In the quiet corner of our apartment, in what my wife and I affectionately called “the nook,” we shared countless evenings and intimate conversations. But one conversation stands out in my memory, a pivotal moment when I first began to articulate the heavy sadness that had settled upon me. My wife, with her perceptive heart, had noticed an emotional distance growing between us. Trying to explain the numbness I felt, I used the analogy of a sleeping arm. Like the disconnect between intention and action when your limb is numb, I felt emotionally disconnected, unable to reach out and connect in ways I longed to. I wanted to engage, to feel, but something within me was dormant, unresponsive. A change had occurred, and it was unsettling.
It wasn’t a complete shock to my wife that I was struggling with sadness. The ministry at our church had become intensely challenging. Conflict and confusion were rampant, and for the first time, I experienced the sting of slander and betrayal, losing the trust and respect of people I deeply cared about. Exhaustion was a constant companion. I was often in meetings until the late hours, wrestling with complex relational issues. My confidence had eroded, and I felt adrift, unsure of which direction to take. This difficult period stretched on for what felt like an eternity, about eighteen months.
Initially, I attributed my state to these trying circumstances. However, I began to realize it was more than just situational sadness or discouragement. A profound darkness had enveloped me. The sorrow and discouragement had become constricting, filtering my entire experience of life – family, work, rest, even prayer – through a lens of despair. As Charles Spurgeon wisely noted, “The flesh can bear only a certain number of wounds and no more, but the soul can bleed in ten thousand ways, and die over and over again each hour.” This resonated deeply. My experience wasn’t merely about reacting to tough times; it was something deeper, something internal. Depression, I came to understand, while perhaps triggered by external events, was not solely defined by them.
This was uncharted territory for me. I had always possessed a certain resilience, an ability to see beyond immediate difficulties, to speak truth into situations, and to rely on God, or sometimes my own strength, to persevere. But now, it felt as though I was wearing emotional blinders, limiting my vision and feeling, allowing only sorrow to dominate my inner landscape. Encouragement felt foreign, rejected by my inner being like medicine expelled by a sick body. Hope was elusive, as intangible as trying to grasp smoke.
As I started to share my struggles, I was struck by how many pastors and colleagues confided in me that they too had encountered depression, often triggered by the unique pressures of pastoral ministry or periods of intense conflict and discouragement in their work. I was not alone in this experience. Remarkably, while words of comfort and truth often felt inadequate, the simple presence of someone who understood my pain, a fellow sufferer, was profoundly comforting, like a divine hand offering solace. It broadened my perspective, offering a glimmer of hope in what felt like a dark, disorienting cavern of depression. The voice of someone who could acknowledge and validate my pain was like a beacon, suggesting a possible path out of the darkness.
A pastor sitting in a chair, looking thoughtful and introspective, in a dimly lit room.
I was a pastor, yet I was also battling depression. It’s crucial to state that depression is not exclusive to pastors, nor will every pastor experience it. However, there are distinct challenges inherent in spiritual leadership that can make pastors vulnerable. I felt weakened emotionally, lacking the categories to fully understand my experience. How could I effectively guide and support others when I felt so helpless myself? How could I preach about the joy of Christian faith when I hadn’t genuinely felt joy in months? Shame, guilt, and fear became relentless adversaries, each taking turns to attack my spirit.
It’s Not Abnormal to Be Sad: A Pastor’s Perspective
Here is a crucial truth that many in ministry need to hear: Good pastors willingly place themselves in positions where they are open to criticism and constantly exposed to the pain of others. Therefore, it should not be surprising, pastor, if you find yourself experiencing depression, even if it’s a new and unwelcome experience. Bearing the consistent emotional burden of a congregation’s diverse pains, anxieties, criticisms, sufferings, and life transitions, whether in a large or small church, is an incredibly demanding vocation. The toll it can take on your inner life can be unexpected and profound. But while it may surprise you, it is not abnormal. Beyond the unique pressures of pastoral ministry, sadness itself is a normal part of the Christian journey. Charles Spurgeon wisely observed, “The road to sorrow has been well trodden, it is the regular sheep track to heaven, and all the flock of God have had to pass along it.”
I am aware that in some circles, a stigma still exists around pastors seeking counseling. However, seeking professional help is a sign of strength and wisdom, not weakness. It is beneficial even during seasons that don’t feel like a crisis. Counseling, and allowing someone to offer guidance to your inner life, is a healthy practice for spiritual leaders in every season of ministry.
Seek support within your local church community as well. Not everyone will be equipped to help, and not everyone will fully understand. Yet, do not hesitate to speak openly about your struggles, especially with fellow elders, if you have them. Ideally, the local church should be a place of grace and understanding, where individuals, even leaders, can be vulnerable and fallible. However, the complexities of depression can sometimes be beyond the scope of lay leaders. In such cases, seeking professional counseling is a wise and necessary step.
Finding the Right Language to Articulate the Struggle
In my personal journey, discovering the language and frameworks to articulate my depression was a vital first step toward healing. There is a liberating power in naming your pain. This goes beyond simply using the clinical term “depression.” More profoundly, it involves connecting with the metaphors and descriptions used by others who have walked a similar path. These resonated deeply and expanded my understanding of the turmoil within me. Clinical terminology can be helpful for categorization and analysis, but metaphors often speak directly to the heart, evoking a powerful sense of recognition, a feeling of “That’s exactly it!”
Zack Eswine insightfully explains that metaphors can often unlock the mysteries of the soul more effectively than clinical terms. Metaphors don’t oversimplify; they allow for nuance and individual differences, prompting deeper reflection and exploration. Reading insightful books, such as Zack Eswine’s Spurgeon’s Sorrow: Realistic Hope for Those Who Suffer from Depression or Joshua Wolf Shenk’s Lincoln’s Melancholy, can be incredibly helpful in expanding your vocabulary and understanding of depression. However, for me, finding solace and resonance in the Psalms proved to be the most potent medicine.
I came to realize that the Psalms were filled with raw expressions from believers who were desperate, sad, hopeless, and confused. They gave voice to emotions I didn’t even know I needed to express. What was even more profoundly comforting was the realization that these words were divinely inspired, given by a God who intimately understands the depths of human experience, even when we are speechless. God knows our deepest desperation and has provided us with words to use in those very moments. “Here,” He seems to say, “use these words. They will help.” Indeed, the Spirit intercedes for us when we are too overwhelmed to speak, but the Psalms offer a tangible language for our souls to reach for in times of need. “My soul melts away for sorrow,” Psalm 119:28 cries out. “I am worn out from my groaning,” Psalm 6:6 laments. “My life is consumed by anguish and my years by groaning; my strength fails because of my affliction, and my bones grow weak,” Psalm 31:10 confesses. “Let not the deep swallow me up,” Psalm 69:15 pleads. “For my soul is full of troubles … I am a man who has no strength,” Psalm 88:3 acknowledges.
These powerful words from the Psalms can serve as emotional handholds, providing stability and direction as we navigate the confusing and painful terrain of depression.
Cultivating Healthier Habits for Emotional Well-being
Too many of us, especially in ministry, are caught in cycles of sleep deprivation and unhealthy eating habits. We neglect exercise and push ourselves to overwork. These patterns not only harm our physical health but also significantly impact our emotional well-being. Adopting healthy habits is a fundamental weapon in the fight against depression.
Prioritize a regular Sabbath. Fight for a dedicated day of rest each week. Resist the urge to justify skipping days off. Nourish your body with healthy food and engage in regular exercise. The positive effects on your mental and emotional clarity are often surprising. Pray through the Psalms, allowing their raw honesty to resonate with your own heart. Cultivate meaningful friendships, even if it requires stepping outside your comfort zone. Pastors often have wide circles of acquaintances but lack deep, intimate connections. Establish boundaries with technology; turn off your phone from dinner time until breakfast. Take regular breaks from the constant stimulation of social media. These rhythms and habits are not a cure for depression, but they create a healthier foundation for your thoughts and emotions to find equilibrium and healing.
After several challenging months of depression, the dark cloud eventually lifted for me. I experienced genuine healing. And I can share something truly remarkable: the joy I now experience in my relationships with friends, my wife, my children, and my church community feels richer and deeper than before. I believe I have become a more empathetic and effective pastor. Individuals who have also navigated depression or melancholy have shared that they feel safe and understood when talking to me – a profound and unexpected gift. It’s almost unbelievable, but the Lord has truly restored what felt lost and given back even more. Praise be to God! While I would never have chosen to walk through that darkness, I can now see how it has been transformed into a source of grace and profound growth, an experience I wouldn’t trade.
