6 Reasons Your Pastor is About to Quit- Revisited

An article by Thom Rainer made the rounds in my pastor circles a while ago, titled "6 Reasons Your Pastor is About to Quit" and the six reasons listed are all related to Covid. The author alludes that these issues have been there, and this is just a boiling point, but I was hoping the author was going to go a little deeper and explore that point.

I felt inspired to write this not as an argument against the article, but sort of an attempt to unfold some of what's underneath it all, to go a little deeper.

Thom Rainer gets to it here:

Why has this period of great discouragement ensued? Of course, it is connected to COVID-19, but the pandemic really just exacerbated trends already in place. We would have likely gotten to this point in the next three to five years regardless.  

I also want you to know that these pastors do not think they will be leaving ministry. They just believe the current state of negativity and apathy in many local churches is not the most effective way they can be doing ministry. 

This is the real stuff. I am going to springboard off of Rainer's points and offer some insight based on my own experience in ministry. I've held a few jobs in the local church (youth minister, congregational care), my husband is a pastor, and I have a LOT of friends who are in ministry, as well as membership in some online groups of clergy women. Not all of what I have to say stems from my specific personal experience (some does), but all of it stems from real experiences of people I actually know. 

1 Pastors are weary from the pandemic, just like everyone else. 

Rainer states this truth, reminding people of the humanity of pastors. I want you to take it a step further. What do we do when a major transition happens, or something traumatic in our lives? We tend to have some serious introspection. Many clergy (and I'm sure many others) have been confronted with their mortality, the meaning of life, and all the other existential stuff that a pandemic stirs up. You are not the only ones having that conversation with yourself.

When that happens, you start to ask questions that our busy life didn't allow, like: is this what I'm supposed to be doing? Is this what I *want* to be doing? Could I be doing more in a different setting? All of a sudden, we see the ways we are spinning our wheels. 2020 has offered a stark background for our questions. The weight of our questions (and their answers) seem much heavier and more important than before. Our calling actually feels heavier, and we are asking ourselves: are we spinning wheels here or getting somewhere? We think to ourselves: the world needs help, and I feel like I'm working overtime and not even making a dent!

Right now it doesn't feel like we're getting anywhere, which leads to the next point...

2 Pastors are greatly discouraged about the fighting taking place among church members about the post-quarantine church.

Bingo. In the midst of the existential questions, we look at our "office," which is the church for clergy, and see some really terrible (and ineffective) behavior. There are businesses that are completely re-writing the playbook for their future (do we even need an office building?). Clergy are trying to do that with their churches, but the Church has been in fight or flight for a while, and right now a lot of them are choosing to fight, with the pastor and each other. 

I am a part of an online group of clergy women, and trust me when I say that people have been behaving badly for a very, very, very long time. You probably already knew that, but you may not have known they were behaving so badly to the pastor. Let's go ahead and exclude the crappy Pastors who are abusive and power-trippy. I would venture to say most pastors are actually just trying to be good people, and help other people be good and connect to God. The conversation around whether their theology or methodology is good, we can save for another day.

When Covid hit, a lot of Pastors knew they were walking onto a minefield with every decision they made. Church people can be pretty awful to their pastors. It's not the exception, it's the rule. 

So if you think you have something to offer the world and your response to that is being a pastor; there's nothing like a pandemic to make things bad enough for you to look again and say "maybe there's a better way, a way that doesn't kill me." And yes, we're talking life and death for some of these pastors. Pastor suicides are not uncommon, and if they don't do it intentionally, they do it by overworking and becoming so unhealthy that their bodies give up under the strain. 

It's hard for pastors to prioritize their own mental health when their congregations demand they sacrifice it for theirs. And time and again, the pastor obliges, putting their lives on the sacrificial altar for the church. The tragedy is that this is entirely unnecessary, (and actually terrible theology) but a pastor often stops just short of helping themselves, because it is their calling to help others, and in their minds the sacrifice is a necessary one. I'll get into that more later, but this may be one of the most toxic and prevalent behaviors I've seen in pastors today. They tell everyone to rest, to prioritize family, etc, and forget that they deserve the same basic human rights and privileges. 

3 Pastors are discouraged about losing members and attendance. 

This might seem, like the author said, "all about the numbers," but he's right, it's not. However, he talks about pastors worrying about losing friends in the congregation. I don't think it's about losing friends either. Not to burst any bubbles, but pastors are learning that church members make for very challenging friendships. There's always a line and boundary when you cease to be a friend and become their pastor. This is not an equitable relationship, no matter how hard you try. 

Many pastors confess just how lonely they are, making the irony of being surrounded by people that much more painful. I have learned first hand just how fickle church friends can be. There's a reason why seminary talks a LOT about boundaries and the importance of having social connection outside of the church. Unfortunately, the pastor's schedule makes it challenging to be social outside of church. You can't even go visit family for the weekend because you have to be home on Sunday. 

So many pastors are trapped in one-sided relationships with people whom they love and would do anything for, with no real commitment on the other end. The needs of these people are so consuming, that it leaves very little time for the pastor to invest in more genuine and mutual friendships, so they are often left either very lonely, or in forced ignorance that the relationships are mutual. This ignorance is often burst by some tragedy or event that leaves the pastor even more heart-broken when they realize just how conditional the friendship was. 

The other part I want to note is that the numbers are important to some extent because that is how your efficacy as a pastor is measured: NUMBERS. It's also the determination of whether you have a job (or get paid). And I don't care how committed you are to your job, you need to be paid to live. Most pastors don't expect to be millionaires, but it would be nice if they could pay their bills, which many cannot. I feel the need to reiterate this: many pastors struggle financially. I'm talking people with 3 higher-level degrees struggling to pay rent and medical bills. 

So the question returns: do I want to continue to use my gifts in such a way that will be measured (incorrectly) by numbers, at the price of my social and mental health? Do I want my livelihood to be attached to whether my "help" is attractive enough to people? For pastors who live in parsonages, the job is more than just a salary, it's your home too. That's scary. Our entire financial security is owned by the church. Those numbers are scary. It's why many have stayed, not knowing if they can make it outside the church. "Hi, I'd like to be your newest account manager. I have three theology degrees."

4 Pastors don’t know if their churches will be able to support ministries financially in the future. 

This is basically the same thing as number 3. Less people, less money, less ministry. Which staff person do you have to cut? Do you offer to cut your own salary? Many do, and many have it cut for them. If you are faced with the survival of your church (and staff) or your salary, it looks un-Christian to say "I need the money." Aaaaand now you can't pay your bills. But you can't ask for help, that's tacky. God provides, and all that.

But deeper than that: is the church even effective? See number 2. A pastor is thinking: these people are arguing over the color of the walls, the quality of video, the mandate of masks; they are not making great disciples. Maybe, just maybe, the Church (universal) is changing to something new? Maybe the pastor is being called to do ministry in the New Church, and let go of the four walls and toxic dynamic. Maybe these pastors have all felt a calling out of the church, and the pandemic just made it even more painful to stay. Maybe the pandemic finally put even the minuscule safety net of the church at such a risk that they have nothing left to lose. 

They have been trying to bail out a sinking ship, and the pandemic has shown them that maybe the ship sank a long time ago and they've been drowning with it. Or, more optimistically, they've reached shore and it's time to move on to discover what's ahead. 

5 Criticisms against pastors have increased significantly. 

So this is a follow up of 2 for the most part. All that fighting is mainly directed at the pastor (with some exceptions, of course). And all that fighting does not effect lay people's livelihood. A pastor who loses half their church in some uproar: they may lose half their salary or all of it. They certainly lose sleep and sanity.

In normal times, a pastor's patience has to build up enough stamina that you can mostly handle the people behaving badly. This is not always true though. Before the pandemic, there were plenty of pastors leaving toxic congregations because no amount of resilience and thick skin could withstand it. Plus, most pastors have families, and it's hard to ask that resilience of your entire family. I for one have zero patience for bullshit when the health and wellbeing of my family is in jeopardy. 

Female pastors and pastors of color who do not look like their congregation have been disproportionately bearing this burden of congregational (and colleague) meanness. It gets really ugly. Now that the pandemic has added some fuel to that fire (forget the already insane political climate), and you're reaching the boiling point. A pastor is smart to get out of that pot, and fast.

And while I'm talking about people being awful to their pastors and church staff, it begs the question: Why should we expect pastors to endure this abuse? Many pastors have deluded themselves into thinking this is their "cross to bear." (I mentioned this earlier.)

Hear me pastors: just because God calls you, doesn't mean you're immune to trauma (or your family). It doesn't mean you're literally immune to this pandemic. It doesn't mean that God gave you some magic potion to make all the emotional and physical stress roll off your shoulders. Enduring trauma is not an item on a gold-star chart that God has, saying "Oh she survived that traumatic experience and then stayed there, she must love me." 

No. Full stop. No.

We shouldn't expect our pastors to be martyrs AT OUR OWN HANDS. Martyrs are for tyrannical governments, not pissy people. 

There, I said it. Go read that sentence again if you need to. 

Sometimes blazing a trail means leaving the trail.

6 The workload for pastors has increased greatly. 

Last but not least, because everyone else is exhausted, the pastor picks up the pieces like the infinite source of energy/love/spirituality robots they are asked to be. Churches are generally understaffed with volunteers and overworking staff. Also, pastors aren't trained in AV/internet/whatever. Most of them figured it out, only for people to have an opinion on how it could be done better.

But here's the deeper part. They were already working too much. They were already working weird schedules. And I'm not just talking about the time clocked. I'm talking about the mental load. The emotional load. A pastor's job is so fuzzy in terms of what is "work" and what isn't. It can be all-consuming if a pastor doesn't set proper boundaries. And pastors that set proper boundaries? Yeah, the church doesn't usually like that. 

Now it's like the pressure has increased on every part of what made their job hard and defeating.

The knot in their shoulder has a giant fist grinding into it. They can't miss it. What is it? It's that final recognition that none of this was sustainable. It's realizing that this is not working. This is not what I want. This is not what anyone should want. This is broken. 

Much like many systems that have crashed under the pressure of a pandemic, pastors can see that the church is in some serious need of reformation. 

And the only way they know how to help is to leave.

So, this was all up-lifting. 

What can you do? 

If you are a pastor: follow your call, but make sure it's not the calling of fear and scarcity, but rather the calling of God who literally made stuff out of nothing. 

Set boundaries for yourself and stop trying to be Jesus. In the words of my new favorite theologian, Tricia Hersey (the "Nap Bishop"): "lay yo ass down and take a nap." This comes from her very serious, very deep understanding of who God is, and who we are as humans. You are not a sacrificial lamb. You are not a martyr. You are not a part in the production line of human productivity. 

When you act like that, you actually diminish the Kin-dom of God and feed into what Hersey calls the "grind culture" (which she will point out has White Supremacy at its foundation). Stop doing that. Stop modeling that kind of behavior. It's not healthy for you or anyone else. 

You as a pastor, by resting, you are resisting the very culture and systems that threaten to undermine the Church and Kingdom of God itself. Rest is holy resistance. And for people of color, rest is OWED you; rest is reparations. (Seriously, follow The Nap Ministry on instagram.)

Clergy: you are a fully embodied and complex human with needs, hopes, dreams. Listen to those. That's the magic God works with. Do some inside work if you haven't already. Go to therapy, meditate, sit outside and stare at the trees. 

And if you need to hear this: it's OK to leave.

If you are a member of a church: maybe just start by taking a little more responsibility for the future of the Church. And I'm not asking you to be a martyr, we're changing that dynamic, remember? It wouldn't hurt to show your church's staff a little love (especially the pastor/s). Treat them like the full humans they are.

But more than that, I'm talking about thinking of your role as someone who can support and move with the Spirit. Someone who feeds and waters the dreams born of the Spirit. Don't be afraid.

Start thinking about what a sustainable, inspired model of God's Kin-dom looks like. If your pastor has mentioned some ideas that actually make sense: publicly throw your support at it. Think communal, collaborative. Think rest, repair, healing, wholeness. Dare to imagine and engage in creating something new.

Stop trying to be right or look right. 

Start trying to be loving. 

Do some inside work: go to therapy, meditate. Remind yourself that your staff with years and education experience might know something. Remind yourself that you have gifts too, and it might not be running a religious institution. This is OK. Very OK. Good. So let it go. 

We need you where you're gifted. Hone those skills.

To all of us: we MUST remember that we're all human. Not machinery. We're all connected. Not islands. 

Re-assess our expectations. Are they healthy, helpful, and do they help others thrive? Do they help you thrive? 

When we start to answer those questions honestly, when we start to rest and love, we might get to follow our prophetic leaders into the next iteration of Church. We shouldn't be running off a burning, sinking ship. 

We should be following a light.

Last but not least: we may not all be going to the same places. This is also OK. Let the people go. Pastors, congregants, neighbors. Let them all go. Let yourself go.

Maybe we're being led to the promised land.