The words, “I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Turner, but your daughter is dead,” will echo in my mind forever.
Writing those words takes me back to the hospital where nurses and the doctor examined my wife. Amy was caught in shock and denial, unable to absorb what we’d just been told. For me, those words rang with painful clarity.
Our daughter was gone.
Amy endured labor with incredible strength and delivered Caroline Grace Turner. When the doctors placed Caroline in my arms, there was movement all around me, but it felt as though the world had stopped. I looked at our daughter, beautiful, silent and still, knowing she would never grow up.
Days later, I’d stand at her graveside and offer our family and friends a message of hope. But in that hospital room, hope felt a million miles away, and I began to understand how a pastor can speak words of faith while still needing someone else to carry them.
Pastors are people, too
Like everyone else, pastors experience grief, depression, disappointment, exhaustion, loneliness and fear. A pastoral title doesn’t protect us from suffering, nor does a calling remove our human limitations.
In “The Deepest Place: Suffering and the Formation of Hope,” psychiatrist Curt Thompson reminds us that suffering is a universal human reality. Pastors aren’t alone in suffering, but they are often expected to carry it differently.
Pastors are called to proclaim hope, sometimes while struggling to find it for themselves.
What does a pastor do when the heart is breaking, but Sunday is still coming? The calendar doesn’t pause for grief. The pulpit still stands and the bulletin must be printed.
People continue to gather, some seeking comfort and others searching for answers. They look to the pastor to provide both, often without realizing that the person standing before them may also need comfort, prayer and care.
There’s a quiet and often invisible weight pastors carry during seasons of suffering. We may proclaim resurrection while standing in the shadow of the tomb. We may speak about joy while walking through a valley of sorrow. We may remind others that God’s near while privately struggling to sense his presence ourselves.
And yet, we continue.
When continuing becomes costly
Sometimes God gives us grace to take the next step. Sometimes we continue because we think faithfulness means pushing through pain. Sometimes we simply believe we don’t have permission to stop.
That distinction matters.
Grace may enable a pastor to enter the pulpit despite personal pain. That same grace should also come through a congregation saying, “Pastor, you don’t have to carry this alone. We’ll give you room to rest and receive help.”
In seasons of suffering, a sermon is not merely written; it’s lived. Pain can deepen a pastor’s compassion and bring honesty to the message, but suffering should never become a spiritual qualification pastors feel pressured to prove. Sometimes faithfulness means preaching through the pain. At other times, faithfulness means allowing someone else to stand in the pulpit.
“Pastor, can you pray for me?”
“We need you to speak this Sunday.”
“You’re so strong. I don’t know how you do it.”
Pastors hear these words regularly. Most are spoken with gratitude, love and trust. Yet behind them lies a quiet reality:
Sometimes we break inside while trying to hold everyone else together.
This isn’t a complaint about ministry. It’s a confession and an invitation.
When faithfulness is misunderstood
My experience is personal but not isolated. Too often pastoral exhaustion remains unnamed until it becomes burnout.
One pastor I interviewed failed to recognize his exhaustion until burnout followed. He dismissed depression as overwork and felt spiritually fruitless and directionless. His identity had become so entangled with ministry that he couldn’t imagine stepping away.
“That’s what faithfulness looks like, right?” he asked.
His question reveals a dangerous misunderstanding that can develop in ministry: If I stop, rest or admit that I need help, I’m being unfaithful to God.
Rest doesn’t reject calling. Boundaries don’t demonstrate a lack of love. Counseling isn’t spiritual failure and asking for help doesn’t mean a pastor has lost faith.
A pastor’s identity must remain rooted in Christ, not in productivity or the ability to meet every need. Pastors remain God’s beloved children even when someone else leads.
Who cares for the pastor?
The pastor’s story raises difficult questions: Do we allow pastors to be human? Who cares for the person expected to care for everyone else? Would we recognize burnout before a crisis? Is it safe for our pastor to seek counseling, establish boundaries or admit, “I am not doing well”?
Church members may not be able to remove every burden their pastor carries. They can, however, create a culture in which pastors don’t carry those burdens alone.
Pastors need prayer and friendship, encouragement and honest conversations. They need accountability, protected family time, genuine rest and access to professional care without being considered spiritually weak.
Churches can honor days off, encourage vacation time and set realistic expectations about availability. They can also plan ahead for pulpit supply, counseling support and trusted lay leadership so that a pastor’s need for rest doesn’t become a congregational crisis.
Congregations must also remember the pastor’s family. A spouse and children shouldn’t surrender their family member to every request. Protecting home life helps sustain healthy ministry.
Most importantly, church members can pay attention, not only to what their pastor is doing, but also to how their pastor is doing.
We see you
Pastors will experience grief, become tired, face disappointment and seasons of doubt. At times, they’ll need to receive the same compassion they offer so freely to others.
The church should be one of the safest places for that to happen.
Sometimes the most Christlike words a congregation can offer aren’t, “Pastor, we need you.” Sometimes they are: “Pastor, we see you. We love you. Take the time you need. We’ll walk with you. You aren’t alone.”
Each October, The Wesleyan Church highlights Pastor Appreciation Month as a time to intentionally turn our attention to pastors and acknowledge the weight they carry. It’s an invitation for churches to practice the kind of care that helps pastors remain whole as they serve.
As under shepherds, pastors carry not only their own pains, challenges and struggles, but also the burdens of those they serve and invest in. While we hope every church has a regular practice of expressing gratitude and recognizing the work of its pastors, this season provides a special opportunity for churches across The Wesleyan Church to pause and consider how their pastors serve and how the church can respond with encouragement, care and appreciation.
If you or your church is looking for meaningful ways to show appreciation to your pastor, we encourage you to explore the resources available at Wesleyan.org/event/pam-2026. You can also contact your district office to learn about additional opportunities and resources available through your district.
This October, let’s take time to honor our pastors, recognize their faithful service and remind them that the work they do matters.
Dr. Joey Turner is Social and Human Services professor and coordinator of Studies and Internships at Southern Wesleyan University in Central, South Carolina.
