their leader is human, but there’s something unsettling to know that their leader is in personal crisis, especially if that crisis is unresolved.  So sharing a problem after there’s some resolution or at least a way through seems to be healthier.  And the more you process privately, the less of a sense of crisis you’ll experience as a leader. Even though in our model I don’t really do ‘pastoral care’ in the traditional sense, I am responsible for leading them in all seasons.  And because there are people who care for me with whom I can process things, I can care for others. 

How about you?   What could you do this week to strengthen the network of people who can help you process privately while leading publicly? Ministry fosters isolation.  How can you reverse that?

For discussion: How does this resonate with you?  How have you found this to be true? When have you seen this principle at work in your life? 

Most of us start out in ministry with a burst of enthusiasm.  And enthusiasm can get you far.   In fact, it’s a great start in ministry.  But enthusiasm won’t get you to the finish line.

I’m haunted by the widely quoted statistic that over 15,000 pastors leave ministry each year.  (Whether that stat is accurate or not, the back door of church leadership is large). The calling that got us started doesn’t seem to lead enough of us to the finish line. And this is true not only of pastors, but of church staff and key volunteers. There is a long line of burn out in the church.

Today I’m starting a blog series about that.  How do you stay fresh in the long run?  How do you ensure that the longer your journey gets, the deeper  and more alive it gets?  How do you make sure you love God and love people more passionately 15 years into your journey than you did 15 months into it, especially after some of those people have burned you?

I think this is the sleeper issue in church ministry.  Every time I talk with church leaders from all kind of backgrounds at Connexus and on the road, I find an instant gravitation toward the subject.  I spent a day last month with 25 church staff and we talked about strategy, team alignment and change.  It was a great day.  But when we turned to this subject, interest skyrocketed.  We could have spent all day on it.  I got a chance to speak to more church pastors the next week;  same deal.   Almost of all us struggle with how to stay fresh, alive and hopeful in our roles in ministry – and for that matter, even in our faith.

I’ve experienced ups and downs in ministry I didn’t think were possible.  Earlier this year, I spent some time reflecting on that journey and I outlined seven practices or habits I’ve discovered have helped me keep my heart in ministry when I thought my heart might not end up being invested in anything.

I’m hoping this series can be a great gateway to share practices that can help all of us make it to the finish line in our callings and walk with Christ.  Ministry is a marathon, not a sprint. Monday, we’ll start in with the first habit.

In what ways do you struggle with keeping your heart engaged in ministry?  What have been some ups and downs for you?

I twittered about something a few days ago and it generated more of a reaction than I anticipated.  This is simply what the tweet said:

The greatest threat to your dependence on God is your current success.

Most of us feel our need for God most deeply when we are up against a big obstacle.  Usually it’s because we’re behind.  We’re behind financially, behind relationally, trying to get our organization to grow, trying to calm a storm, or just feeling knocked down.  God becomes a very necessary part of our problem solving strategy and our prayer life grows.  But mostly they’re emergency prayers (God help!) or sometimes a desperate plea to get someone more powerful to leverage his influence in our direction.

I don’t think God minds our prayers in any situation.  Dependence is a great thing.  It’s just that as soon as the problem is resolved, the organization starts growing, the issue is addressed or the relationship starts to get healthy, God drops out of the picture if we only rely on him for the things we think we can’t solve.  The purpose of dependence is not to solve problems.  The purpose of dependence is to deepen our trust and confidence in God in every situation.

Here’s what’s at stake when we squeeze our dependence on God out of the good times: if God is only there to solve a problem, then our ‘success’ becomes limited to what we can achieve through our own ability.  We seek God’s power to get us to the place we want to be but limit ourselves to what our own ability can achieve when we get there.  Kinda dumb as a strategy actually. It’s the perfect way to lose at success.

Why would I ever want our church to cap out at my ability?  Why would I ever want my marriage to only be as good as I can make it?  Why would I want my leadership to cap out at what I can achieve?  Why wouldn’t I want God to shape every moment, not just the desperate ones?  Why would I not want my life and your life to be a dance between the grace and power of God and a very flawed Christ-follower?

I want to be the kind of leader who is dependent upon God in the best and worst of times.  For me, I think that means I need to lean even harder into God in the good times.  It summarizes so well for me with this principle: the greatest threat to my dependence on God is my current success.

What about you?  What does that mean for you?  Do you struggle with this?  In what ways?