I have occasionally coached pastors who serve in such traumatizing settings that I’ve wanted to scream, “RUN OUT OF THERE LIKE YOUR HAIR IS ON FIRE!” I do not say that, though. It’s not my job as a coach to tell a coachee what to do. (It is my job to unearth what coachees know and value and hope and feel and to help them strategize accordingly.)

Here are some signs your congregations might be toxic:

People regularly do not take responsibility for their intended or unintended hurtful words or actions. We all mess up sometimes. That is the nature of being human. Healthy people recognize and apologize when they’ve hurt others. Unhealthy people don’t.

People regularly tell you that you didn’t experience what you know you experienced. The term “gaslighting” has become common parlance these days, and for good reason. Sometimes people will question your reality in order to make you question it.

People who blame and gaslight have substantial power in your context. Every church has some unhealthy people. If they aren’t in staff or lay leadership, their voices don’t ring as loudly in your head. If they are in a position to exert a lot of control, though, that’s when there’s big trouble.

There’s no accountability for people who act in harmful ways. No one has - or will exercise - the ability to apply consequences to unrepentant powermongers.

There’s no clarity about congregational processes, or processes work differently than stated. This keeps the system in constant upheaval and allows the biggest influences to get their way.

The spirituality of those with power generally remains very surface. There is no desire to wrestle with what the gospel means for our lives. Instead, leaders are guided by personal preference at every turn.

I admire the tenacity of pastors who hold on in the midst of abusive circumstances. I know there are sometimes legitimate reasons (e.g., financial concerns) that pastors stick it out, no matter how bad things get. And, there may be a minister out there who needs to hear these truths:

You are loved, gifted, and called by God. And you know what? Sometimes the trajectory of that call changes over time. Your evolving call might nudge you to a new ministerial role or context. It might take you out of vocational ministry for a season or forever. Whatever the case, God’s care for and investment in you doesn’t change.

You don’t deserve mistreatment. You don’t deserve to be called names, to have your worth questioned, to be overworked to the detriment of your health and relationships, to be paid at less than a living wage, to be objectified, or to endure any other kinds of disrespectful behavior. No one does.

The future of your church doesn’t rest solely on your decision to stay or go. You are a minister - one minister - in Christ’s church. That doesn’t mean you can’t and don’t make an impact. (Even in the worst of circumstances, you are planting good seed that will eventually flourish in ways you’ll never know.) It does mean that you don’t have to carry your church or The Church on your back.

You are not a lesser minister if you leave a church for the sake of your wellbeing, no matter how long your tenure has been. I have had a church tenure that was less than a year. (Many people have.) I left because of the toxicity. It was not the end of me or of my vocation. In some ways, it was the real beginning. A short stint is not indicative of your faithfulness or your talent. It does show that you love yourself, which is a key part of Jesus’ two greatest commandments.

At the end of the day, you serve God, not the institution of the Church. These are not the same. It might take leaving your church or even the ministry to be able to continue serving God. If so, that is the better way.

I hold out hope for the Church. On its best days it draws us together in authentic community, helps us live more like Jesus, and connects us to God and our neighbors and the created world in a web of interdependence. And, it is an institution run by humans. It comes up short, sometimes waaaaaaaaaay short. There are consequences to that, and ministers often bear the brunt of them.

Anecdotally, it seems like a lot more pastors lately have been contemplating self-harm, and some have followed through. There might be a range of reasons for this, not just the terrific stress of church work. If you are thinking about ending your life, though, and the strain of your ministry is a contributing factor, I have no qualms about telling you to run from that congregation like your hair is on fire and begging you to reach out to a mental health provider and your loved ones. I promise that they all want you to hang around and that they want to help you through whatever trauma you have endured.

Photo by Nagesh Badu on Unsplash.

Note: the blog is moving to Substack! I will cross-post articles here and there in September, then post only on Substack from October onward. You can find me here on Substack.

I am 45 years old as I write this, which puts me squarely at mid-career. I turned 25 the summer I graduated from seminary, and 65 is the age at which I will theoretically retire, though that’s hard to imagine for multiple reasons.

My peers have started to use this midway point to evaluate their ministries and the trajectory of their lives, which I think is a great idea. Here are some of the questions that I think those of us in our 40s need to be considering:

Vocational

How has my call to ministry evolved over time? I went to seminary to prepare for youth ministry, partly because I had never seen a woman in a lead or associate pastor role. I have worked with youth, but most of my ministry has been as a solo or associate pastor and now as a coach. The essentials haven’t changed, just the shape of how I have lived them out. It can both unleash our imaginations and give us an appreciation of what we have done and learned and survived to look back at the twists, turns, and constants in our vocational journey.

How do I fit with where the Church is heading? The Church is - rightfully so - in a big shift. For some of us that is really good news, and we’re excited to see what comes of this transformation. For others of us this reality is daunting, because the Church of today and tomorrow is very different than the Church we were trained to lead. We need to consider where we want to locate ourselves in relationship to where the Church is now and where it might be headed.

What knowledge have I gained in the first half of my vocational life, and how do I want to use it for good? We don’t go through 20 years of ministry without learning a whole lot - about ourselves, about the God we serve and the Jesus we follow, and about the Church and world. Let’s use that hard-wrought wisdom!

What new challenges do I want to take on in the second half of my vocational life, and what skills will I need to develop? This isn’t necessarily about looking for a new context or role, although it could be. It’s more about considering how we want to grow. What tools do I want to add to my toolkit that would benefit my congregation and me, or even that would just bring delight to them and me?

What legacy do I want to leave in my congregation, larger community, and the Church at large? Maybe this relates to the wellbeing we foster in our communities. Maybe it’s creating pathways of welcome for those who need it most. Maybe it’s naming the gifts in others that they can’t see without help. We can’t control what others say about us once we are gone, but we can do what we’re able to infuse our environments with love and hope.

Personal

How do I navigate the realities of being in the Sandwich Generation? I have a child who is 10 and still wants to be close to his mom most of the time (though that could change at any moment). I have a mom who is 70, hangs out with friends multiple times a week, volunteers in her community, and goes on trips by herself (though that could change at any moment). I feel the tug to be with both my son and my mom. I am not alone, as many of my peers - having gotten into the parenting game late like me - have young children and parents who need increasing amounts of help. How do we roll with this, even as we also serve in a vocation that is physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and sometimes financially taxing?

What is my financial situation? It is generally held that mine is the first generation in a while that has not done better money-wise than previous generations. (This might only be true for demographics that have benefitted from generational wealth.) Many of my peers carry loads of debt from school or mortgages or credit cards. Some denominations offer salary guidelines and generous pensions for ministers, while in others we’re on our own to negotiate pay and choose and invest in retirement funds. Now is a good time to assess our entire money picture, looking both backward and forward to make a plan. Thinking and talking about money is not crass. It is a means of care for ourselves and the people we love.

What support systems have I built for now and for later? In ministry our worlds can become very small. We can mostly know and hang around people in our church and our clergy colleagues. We need bigger circles of care for now and later, including both non-churchy (or at least not our church) friends and professional caregivers such as a primary care doctor we trust and a therapist we can confide in.

Mid-career is a great time for intention-setting. We’re not newbies anymore to ministry or to adulting. We know some things. We probably have some stability, though maybe not as much as we’d like. We want to make our remaining professional years count but not crispy-fry ourselves in the process. I hope these questions can help you in looking forward and backward, and I’d love to hear what questions you’d add to this list.

Photo by Luke van Zyl on Unsplash.

I have had several conversations with pastors lately about the gifts and challenges of sabbaticals. Here are some of my thoughts after reflecting on those discussions:

Extended time (> 1 month) away for pastors is essential. When ministers take 1-2 week vacations, they are usually just fully relaxing into renewal and replenishment when it’s time to think about re-entering the system. That’s because it takes several days to set aside the heavy mental load that pastors carry all the time.

Pastors’ extended time away is good for congregations. It helps churches remember that they - not their ministers - are the church. It also allows congregation members to exercise leadership and creativity muscles that they often don’t when pastors are around.

Many churches require too long a gap between sabbaticals. Some congregations permit sabbaticals every seven years. While seven might be a biblical number, that length of time between sabbaticals sometimes means that pastors are army-crawling their way to that milestone, utterly depleted at that point and wondering if ministry is sustainable over the long term.

Rest is not something any of us - pastors and non-pastors alike - needs to earn. Sabbatical policies, whether they are set up for every seven, five, or even four years, imply that they are a reward for hanging on that long. (There's a big difference between offering sabbatical out of a recognition that ministry is hard work and using it as a carrot.) Rest, though, is part of living into God’s likeness in us. God wove rest into the very design of creation.

The one-year clause keeps ministers locked in and resentful. Most sabbatical policies come with a caveat: the pastor must return for at least a full year of ministry following an extended break away. I think the intention here is to keep ministers from disappearing into the ether during sabbatical. However, this requirement 1) often comes with the every-seven-year sabbatical policy (at which point pastors are burned out), 2) implies that the sabbatical not only is a reward for hard work but also that there are also strings to that “gift,” and 3) suggests that congregations don’t trust their ministers to do right by them.

Sabbaticals aren’t one-size-fits-all (for pastors or churches). Some ministers might want a month off every year instead of a far-off sabbatical, while others might need three months at a stretch for travel. Some churches can tolerate the pastor being gone for longer, while others might have circumstances that make it more necessary for the minister to take more regular breaks for shorter lengths of time.

All of this is to say that sabbaticals are good and necessary, but they can be even better if we rethink them.

Photo by Mantas Hesthaven on Unsplash.

Recently I was talking with a coachee who is leaving her current call. “I’m exhausted,” she said. “No one tells you how tiring it is.” She wasn’t referring to all the mental work of details she’s preparing for her successor or the physical efforts involved in cleaning out the books and files she’s accumulated over a long tenure. (Those are very real too, though.) She meant the grief work - her own and others.’

So let’s talk about it.

It is emotionally taxing to manage the time between when a pastor announces a departure and when the exit actually happens. You are feeling a range of emotions, and so are your parishioners. You might be deeply sad to say goodbye to some people you’ve grown to love. You might feel relieved to leave behind those who have antagonized you or taken up a disproportionate amount of energy. You might be thrilled to go to a new challenge or to take a much-deserved, much-needed break. You might feel scared because you don’t know what is next. You might be miffed that people seem largely unaffected by your news.

On the church members’ end, they might be excited for new opportunities for you. They might feel lost and anxious because they have benefitted so much from your ministry and from your steady presence. They might be angry at you for leaving and even more so for setting boundaries around contact with church folks after you go.

So you have your big emotions and they have theirs. But they are not one-and-done feelings. The process of bringing closure to relationships happens over and over in that pre-departure window. And even with some sense of finality, the tenderness does not go away. So how do you navigate this span of weeks, or even months?

Know that this will be hard. It is hard because you have invested significant periods of time and parts of yourself in this holy work. Thanks be to God for what you have done and who you have been in this context!

Feel the feels. Honor what is going on in you and in others. You are in a thin space, where the buffer between you and God and between you and your people is less substantial than at other times.

Focus on relationships more than details. Yes, it will be good for the next minister to know who the homebound members are and what signature events for the congregation are coming up. But those are notes the new person can get elsewhere, if needed. Your successor cannot bring good closure to your relationships with parishioners.

Take good care of yourself. Don’t fill your last weeks too full. Set up emotional supports such as a video call with a non-church friend or some time with your watercolors so that you can recoup enough energy to do the relational work your soul and others’ must have.

Pray for your people. Pray for them to be ok without you. Pray for them to love their next pastor (and vice versa). Pray for them individually, since you know their specific situations. You will soon no longer be their minister, but you will always care about and want good for them.

I am a firm believer that we do as much ministry in this time between announcing our departure and leaving as we do in all the time leading up to the transition. On behalf of church people everywhere, thank you for wanting to wade through that time thoughtfully and compassionately.

Photo by Nick Page on Unsplash.

“Over the course of their vocational lives, many pastors find themselves charged with leading a church staff.” Click here to read my article on the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship blog that names the challenges and the opportunities of supervision, plus some questions to help you navigate this responsibility.

Photo by Paul Hanaoka on Unsplash.

“Laypeople might not know this, but many pastors struggle with loneliness. This might seem strange since our work is so people-centered. We are a member of yet isolated from our congregations. There are certain boundaries we must implement to be good ministers. We often must move away from our support systems to find ministry positions. We tend to work long hours, hours unlike other professionals, that make it tough to develop relationships outside of our vocational lives.” Read more about why this loneliness is a problem we must solve and my thoughts on how to do that at the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship blog.

Photo by Sasha Freemind on Unsplash.

It is now just over two weeks into the Easter season. If you are a Christian minister who was in the pulpit on Easter Sunday, you could not avoid mentioning the women who were called to be the first Christian preachers.

It didn’t matter which Gospel you used. In Matthew, the Marys are commissioned by both the angel and Jesus to go tell the disciples about Jesus’ resurrection. In Mark, the young man in the tomb gives a similar directive to the Marys and Salome. In Luke, the women who had come from Galilee with Jesus encounter two men in dazzling clothes who announce to them that Jesus is alive, and the women relay this message to the disciples. And in John, Mary Magdalene is the first person to encounter the risen Christ, and he asks her to let the disciples know that he is about to return to God. The details vary from account to account, but in all of them, faithful women are first called to proclaim the resurrection, which is the heart of the Christian story.

And yet, plenty of people still believe that women are not fit for ministry. Even more think they wouldn’t make good lead pastors, even if they don’t say this quiet part out loud. I’ve written elsewhere about how churches can do the work to be ready for a female pastor. But do you know who could potentially be the best ally for clergywomen? Male senior pastors, particularly those with clergywomen in second chair positions (e.g., associate pastor or ministers of specific age groups or programs - I’ll shorthand them all as associate pastors for the purposes of this post). If that’s you, here’s what you can do:

Go by a similar title. By this I mean if you ask to be called “Pastor [your name],” call the clergywomen on your staff “Pastor [their names]” rather than simply their first names (or, heaven forbid, “Miss [their names]”). Encourage church members to address them that way too.

Close the wage gap. I cannot tell you how many churches I know of in which the male senior pastor is making six figures and the women on staff are barely making a subsistence wage. (Yes, there can be differences in levels of experience and responsibility that must be factored in, but not to the tune of an $60-80K disparity.) Find ways to raise the clergywomen’s salaries or sacrifice some of your own to make take home pay more equitable.

Advocate for a parental leave policy. Whether or not you have young children or children at all, ensure there is a just parental leave policy in place at your church. (If you’re not sure what a just policy looks like, contact your judicatory and ecumenical colleagues for examples.) If a new child comes into your family, use the policy in full so that it becomes seen as a parent thing, not a woman thing, to go on this kind of leave.

Collaborate with clergywomen whenever possible. Look for ways to partner with female clergy at your church and other churches. Don’t just limit yourself to teaming up with ordained women, though. Pull women into your church’s lay leadership pipeline.

Share credit liberally with clergywomen when genuine and appropriate. “She did this this thing. Isn’t it great?” “We did this thing together. It is wonderful to have such a great partner in ministry!” On the flip side, support clergywomen when they are attacked by critics and naysayers for illegitimate reasons.

Model good boundaries. Some lead pastors work 60+ hours a week but tell their associate pastors that they don’t want them to overfunction. It doesn’t work that way no matter how good the intention. Senior pastors set the tone for associate pastors’ (many of whom are women) expectations of themselves and churches’ expectations of the entire pastoral staffs. The associate pastors will seem less available, interested, and capable if they stick to the hours they are paid for, and they will juggle an unsustainable load (which can include parenting younger children, caring for aging parents, and carrying the mental load of the household and often that of the church) if they don’t.

Amplify female voices. Welcome your own female clergy and laity into preaching and worship leadership. Invite women outside your church to preach, teach, and lead. Look for gifts in women in your church that they don’t yet see themselves. This creates a culture of call for women. I didn’t see a woman on the chancel for any reason other than singing or making an announcement until I was in seminary. (The first time I did, I sobbed with joy and relief that I wasn’t alone or hearing God incorrectly.)

Be a great reference. Many clergywomen will eventually want to be lead pastors. Talk up your female associate pastors and other clergywomen you know to others before they even begin looking for lead pastor opportunities. (This is especially helpful since some churches now search for a pastor exclusively using informal networks and looking for ministers who aren’t currently seeking a new position.) Give them outstanding recommendations. Celebrate when they leave to take on larger roles.

If I had to boil all this down, I’d simply say, “Normalize women in leadership and share your power.” That’s easier said than done. But some male senior pastors are already doing aspects of this. (Thank you!) And what could be more true to the Gospel in this season that started with women being the first ones trusted and commissioned by the Divine to preach the good news than to support clergywomen’s voices and leadership?

Pastors are in a tough spot these days. The Church as an institution is in the midst of major change that pre-dated the pandemic but was quickly accelerated by it. Those we looked forward to seeing after Covid still haven’t rejoined us. The budget is tightening. The volunteers are burned out. And each person in the pew comes bearing big worries, some of them personal and many of them shared: political rhetoric is becoming more and more divisive, and we know that injustice, climate change, and gun violence endanger each of us. That means we are all a little on edge. That makes us all a little harder to shepherd.

When we are anxious, we can get stuck in the parts of our brain designed to protect us. Our brain is wonderfully made to focus all our resources on survival when we face a physical threat. Unfortunately, this set-up is less helpful when needing to have a hard or uncomfortable conversation than it is when we are faced with a hungry or threatened predator. Our brain chemistry locks us out of our creativity and openness to possibilities and instead urges us to take what seems like the shortest route to safety and stability.

Enter: anonymous feedback. An unsigned note or a verbal message passed through a third party might seem like the best way to give your pastors a quick check on the pulse of the congregation (or, at least, of one member of it) while sparing both of you some trouble. But here’s why that feedback might not be as effective as you hope:

It separates the criticism from needed context. For feedback to be useful, the one being critiqued needs to be able to ask further questions (e.g., what was it about this that really troubled you? Who specifically are the people upset by this?). And often there is a pastoral care issue beneath a criticism, which cannot be unearthed and addressed if there's not conversation. 

It doesn't follow scriptural witness about conflict. Matthew 18 tells us that the first step in resolving friction is for the offended party to go directly to the one who offended, even (perhaps especially) if the offense was unintentional. Subsequent actions include bringing other people into the conversation if necessary. Nowhere in Matthew 18 is there mention of anonymous feedback.

It puts the receiver of the feedback in an awkward position. Family systems theory teaches us about triangulation, in which someone is roped into being the middle person in a relationship rift. That triangulated person might have little to no stake in the presenting issue, but they are caught between the hopes and needs of two people with which they must interact.  

It puts the pastor in a defensive posture. If your pastor doesn't know who is giving this feedback, that is a recipe for high anxiety: who is upset with me? Who is looking more closely for me to slip up? Whom can I trust? These questions are distractions from - not conditions for - fruitful ministry. 

It doesn't contribute toward forward-looking solutions to the issue. If a situation is concerning enough that you need to offer feedback, it's important that you are also willing to help look for a way to resolve it. That requires working together with those involved, which isn't possible when feedback is given via an unsigned note.

It deprives both parties of the chance to strengthen the relationship. It might seem counter-intuitive, but sometimes the most trusting relationships come when the people involved were willing to be honest and vulnerable with each other about disappointment or disagreement. Take that chance!

Luckily, we have more helpful ways to take our thoughts to the people who lead us. Lay leaders can set these expectations and procedures in place to get the kind of information that they and the pastor can use:

Consistently refuse to entertain anonymous criticisms. Make it policy that unsigned feedback will be trashed, remind the church about that policy regularly, and stick to it. People will have to decide whether the issue is important enough to them to be more direct in their feedback.

Create clear feedback loops and educate the congregation about them. What, then, is the best way for pastors and lay leaders to receive comments? Name the how (e.g., by filling out a form? setting up an appointment?), the when (e.g., anytime except right before worship), and the who (e.g., the pastor or personnel committee). 

Don't wait until annual reviews to share feedback with the pastor. Many ministers dread annual reviews because it has become a time to pile on all the congregation's frustrations and survival anxieties from the year prior. Feedback is much more helpful when it is specific and timely. 

Encourage positive feedback as well. Your pastors need to hear what you appreciate about their ministries. They will be better able to receive your critiques if they know you see their gifts as well as their shortcomings. As with negative comments, specific and timely feedback is the most useful. 

We all get anxious and frustrated at times. That means we care. But those feelings are also signals that we need to make an effort to tap into our higher brain functioning by interrupting the idea that we are in imminent danger (by such means as taking deep breaths, going for a walk, or watching a funny video). When we do, we can have productive, substantive conversations that allow us all to be the body of Christ together, working in concert to share the love of God in a troubled and troubling world.

Photo by lilartsy on Unsplash.

A couple of years ago, one of my coachees introduced me to the work of culture writer Anne Helen Petersen. Petersen helps her readers think about the systems that are often invisible to us but that we all swim in every day. She also shares thoughts about how to live day-to-day in the midst of those (often harmful) systems even as we advocate for their overhaul. (I recommend her Substack here as well as her books on reconfiguring work and on Millennials and burnout.)

One of Petersen’s interests is creating sustainable communities of care. In the United States care infrastructure is piecemeal at best, and caregiving for children and older adults is undervalued and either underpaid or unpaid. That leaves many people - especially those of us in the sandwich generation - scrambling and harried much of the time, with little space to tend to our own needs for rest and relationships beyond work and caregiving, much less room in our schedules for errands or (dare to dream!) play. We need people we can count on for help, but reaching out is so hard. Petersen names some of the barriers as our identities as helpers, our pride in being self-sufficient, our feelings of overwhelm (which of the many pressing to-dos do we ask for assistance with?), and not having a solid friend network or family nearby because of the multiple moves we’ve made for work.

In a recent post Petersen proposes an “emergency/tough times guide” (here’s her template) in which we name the things that would be most helpful to us when we’re feeling stretched too thin. In her piece she also names ways to use the guide. In addition to the options she presents, I want to offer some thoughts on how you could tailor a communal care guide for you or for your church:

• Craft the prompts for church staff and possibly even key lay leaders and ask them to fill out the form along with you. What personal or ministry support does each person need? What helps individuals feel seen and appreciated? Decide and communicate before distributing the form who will have access to the repository of responses. Access might be based on how vulnerable the questions ask respondents to be, how much trust there is in the system, what roles those with access play in the church, and how willing those people are to provide the requested assistance.

• Develop a form that everyone in your church can fill out on a rolling basis. This equalizes all the participants, makes it ok to ask for help, and reveals the care that would really benefit individuals or family unit so that the church can, well, be the church to each other. You can decide whether the responses will be available to anyone who fills out the form or to a specific team of caregivers committed to meeting needs as they are able.

• Develop a form in two parts for everyone in your church. In the first part takers name needs, and in the second part they share ways they could help others (e.g., taking people to appointments, making phone calls to people who are homebound, providing after school care for children of working parents). Everyone can see responses to both parts of the form, so they know whom to contact to give or receive care.

• Create a clergyperson-specific form, distribute it among your pastor peers, and give all the takers access to the responses. There are certain personal and professional needs that only another minister can understand and fulfill, and the guide could open up conversation about what mutual support could tangibly look like.

None of the options above is perfect. The forms would have to be designed thoughtfully in order to meet the intended aim of building an organic, sustainable care structure. But I think there’s something in here worth considering, a means of acknowledging our needs and others’ and working toward helping one another in ways that make a real difference.

Pastors are humans, and we minister alongside humans. We talk about our dependence on God and our interdependence with one another. Yet we can be so hesitant to acknowledge what is hard in our lives and request help accordingly. Perhaps this communal care guide can lower our resistance to know and be known by each other more deeply and share our burdens in appropriate and relationship-building ways.

Photo by Clint Adair on Unsplash.

In its report “Twenty Years of Congregational Change,” Faith Communities Today reported in 2020 that 44% of all US congregations averaged 50 or fewer attendees each week, with another 25% falling into the 51-100 attendee category. I would not hesitate to hypothesize that the numbers of churches in these size ranges have grown in the past two years. What this means is that there likely is a growing number of churches led by part-time pastors.

This reality presents some challenges, of course. It is becoming harder for pastors - and particularly associate pastors - to find full-time congregational ministry positions. They might need to piece together multiple jobs in order to bring in the income they need to pay monthly bills and to chip away at student debt. They are harder pressed to secure benefits such as health insurance, which typically come only with full-time roles. (I’m happy to get on my soapbox about why insurance should not be tied to employment, but that’s a conversation for another time.) It can be complicated to align the work schedules of two or more jobs.

But even as the numbers trend toward smaller churches with reduced financial resources, there are some real opportunities here. I am privileged to know some pastors who are purposely and purposefully serving in part-time pastor roles. I have learned a lot from them about the beauty of multi-vocational work. (I highly recommend that you check out Rev. Rachel McDonald’s substack “My Other Job.” She has taught me a lot!) Here are some of the advantages to part-time pastorates:

Pastors’ identities are separated from their congregational ministry positions. In this season of discernment and pastoral turnover, I’m hearing an amplified version of a theme that has often run through coaching conversations: Who am I if I am not the leader of [insert name of church here]? Ministers’ sense of self easily becomes intertwined with their roles at particular points in time, making the thought of vocational change - even welcome change - an existential threat. Having more life outside of the congregational context helps pastors sort out who is the person and what is the role.

Churches and pastors can cultivate more intentionality around work and rest. When pastors are paid for twenty hours a week, both they and their congregations must think more about what is essential for the pastor to do - and not do. This practice can lead to more focus on mission and values rather than all the tasks that get lumped under “other duties as assigned.”

Pastors’ income is not wholly dependent on one source. This offers pastors freedom not just in a financial sense but also in allowing them to take more faithful risks in preaching and teaching. This gives them permission to offer the gentle challenge that can lead to significant spiritual growth.

Laypeople can discover and use gifts they never knew they had. When pastors lay down some responsibilities, that creates space for others to take them up. There are no doubt others in your church who can deliver a good word from the pulpit. Pastoral care can become congregational care. People can tap into their convictions and connections to initiate new ways for fellow members to serve. This is the priesthood of all believers at work!

Pastors’ relational networks expand. Many pastors lament that they don’t have time or energy to make friends or serve the community outside of their ministry role. With more time available, they can meet a whole new demographic of people at another job. They can have interests and hobbies that have nothing to do with church. They can establish friendships with peers who are not clergy. They don’t have to be The Pastor in every space.

Churches’ ministries are not as built around programming. A lot of churches are still solidly buying into the attractional model: if we have a great [children’s ministry, youth ministry, etc.], people will come. Maybe, if you’re a megachurch. But most people are looking for relationships, not one more thing to add to the calendar. Having a minister who doesn’t have work time to start and staff programs takes off this pressure to overschedule and properly reorients planning toward mission.

Pastors can flex different muscles. Related to several of the points above, pastors have made themselves (or allowed others to make them) one-dimensional. But God made us all much more complex and contradictory than that! When pastors are part-time, they can try new things or use skills that don’t get called upon in ministry. This faithfully un-flattens them.

I have a lot of hope for the Church and for its impact on the world in the coming years. I don’t think the future of the Church, though, lies necessarily in bringing in waves of new members and their wallets. The part-time trend will only grow, and it’s much better to be proactive in moving from full-time to part-time staffing structures than to hang on to old ways of leading and being until the coffers are depleted. If you want to read about how to make this shift well, I highly recommend G. Jeffrey MacDonald’s 2020 book Part-Time Is Plenty: Thriving Without Full-Time Clergy.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash.

Take heart! Though there are many challenges for pastors right now (as outlined in this piece), there is also much to celebrate. Click here to read the second article, which focuses on all that is good, based on my recent survey of clergy.

Photo by Carson Masterson on Unsplash.

If you know me well, you will find it hilarious that I have written a piece on anything Hulk-related. (I had - have? - a terrible fear of the Lou Ferrigno Hulk.) But I found the Disney+ series She-Hulk irresistible as a way to share what it’s like to be a clergywoman. You can read my thoughts on the parallels on Baptist News Global.

October is Pastor Appreciation Month, but like all Hallmark observances, this observance really points toward the need to value who your pastor is and what your pastor does all the time. Recently Rev. Joanna D’Agostino, pastor of Lakewood Congregational Church in Ohio, told me about the ways her congregation supports her. She graciously agreed to guest write a post about what this care looks like, what it means to her, and how other churches might show appreciation to their leaders. Below are her good words in response to my questions.

On a recent call with Laura, I was sharing about some of my frustrations with ministry and church, time-management and focus, and just the heaviness of it all. But I felt the need to clarify to her, “I have so much support from my church.” Ministry is really hard, but it’s a game-changer to be a part of a church that values my health and my clarity of call and recognizes that we are in Covenant with one another. I’ve felt this at both churches I’ve served over the course of 10 years of ministry, but I don’t think I’m in the majority in that regard. 

What are a few specific ways your congregation has shown that it values your ministry?

Small ways: They laugh with me. We’re silly together. It’s really in the little things – we have a bust of William Shakespeare that our custodian moves to a different, unexpected part of the building every week or so, just for fun. Recently someone put googly eyes on it, which makes it even funnier. We have a pretty robust musical theater ministry, which means every once in a while someone pops into the office with some costume elements they picked up at the thrift store. We test them out, and we just laugh.  

I have occasionally talked about the fact that I played the bassoon through college, but stopped playing when I graduated because I didn’t own one. Recently a church member, who is the band director at a local high school, came into worship and handed me a bassoon reed (it’s a double-reed instrument) and said, “You now have a bassoon on loan in the music office. We expect you to play in the church talent show.” (Yes, we have a church talent show!) So, now I’m trying to learn how to play again. It doesn’t seem like your traditional understanding of “support,” but it reminds us to find joy. Always find joy. 

Larger ways: They pay me well. It feels so obvious that justice-oriented churches should pay their pastors well. Unfortunately, it isn’t a given. I know budgets are tight and times are hard. It’s not always simple. But the reality is many pastors don’t know how they’re going to pay their energy bill, and it is really hard to do good ministry from a place of personal scarcity. In many ways, that’s a whole different blog topic, but I guess I’ll just say this: It is worth the budgetary stretch to pay your pastors well. (P.S. I’m not trying to say I’m making millions over here; just that I have enough.) 

They trust me to make decisions about my time. I’ve heard a lot of pastors talk about their congregants critiquing their schedules: that they’re in the office too much or not enough; they don’t attend enough meetings or need to do more home visits; they should work on their sermons more or be more visible in the community. Time management for pastors is incredibly challenging. Ministry is in the interruptions– and there are so, so, so many interruptions. And on top of that, many of those interruptions are confidential, so we can’t explain why our focus for the day changed so drastically. Especially in a small-staff church, the work of a pastor falls almost entirely under “other duties as assigned.” We might have a plan for the day, but one interruption can send it off the rails. The point is – hearing critiques from church members about how we spend our time is really just salt in the wound that leads pastors to feeling so deeply misunderstood and underappreciated for the hard work of prioritizing when everything feels important. 

I’ve rarely met a pastor who wasn’t working hard. It means a lot to be surrounded by people who really believe we’re doing the best we can.

What difference does that support make for how you show up as a pastoral leader? 

The churches I’ve served have helped me to see that I can lead from a baseline of grace. That means I don’t have to show up perfectly every time. Not every sermon is going to be out of the park. Some days I’m going to be in a bad mood. I show up knowing that the worst case scenario is that “tomorrow is another day to try again.” The worst-case scenario is that someone will come to me and say, “You know, I had a bad day too. You’re not alone.” Sometimes the most beautiful pastoral care moments flow from just being human with other humans. 

And, to return to the point I made about laughing: perfection isn’t very funny anyway. Messing up is funny. Being a human with other humans is funny. And humor is so very, very full of grace. 

What advice would you give to a church wanting to show appreciation to a minister, particularly in this season when pastoral burnout is rampant?

1. Don’t sweat the small stuff. Choose your battles. A bulletin typo isn’t the hill to die on, I promise.

2. When was the last time you asked your pastor how they’re doing? Not, “Good morning, how are you?” but a real, genuine, “How is it with your soul?” Ask it. They might cry. The answer might not be what you want to hear. But I cannot overstate the importance of just letting pastors (or anyone, really!) know we genuinely care about their well-being.

3. I remember once when a colleague asked two questions that I have carried with me: 1. What brings you the most joy in your ministry? 2. Does your congregation know that? I really think it’s easy to lose track of why we’re in this work to begin with. It’s especially easy to lose track of it if we haven’t let our congregation know. If you’re a congregant, my advice is: ask your pastor about their call story. Ask them about where they see God in their ministry today. Ask them what brings them joy in ministry. If you’re a pastor you might need to offer some prompting: tell your call story. Tell your church where you saw God this week. Tell them why you’ve dedicated so much of your life to this messy human institution. Because when we begin to tell stories about discipleship and grace and joy, we start to remember why church matters, and that’s where the Spirit thrives. 
   

It’s happening. The wave of people leaving pastoral ministry is gathering momentum. For some it’s because they are so dang tired. For others it’s because they’re being nudged to use their gifts and energy in other spaces, whether that’s a different kind of ministry, another field altogether, or unpaid-yet-no-less valuable labor (e.g., caring for young children or aging parents). I think that underneath all of these faithful responses to leaving a congregation, though, is a question that is both practical and existential:

Does my ministry matter?

Pastors are asking this because as they were preaching God’s command to care for one another these past two years, God’s people were fighting about whether they had to wear masks and acknowledge - much less address - systemic racism.

Pastors are asking this because they have taken on more than ever, yet some in their churches are asking them to do more.

Pastors are asking this because their congregants are citing Covid caution as their reason for not coming back to worship while their social media feeds tell a different story.

Pastors are asking this because the world is on fire, and they feel increasingly less able to identify where and how to make an impact.

Pastors are asking this because the pandemic made them re-examine everything about their ministries.

Pastors are asking this because some members are eager to go back to the way things were, while clergy know there is no going back.

In other words, this crisis of vocation and identity is totally understandable.

And, what you do matters so much, pastors.

You love us like Jesus does, even when we aren’t very easy to love.

You tell us that God made us and called us good, no matter what others might call us.

You invite us into communities of belonging, and what could be more sacred than that?

You nurture our spirits, challenge us, and offer us hope, whatever is happening around us.

You sensitize us to God’s invitations.

You celebrate life’s highlights alongside us.

You accompany us through the deepest of difficulties.

You prophesy, speaking on God’s behalf even when we want to put our hands over our ears.

You urge us to be better, to be the good God breathed into life.

You remind us that we have all we need as long as we share.

You provide stability when everything - including the Church - is changing.

You send us out, inspired to be Christ’s hands and feet and to bring a little more of God’s reign right here to Earth.

You do the behind-the-scenes work that few ever know about that makes all of the above possible.

Everything is hard now. It’s not just you, and it’s not your imagination. If you need a break, please take one. If you need to live out your calling in a new context, look for that outlet. God wants good for you too. But know that who you are and how you show up and what you do - it’s so faithful, and it’s valuable beyond what anyone can pinpoint.

Blessings on you, pastors, beloved bearers of God’s love and abundance.

Photo by Emily Morter on Unsplash.

Hopefully we are now nearing the end of Covid-19 as a defining reality of our lives. The effects of the pandemic are likely to be long lasting, though. Finances (personal and institutional), politics (since Covid became such a wedge issue), and relationships (deepening or stretching, sometimes to the breaking point) are a few of the areas in which we will all continue to deal with fallout.

In my work I talk with a lot of clergy who are having a crisis of vocation either brought on or amplified by the pandemic. But I’m noticing that in general the repercussions vary according to when each pastor entered the system:

Those who were already contemplating retirement or a change in contexts. These pastors tried to hang on for a bit to get their congregations through the pandemic. When it became clear that the end of Covid was not imminent, many (understandably) decided to make their exits rather than persist under the stress of pastoring during a pandemic.

Those who were serving in their context for more than a year pre-Covid. These pastors got a full cycle of firsts under their belts before the pandemic arrived and put everything familiar in disarray. They had had some time to understand their contexts, build trust, and inhabit the role of leader. (They also had had enough exposure that they had begun to develop detractors, as happens in any pastorate.)

Those who had served less than a year but had at least led during a major liturgical season (e.g., Advent) pre-Covid. Going through major observances and signature events together often serves to bond pastor and people in mutual ministry. The relationships were still new and fragile, though.

Those who started their roles in January, February, or early March 2020. Many of these pastors are really struggling. They started a position and didn’t even get their feet underneath them before the floor dropped out. With varying degrees of success they have cobbled together their understanding of congregational culture and their ever-altering place in it.

Those who changed churches mid-pandemic. Some of these leaders are only just now getting to know their people in person after lots of time together online. They had to try to build relationships in less traditional ways, and sometimes they had to launch experiments and make decisions without all of the information that in-person community offers.

Those who are coming into new-to-them churches in this pre-post-Covid time. The Covid fog seems to be clearing, and now a new phase of the work begins. Pastors in new-to-them churches are, then, jumping into big questions without the benefit of the honeymoon period that many ministers enjoyed in The Before. How do we right-size our infrastructure? Are these people we haven’t seen in a long time gone for good? Do we keep up hybrid worship or switch back to fully in-person? What will the polarization of the last election and the partisanship around Covid mean for relationships among church members? What work around anti-racism is more possible and pressing now that we have physically re-gathered?

I make these distinctions to highlight that the pandemic has been challenging to all pastors (and all people!) and that there are nuances to the issues. I hope that lining out the obstacles to thriving for each group helps leaders locate themselves and begin to see why varying aspects of Covid have been harder or easier depending on each pastor’s level of rootedness in the context. Naming the barriers is the first step toward strategizing ways to minimize or maneuver around them.

A note to congregations: not every pastor is in vocational crisis. Some are even thriving. But all are attending to the challenges that the pandemic has presented to them as clergy and as humans. Please keep this in mind when your hopes for your church or your expectations for your minister’s leadership do not align with what is unfolding.

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash.

We all need to take time to tend to ourselves. This is not being selfish. It is being practical (humans require regular down time and maintenance), and it is being faithful (God did not make us to go without stopping until we break).

The term self-care has become so all-encompassing as to become almost meaningless, however, without carving out some smaller categories under that rather large umbrella. Here are some kinds of self-care that I think we all need in varying amounts:

Escaping. Sometimes we simply cannot deal or are so tired that we need to withdraw until we recover, though I’d add we probably require less of this kind of self-care through passive consumption than we think. This is a good time to read a novel or binge tv shows on our favorite streaming service. (Note that I do not advocate numbing through substances.)

Tending to health. We are worth taking care of our bodies, minds, and souls. We deserve to be treated by professionals who see and value us and want to help us live well. Seeking out doctors and therapists and spiritual companions can be hard because we feel fear or shame, because good care options are hard to access or pay for, and because it can take big chunks of time, but it also feeds all other forms of self-care.

Completing the stress cycle. In their book Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle, Amelia Nagoski and Emily Nagoski talk about how stress lingers beyond the stressful situation if we do not go all the way through the feeling once we’re in a safe place. Often we need a physical action to help with this, like punching a pillow, yelling at the top of our lungs, or dancing it out.

Having fun. Screen/life balance expert Catherine Price encourages us to play more in her book The Power of Fun: How to Feel Alive Again. She identifies three characteristics of True Fun, which are playfulness (no judging self or others), connection (with God, people, or the environment), and flow (being fully present and engaged). I think we all need a lot more of this kind of self-care than we usually get.

Intentionally doing nothing. Brene Brown talks about no-agenda, non-doing time in which we simply allow ourselves to be. We’re not trying to produce. We are simply giving all aspects of our being a break so that we can return to ourselves, trusting the world to go on while we’re not doing something to fix it.

What other self-care categories would you add to these? Which kind of self-care do you need most right now? How might you get it?

Photo by Max van den Oetelaar on Unsplash.

Lately I have heard many variations of one question: what does sustainability in ministry - in anything - look like in this weird, hard time? It’s a great question. Thriving might feel out of reach right now for those who are really struggling. (By the way, it’s ok to struggle. We all do sometimes!) But maybe we can reasonably aspire to durability until the possibility of flourishing breaks the plain of our horizon.

Here are some thoughts about what we might be able to say if we are locked into sustainability:

I am not in this alone. I have people. People to minister alongside, peers in ministry I can be honest and strategize with, loved ones beyond my work context who welcome my entire self.

I/we have the means to figure this out. Our world is serving up a lot of sticky wickets. But neither is the challenge too high nor my/our talents too negligible to deal with what is before me/us, even if there’s a lot of trial and error involved.

I can take a break without the world crashing down around me. I know that everything is not riding on me - or that if it is, I and those around me could use a lived reminder that that’s not healthy.

I am good (and so are others). Not perfect, mind you, but fearfully and wonderfully made and deeply loved just as I am by God.

I see glimmers of where I/we are making an impact. I am not just shouting into the void - at least not all of the time. I am helping some people feel seen and be connected to God and one another, and I am planting other seeds that might bear fruit I never know of.

I can laugh - and laugh about more than just the absurdity of things. There is delight in my world through the things I take in via my senses and through the people I encounter.

I am using my gifts, even if it’s not in the ways I expected. Who knew that this talent could be put to that use? Well, now I do.

I have room to maneuver. I can’t control everything, as much as I’d like to be able to. But there are some areas where I can and do exercise some agency.

I might not be the biggest fan of this season of life/ministry, but it is only a season. I know things won’t be this hard forever.

I notice and respond kindly to what my body is telling me. I need sleep. I need food. I need a brain break. I need an appointment with my doctor or therapist. Our bodies are our wonderfully made to give us the information we require to take care of them - and they are so very worthy of that tending.

I am growing in my sense of who I am and what I can do. There is some sense of wonder: “could it be that I am here for such a time as this?” This time might not be my first choice, but it is the time I have.

Which of these statements apply to you? What are some tweaks you could make to grow into the ones that don’t? What statements would you add to or take away from this list?

Photo by Appolinary Kalashnikova on Unsplash.

Here’s something that most ministers don’t know until they experience it: leaving a church is HARD WORK. Yes, there are all the hours spent compiling your materials, researching congregations and communities, interviewing for a new position, and being evasive about where you were when you preached in view of a call. Yes, there’s the energy directed to putting what’s only in your head down on paper and straightening your office for the next occupant. But what I’m really talking about is the emotional component of leaving. No one warns you about all the feels you might encounter.

You might feel guilty. Every congregant has a different reaction to a pastor’s departure. And many of your congregants, particularly the ones you know best or have worked most closely with, might project those feelings onto you. The spoken or unspoken messages could include “What did we do wrong?” and “How could you do this to us?” and “What will we do without you?” This anxiety is normal, and your people will be ok. They are experiencing a loss, and they need time to grieve.

You might feel relieved. All those aspects of your job that you liked least? (We all have them.) There’s now an end in sight for them, at least in this context.

You might feel ready to go. Once you have turned your face toward your next call, it is really hard to stay engaged in the last weeks of your current one. You are excited about what is ahead, and there are a million details unrelated to your old position to address.

You will feel exhausted. As I said, leaving is hard work. That’s partly because of the scramble to wrap up loose ends, but it’s primarily because of the feelings mentioned above.

You might feel grateful. Depending on the circumstances of your departure, your appreciation for the church you’re leaving might be muted or delayed. But you have no doubt learned valuable lessons and developed relationships that have formed or encouraged you. That’s worth celebrating at some point.

Oof. That’s a lot, and it’s important to give yourself space to deal with all the emotions. As you do, it’s ok if not every detail makes it into the cloud for your successor. It’s ok if you leave work early to run or take a nap. It’s ok to feel what you feel, whatever that is. More than anything else, it’s important to focus on people as you wrap up your time - including yourself, because you are a people too - because that’s what those you’re leaving behind will remember most.

Photo by annie pm on Unsplash.

On this day two years ago, I attended my last in-person Sunday morning worship service. It was a surreal event. Only a handful of people were there, and we acted like kids worried about catching cooties from one another. My spouse (the pastor) was trying to figure out how to angle his phone for Facebook Live, something he had never experimented with before. After worship our family of three hustled home and didn't re-emerge for weeks, only doing so once we realized that Covid was not a blip and we’d have to get groceries at some point.

In some ways the start of the pandemic feels like a decade ago. The degrees of isolation and the ebb and flow of the virus have stretched out the time, plus we have learned more about Covid and ways to neutralize it than seems possible in such a short span. In other respects, though, the beginning of lockdown feels very fresh. Anniversaries - I would like to find another word for a somber annual remembrance, by the way - can make objects in the rearview mirror appear closer than they are. The sense memories enfold us and transport us to the states of mind, body, and spirit prompted by the original experience. (“On this day” reminders on social media and in our photo apps only enhance this effect.) For me that means high anxiety born of uncertainty, which manifests as body tension and mental and physical fatigue. Your reactions might be similar or altogether different, but you aren’t alone if you notice something in your being at this two-year mark that isn’t quite explained by current circumstances.

We’re holding a mixed bag as we come to this past-present mingling. We are in Lent, one of those marathon stretches in the liturgical calendar for pastors. This season both gives us a helpful focus and lengthens our to-do lists. We seem to be in a new, more hopeful phase of the pandemic. This reality brings increased possibilities for gathering and can also prompt foreboding joy: When is the next variant coming? What does the decreased attention to virus precautions mean for the big questions we’ve not had space to reckon with but now need to address? And while there is no declared war on American soil, we worry for those facing aggression in other regions of the world, bound to them as we are by our common humanity.

I name all of this to encourage you to be gentle with yourself. Acknowledge your limits. Leave things undone when needed. Take naps. Eat good food, however you define it. Move your body. Spend time with people you love. Do “unproductive” things that delight you. Look for beauty. Along the way don’t forget to keep your eyes peeled for God working - or modeling rest! - in the margins, the crevices, the cracks of daylight offered by a slightly opened door.

Remember that while memories can crash the present and the future is always on our minds, life happens in real time. Be there for it all, the hard and the holy, knowing sometimes there is little distinction between the two.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash.

Few pastors are carrying out their same position in the ways they did in February 2020. But most associate pastors and ministers of particular demographics or specialized areas aren’t doing their same job, period. At some point during Covid, Ministers of Youth became Ministers of YouthAndChildren. Ministers of Music morphed into Ministers of MusicAndSeniorAdults. Ministers of Missions transformed into Ministers of MissionsAndFacilitiesAndWeekdaySchool. You get the idea.

There are several reasons this melding of roles happened. The pandemic prompted or hastened staff transitions. Congregations’ pre-existing financial anxieties ramped up when there was no in-person worship during which the plate could be passed. (Those worries increased even more when members failed to show back up as the sanctuary doors reopened.) And when Covid turned out to be more state of suspended animation than blip, it was hard for churches to shift into a forward-moving gear. All of this translated into congregations’ desire to operate with what they knew, and what they knew was that they had capable, committed people on staff.

And these capable, committed people said yes to whatever was handed to them. Maybe they said yes because they wanted to do all they could to minister to their people during a tough time. Maybe it was because they wanted to stretch themselves. Maybe it was because they were already steeped in macro and micro cultures of workaholism. Maybe it was because they felt like they had no room to say no, because they were not in charge.

Now, though, many of these Ministers of AllTheThings are wrung out. This is a problem, because some of them are in their first call and wondering if congregational work will be like this always and everywhere. Some of them don’t have the emotional and financial support they need, whether in the congregation or beyond it, to build more sustainable patterns. Some of them are asking themselves whether their position(s) will survive the next budget cut anyway, and as a result they are actively searching job postings.

Solo or senior pastors, for all the struggles they have endured during Covid (and these are legion), have had some degree of what many associate and specialized ministers have not - agency. Simply feeling like you have a modicum of control over your circumstances makes a big difference emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. So let’s think about how heads of staff and lay leaders can offer more say to the programmatic pack mules of the pandemic.

Actively support the creation of a pastoral relations committee. A PRC is a group of people that actively supports - and at times even advocates for - the minister. It is different from a personnel committee, which is often involved in performance reviews and budgeting and serves as an intermediary between the congregation and all staff members. When they function optimally, PRCs are the groups within churches to which a minister is able to bring both professional and personal celebrations and concerns.

Set the minister up with co-journeyers beyond the congregation. Even big churches are small worlds, and ministers need someone beyond those realms for accompaniment. Mentors can give advice. Coaches can help ministers strategize around challenges and goals. Therapists can guide ministers in addressing wounds in their lives. Spiritual directors can assist ministers with staying grounded in a relationship with God. Any of these kinds of companions could be helpful to a minister who feels overburdened.

Re-examine every piece of the minister’s compensation package. If a minister is doing more work, then more compensation is due. This is not just cash salary, it’s time away and professional development funds as well. Simply recognizing and rewarding a minister with more money and benefits can go a long way in helping a hardworking minister feel valued and empowered.

Communicate, then communicate some more. Disrupted lines of communication and connection have made everyone’s lives harder during Covid. Imagine that stress on top of exponentially more work. Prioritize regular check-ins with associate ministers as well as other staff. Ask them what they need instead of waiting for them to come to you. Share what you’re doing and even how you’re feeling. This can be a moment not just for helping second-chair ministers not feel so lonely but also deepening mutually-supportive relationships.

Get your minister some hands-on help. It’s time to stop staffing out of scarcity. Think about what God is inviting your church to do, and staff for that. In the meantime (and when the church is fully staffed once again), encourage lay people with bandwidth to offer their time and talents and grow as disciples in the process.

Bless you, Ministers of AllTheThings. You have done so much to keep your church going. Sometimes you might feel invisible, but rest assured that you are invaluable.

Photo by Ferenc Horvath on Unsplash.