I read this stat the other day “The best and most conservative estimate is that 30% of those who go into ministry are not in ministry 5 years after they begin, and an even greater percentage will not end their vocational career in pastoral ministry.”
Let that sink in…. I’ll wait.
I can’t quite stop thinking about it. I also feel it. This is a hard job!
And while I would like to think this is just some sensationalist stat tossed around to scare seminary students. It’s a sobering truth. A truth many of us in ministry know not just from data, but from watching our friends and colleagues quietly slip away from pulpits and parish life. Some leave with a bang; many more leave with a whisper—worn down by expectations they couldn’t meet and wounds they never got to name.
And while we preach Sabbath, grace, and self-care to our congregations, too many of us are trying to pour from empty cups. We’re bleeding out behind the stole.
It’s time we had a serious conversation—not just about burnout, not just about stress—but about what I have come to call the spiritual discipline of pastoring ourselves. Because if we’re going to make it for the long haul, we can’t just shepherd the flock—we’ve got to tend to the shepherd too.
The Unholy Trinity: Stress, Conflict, and the Cost of the Call
Let’s name it: ministry is hard. Not just emotionally or logistically, but spiritually. It demands your whole self—heart, soul, mind, and strength. And often, it gives very little back.
The stress is relentless: preaching weekly (or more), navigating staff dynamics (if you’re lucky enough to have staff), balancing budgets, offering care to people in crisis, answering emails at midnight, mediating conflict, showing up at every community event—and let’s not even start on the weight of the funerals and hospital rooms. Or the empty pews. Or the angry emails. Or the fact that on Monday morning, the sermon clock starts again. Or the fact than we also have lives – aging parents, children, friends (hopefully, although that is hard when your life become wrapped up in your ministry), dogs, and well, life!
Add to that the difficulty of leading change in an institution that is both sacred and stubborn, and it’s no wonder so many pastors burn out, check out, or flame out.
Conflict in churches isn’t new—but what’s unique today is the sheer intensity and velocity of criticism. The pandemic only sharpened the knives. Political polarization, theological divisions, and shifting cultural norms mean that pastors are often stuck in the crossfire. We’ve become both lightning rods and scapegoats.
And when your calling begins to feel like combat, it’s only a matter of time before your spirit breaks.
The UMC and the Produce-Or-Perish Problem
For United Methodist clergy, there’s a particular flavor of pressure: the one-year appointment cycle. In theory, it’s designed to offer flexibility, connectional support, and shared discernment. But in practice, it often feels like an annual performance review where your continued employment depends on metrics that are wildly out of your control—attendance numbers, giving trends, congregational satisfaction, or whether the Bishop, DS, or cabinet has other plans for your zip code.
It’s hard to dig deep roots when you don’t know how long you’ll be planted. It’s hard to be prophetic when you’re constantly trying to prove your worth. It’s hard to be present when you’re planning your own exit strategy.
Many pastors begin to internalize a toxic message: “You are only as valuable as your stats.” That’s not the gospel. But it is the subtext. And, I have come to believe it causes Pastor’s to offer a watered down more palatable version of the gospel, one designed to keep butts in the pews, and offering in the plate. Which becomes it’s own form of stress trying to appease the crowd while keeping your own beliefs alive.
And we haven’t even touched on the systemic inequities—how clergywomen, LGBTQIA+ pastors, and clergy of color often face more scrutiny, less support, and more emotional labor in connectional systems that claim to be equitable.
When Colleagues Become Competitors
We, in the United Methodist Church, say we’re connectional, and we are. We say we’re in covenant, and we are. But often, it feels like we’re more in competition.
Clergy group chats can become thinly veiled battlegrounds of comparison. Who got moved to a bigger church? Who’s being nominated for that committee? Who’s on the Bishop’s radar (or not)?
There’s a quiet hierarchy of prestige: big steeple churches, conference leadership roles, social media platforms, and book deals. And if you’re not climbing the ladder—or even interested in the ladder—it’s easy to feel like you’re failing.
That sense of competition is antithetical to the Kin-dom. Ministry isn’t a race or a ranking system. But too often, we let comparison steal our joy and sabotage our solidarity. Instead of celebrating each other, we size each other up. Instead of linking arms, we guard our turf.
Pastoral ministry wasn’t meant to be a zero-sum game. But the culture around us tends to made it one.
So What Do We Do? Methods for Pastoring Ourselves
The good news is this: we can choose a different way. We can learn to pastor ourselves—not as an act of selfishness, but as an act of faithfulness. Because if we are to serve well, love deeply, and lead with integrity, we must also tend our own souls.
Here are some ways to start (after writing this I realized these are the same old rehashed ideas – so look for the follow-up):
1. Sabbath as Resistance
Sabbath is not a luxury—it’s a commandment. But for many pastors, it feels like a guilty pleasure. What if we reclaimed it as holy resistance?
Taking Sabbath is not just about rest; it’s a protest against a system that says you are only as valuable as what you produce. It’s a way of saying, “I am not God. The church does not rise and fall on me.”
Block your day off. Protect it fiercely. Use it to reconnect with joy—ride your bike, go to the beach, bake bread, nap, read something that’s not sermon prep. Rest is not a reward; it’s the rhythm of grace. Unfortunately, if you’re like me, sabbath becomes a waste of sitting on the couch unable / unwilling to be motivated o even enjoyable things. So here’s your – really MINE – use the energy to get outside, to take a walk, or something…you’ll g=feel better.
2. Spiritual Direction and Therapy
You need someone who isn’t in your pews. Someone who doesn’t need you to be “on.” A spiritual director or therapist can help you listen to your own soul, notice your patterns, name your wounds, and reclaim your sense of call.
Pastors often hold so much pain—from others and within ourselves. We need safe places to process. We need someone who will ask us, not “How’s the church?” but “How’s your spirit?”
3. Collegiality over Competition
Let’s stop playing church Hunger Games. Let’s build genuine relationships with our clergy colleagues—not as rivals, but as companions.
Find your people. Create covenant groups that are real—not just book clubs with collars. Meet regularly. Pray for each other. Cry together. Share the stuff that doesn’t make it into the newsletter.
When we stop competing, we can start healing.
4. Name the Lies and Reclaim the Truth
You are not your appointment. You are not your weekly attendance. You are not your Bishop’s favorite (or not). You are not your preaching reviews. You are not your burnout.
You are a beloved child of God.
Pastoring yourself means interrupting the internal monologue that says you’re not enough. It means preaching the gospel to yourself, even when you don’t feel it. Especially when you don’t feel it.
5. Engage in Practices of Embodiment
Our bodies are not ministry machines. They are temples. And they carry the stories our mouths don’t say out loud.
Move your body in ways that bring joy—not just health. Dance, bike, swim, walk, stretch. Eat food that nourishes. Drink water. Sleep. Drink more water.
Embodiment is a theological act. The Word became flesh, after all.
6. Say No as a Spiritual Practice
You don’t have to attend every meeting. You don’t have to solve every conflict. You don’t have to say yes to every committee request.
Saying no is not failure. It’s stewardship.
Jesus didn’t heal everyone. He walked away from crowds. He took naps during storms.
If the Savior of the world needed boundaries, so do you.
7. Cultivate Joy and Creativity
When’s the last time you did something for no reason other than delight? That, too, is ministry.
Write poems. Build Lego sets. Paint. Garden. Sing. Laugh until your belly hurts.
Joy is not frivolous. It’s fuel.
8. Return to the Call
Sometimes we need to go back—not to the church, but to the One who called us. Revisit the moment you first felt that tug toward ministry. Sit with the letters you wrote, the prayers you whispered, the dreams you held.
Your call wasn’t to a job. It was to a way of life. A life rooted in love, in service, in grace.
God hasn’t forgotten that call. Don’t let yourself forget it either.
Final Word: We Can’t Afford to Keep Losing Shepherds
The stat we started with should terrify us—but it should also mobilize us.
If 30% of pastors leave in the first five years, and many more won’t finish their vocational race in ministry, then something is broken. And it’s not because we didn’t try hard enough. It’s because the system asks too much and gives too little space for soul-care.
We need to change the culture of ministry. But until that happens, we must learn to pastor ourselves.
Not as a backup plan. Not as a survival technique. But as a sacred responsibility.
You are worthy of care. You are worthy of rest. You are worthy of joy.
Not because of what you do—but because of who you are.
So dear pastor, before you pour out again, take a moment. Breathe. Listen. Tend to your own soul.
Pastor, pastor thyself.
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