A Prayer for Pastors

I don’t serve a big church, but even if I did, I would have prayed the same prayer last Sunday that I did. Pastoral ministry is both draining and awe-inspiring. From hospital visits and unproductive meetings that can feel like a slow death to parking problems and budget issues, you find yourself serving as a shepherd who smells like sheep—while also trying to find biblically healthy, sustainable, and perhaps even innovative ways to foster your own spiritual growth, grace, rigor, and rest.

I think about this a lot because it represents a sizable chunk of my life as a pastor—not to mention that it dovetails with or complements also serving as a seminary professor, whose students, many of them at least, sense a call to the some iteration of the pastoral vocation. You can either think soberly about all of this or travel down the slippery slope of cynicism and unbelief.

I recently watched Episode 101, “Reading the Signs,” from the PBS documentary series Christianity at a Crossroads, which only gave me more to consider.

Here’s my prayer:

Lord, as you well know, my vocation is bound by servanthood and sacrifice. Pastors must traverse the graffiti of surgery, marital mayhem, transitions, and the other tensions that come with such people-centric work. It is fulfilling and fun because it comes from you, and you don’t make mistakes. At the same time, the taxation on pastors’ souls, sanity, pocketbooks, relationships, and lives is high. It’s no wonder that some of us are so lonely.

Sunday does not represent most of our labor. Sermons and corporate worship merely scratch the surface of the weightiness of what skydives into our inboxes or walks into our offices. With interruptions galore, we pray, ponder, and participate. We practice patience and fight for peace on all levels. And we do it amid almost depressive job insecurity.

Nowadays, many people are often more devoted to supporting the PTA, the American Red Cross, and their TV streaming services than the local church they say they love. Folks mean well, I suppose, yet they don’t always grasp that this is our livelihood. So, God, it makes for an odd situation: serving and leading those who—functionally, as a congregation—are our earthly bosses. #weird

Not only that, but each week the families of pastors face the fishbowl experience and their own struggles within a community that—in a sense, even when it is delightful—is borrowed and peculiarly limited. Therefore, I just want to lift pastors and their families to you this morning.

Sin doesn’t skip their households. The devil comes for them, too. They must save for rainy days, too. They have scary doctor’s appointments, too. They have wants, needs, and dreams, too. Again, it’s an isolating thing: God, your call to become a pastor means we forgo having a pastor. The mutuality of common church connections escapes us. And though this isn’t anyone’s fault, the burden remains.

I pray for single and married pastors. I pray for their kids, their educational debt, and their fears for the future. I pray that you’ll surprise them with the time off they need, the help they need, and the quiet and calm they crave. Help them feel seen in a time when the Church’s prepackaged preoccupations make us likely to celebrate hype over depth. I pray for their serenity and safety, their self-esteem, and their resolve to uphold the tenets of holiness when their will wanes.

Struggling as they do, for the ones doing right by you, your Word, and your people, bring refreshment. For those whose leadership, service, or witness is toxic, bring firm remediation.

May we serve people well by the power of the Spirit without losing the best of ourselves. May we know that our work matters, but guard ourselves from making it an idol. Make us instruments of hope and healing: capable, kind, passionate, and bold. Help us be content with the beautiful, broken body called the Church, Jesus’ bride, whom he will one day return to retrieve.

For the Savior’s sake, this is our prayer. Amen.