A Pastoral Lament about Suicide and Depression in the Pastorate
Ripple effects pulsed through the evangelical world on Sunday August 26, 2018. The news of Pastor Andrew Stoecklein taking his life was shocking and heart-breaking to the people that knew him and to the world at large. He left behind a beautiful wife (here's a link to her wonderful blog post and tribute), three young boys, a family, and a church who loved him.
I lament the loss of Andrew Stoecklein, a fellow pastor and brother in the Lord.
Mental illness is something that we in the church don’t do a great job talking about. It’s not that we don’t want to talk about it or that we don’t think it’s important; I think to a large degree we (pastors) feel under-equipped. Those of us who have done the hard work of looking at the research, realize that mental health is a complex issue. There are many factors that go into the way people process the world and their pain. There are physical and biological realities that contribute to depression and anxiety. For a long time, pastor’s have over-spiritualized the solution to mental health issues by claiming that “reading your bible and praying” was the single way to combat every problem we face. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for reading your Bible and praying - those are great things - but I don’t believe they are a comprehensive solution to every problem. If you’ve struggled with mental illness and heard someone say “just pray and read your bible," my guess is you started to sense your blood beginning to boil. We know that there are spiritual, emotional, cognitive, and biological issues that go into creating a cloud of depression and despair. Any system that tries to address mental illness should at least consider every dimension of our humanity. That means that as a pastor I am 100% for people taking medication who need it. Your brain is a real part of your physical body and we should treat it as such. The church’s ambivalence toward medication in favor of “just trusting Jesus” has done much harm and should be wholeheartedly rejected.
No, it’s not that most pastors don’t want to talk about mental health, it’s that we don’t want to turn it into a cliche and downplay the reality of the pain.
But that’s an aside. The world was shocked Sunday morning, August 26th, when they woke up to the news; but why? Is it becaus pastors should have it more together? Is it because Christians should be immune to that level of depression and despair? Is it because Andrew was young, good looking, and had a bright future ahead of him? Is it because Stoecklein was pastoring a “mega-church” - the pinnacle of much evangelical thinking? I think Andrew's suicide was shocking because every sucuide is shocking and sorrowful.
I think we should be shocked… I think we should be shocked that we don’t see more pastors struggling with this kind of depression and despair. At the risk of turning this into a 6 points and poem type of homily, let me share with you 6 reasons I’m surprised more pastors don’t struggle with depression.
1. There’s little room to process your theology.
I know, most pastors have their theology all figured out… or at least we are supposed to. But how many of you have had a static view of God for the last 20 years? How many of you have changed none of your convictions or theological stances over the years? Yeah, me neither. But, often times that’s the expectation for pastors. They have it all figured out. And they need to have it all figured out, because they stand on stage and teach people about the Scriptures every single week. If you’ve never been in that position before, it’s hard to explain the weight of carrying that obligation (and joy).
A few weeks ago, a person from a church asked to meet with me. That’s not uncommon, but his approach was. This person had seven questions for me about my theology. Most of it revolved around my view of atonement. Oh, by the way, atonement is on that list of things that I have changed my mind about since I graduated from seminary. I believe that my view now is far more biblically accurate and true. I did a sermon series this last spring called 4 Days that Changed the World. In it I explored a more redemptive view of atonement, one where God is not punishing Jesus so he can forgive humanity (which, by the way, isn’t forgiveness, it’s retributive payment), but rather where God is displaying his love through the forgiveness of sins that he offers through Jesus' death and resurrection. The person who came to visit me didn’t exactly like my series. To be honest, I’m reading between the lines here because he never shared his views with me, he just questioned mine. That’s okay with me, not everyone needs to like the series, but one of the things that he said has stuck with me. He said, “your sermons make me think about what I believe, and I don’t want to do that.” I haven’t seen him since.
There’s a certain sense of pain that comes along with the pastoral role. One where you’re expected to have all the answers, never to question anything, and to not cause others to question either. Antidotally, it seems to me that people often left Jesus asking questions and struggling with the implications of what he said, but that’s beside the point.
Pastors sign a Statement of Faith when they join a church or they get handed one through a denomination, but what happens if some of their convictions start to shift? They not only potentially lose their community of faith, and many of their friends; they also lose their job. That’s a big weight to carry. So, most pastors struggle silently and journey solo - scared of asking questions that might lead to their dismissal. Many skim the surface, afraid to dive deep for fear of what they might find. Or they find a trusted group of other pastors (or good friends) who are brave enough to be honest and they start journeying together.
2. There are few safe people.
Some of the best advice I ever got when I stepped into the role of lead pastor was from one of my mentors. He told me, “Ryan, reserve the right to be friends with some, but not with all.” That was and is great advice. Maybe it’s the same for doctors or dentists. When they’re at a party, do people come up to them and show them a bump on their arm? Do people open their mouth and point to a tooth that’s in pain? I wonder if there are other professions where you’re never outside of your practice.
For pastors, many of them report feeling extremely lonely. They have very few people they can rely on and share their heart with where there are no strings attached. Unfortunately, I’ve experienced this too. A few years ago I started a small group of guys. They were guys from my church that I enjoyed being around and just wanted to get together with once every week to read the Scriptures or study a book together. However, one of the guys I asked to be in that group left after about a year of journeying together. He decided he didn’t want to be in the group anymore. I heard through the grapevine (which is often how pastors find out) that his complaint was that I wasn’t pastoral enough in the group. His expectation was that I was always Pastor Ryan, never just Ryan. Friendship is such a gift, and it seems to me like no profession should put you outside the bounds of having friends.
However, the pastoral call often does. If you’re not a pastor, it’s sort of hard to explain. But think of it like this: you spend the majority of your waking hours focused on group of people, caring for people, thinking about people, and loving people. But often times, those same people are the hardest to be friends with. Most pastors express that it’s hard to be friends with people in their own church. Think about that, the people you’re spending the most time with, can’t be your friends because you always have to be “on." You don’t have to wonder for too long why pastors burn out, make bad decisions, and turn into jerks. They are set up for it by the very way that the social structures of their life are put into place.
The reality is that some people in the church view their pastor as a commodity. When you're useful to them, they're for you. If you're not useful, you're tossed aside. That's tough to even write, but it's true. During my time in the pastorate, we had someone we’ve shared a life group with for years leave the church. That’s fine, we aren’t the church for everyone. Churches change and people change. The weird thing was that they blocked us and defriended is on social media outlets. I have no idea why. We’ve shared meals, our kids played, we celebrated holidays - and then we’re treated like we wronged them... with no explanation or conversation. Commodity.
3. There are few weeks without a Sunday.
Actually, there are none. There are very few things that I find more joy in than preaching and preparing to teaching the Scriptures. I love it! Every bit of it, I love and feel like I’m wired and designed to do that with my life. However, there is a weightiness that comes along with teaching the Scriptures. Think about it, you are teaching a book that most people in your audience know fairly well and have read repeatedly. They have their opinions about what the book says and how it should be interpreted. Every week, you’re expected to come with something fresh, something new, something inspiring or convicting or challenging. But, and catch the tension, every week you also need to come with something they (at least partially) agree with.
Every week... Sunday comes with great regularity! Once I was teaching seminary class and I told the students, “if you don’t like getting grades on your papers, and you think it's a lot of pressure to pump those papers out a few times each semester, don’t be a pastor. Because you’re going to be graded every single week. And you’re going to be graded by different people, with a different rubric for what they want or find helpful, with different volume of their voices, and tones in their emails to you.”
I think that’s why the apostle Paul stressed is so strongly that we cannot live for the approval of men (Galatians 1:10). But that’s not easy. That takes discipline. It takes grounding our identity in the truth that we are children of God; followers of Jesus first, and pastors second. That takes a clear head and a confident heart. There are seasons when I handle criticism better than others. How about you?
Here’s the other thing, because the pastoral call is so closely intertwined with our relationship with God (ideally, it’s an overflow of intimacy with God), it can be hard to separate people’s criticism of our sermons and their criticism of us. It’s hard to separate because there is little difference.
4. There are few people you don’t let down.
Not everyone will tell you that you’ve let them down, but the reality is, we are imperfect shepherds. That’s why we need to constantly point people to the Chief Shepherd, Jesus. However, pastors carry the weight of wanting to serve people well. We get into this profession because we love Jesus and we love people - and we want to serve them. We want to help point people to Jesus. We’re not getting into the pastorate because of the money, I’ll tell you that much!
For most of us, that desire to serve people well is genuine. But so is the reality that we won’t be what some people need or want us to be. That’s a hard pill to swallow; but you don’t have to be in ministry long before you’re forced to choke it down. I’m going to fail people. Luckily, I’m trying to point them to a God who never will.
5. There are many things you can’t change.
I was the best Senior Pastor I knew… when I was a youth pastor. I’ve been at my church for 6 years and there are things about it that I don’t like. There are things that I’d love to change - but it’s either not the right time, or we don’t have the right resources... there are a variety of other reasons. Living with the desire to change things and the inability to do so is part of the call of leadership. We help move and steer the ship, but sometimes it moves very slowly. That sense of frustration and feeling like you’re backed into a corner is both the birthplace of much creativity, but it’s also the inception of some frustration. When I’m healthy it results in creativity, when I’m not I get cynical and frustrated.
As a leader, you're often in charge of cleaning up messes that other people make. I get it, that's part of the calling of being a leader, but it can be a wearying reality. We have to remember, that's one of the ways we serve our congregation and the people who lead under us, but it can be hard.
6. There are many times you need to lead and grieve - at the same time.
I can remember it vividly. My mom passed away on a Sunday morning (December 1, 2013 - it was the First Sunday of Advent that year). My mom was sick, so I had asked my Associate Pastor to be prepared for that moment by having a sermon ready to go, just in case. I took off and went to be with my family. The next Saturday I preached my mom’s memorial and that next Sunday I preached at my church. Let me be clear, that was my decision; but it’s also part of the call of leadership. You have to continue to care for people while your heart is broken. You grieve as you give.
We see this in the life of Jesus. He finds out the John has been beheaded. He takes a few moments to catch his breath, but then continues his mission. It’s insanely hard to lead people to grieve healthily while you yourself do the same thing. It might be that we aren’t good a grief in our culture - or it might just be that it’s hard to lead and grieve at the same time. I’ve done very few memorials for people I didn’t know personally. I love having the chance to help honor someone’s life, but I’ve found that I need to carve out space to grieve for myself before I can lead others to the same. Leading while your grieving can be like a dam that stores all your own grief instead of letting it come out - and that is dangerous.
Maybe it’s in our bleeding and grieving that others find their healing… or at least where it begins. It’s hard to give both your life and your death (grief) away. Seminary taught me how to give my life away, but only ministry will teach you to give your death away.
Those are a few idiosyncrasies about the pastoral call that make it difficult to stay mentally healthy. I could, and probably will, write a post that gives suggested pathways toward health that combats each of the struggles I've presented. There are healthy ways to pastor, but we've got be intentional about choosing them.
Pastors, we’ve got to embrace the fight to stay healthy and whole. We have to encourage each other. It makes me so sad to I see pastors demonizing each other. It’s hard enough when we’re linking arms, it’s nearly impossible if we’re stabbing each other in the back.
And for those who aren’t in the pastorate, maybe there’s something to Hebrews 13:17-18, "Have confidence in your leaders and submit to their authority, because they keep watch over you as those who must give an account. Do this so that their work will be a joy, not a burden, for that would be of no benefit to you. Pray for us. We are sure that we have a clear conscience and desire to live honorably in every way."
Pray for the people who lead you. Encourage them when it’s appropriate. They'll have to give an account of how they lead - and most pastors want to do so "honorably" and in a way that serves people well.
I know I do.
Lament over.