As the gnawing sense of disenchantment deepens, many churches find themselves succumbing to spiritual fatigue. Feeling the weight of this reality, pastors yearn for revival, a spark to reignite the flames of faith within their communities. But where does the journey begin?

Here we gather insights from faith leaders who guide us toward answers. They explore ordinary practices—prayer, hospitality, worship, storytelling, silence, and sacraments—that can spark extraordinary transformation. Rediscover the joy, mystery, and wonder at the heart of Christianity, and prepare to lead your church into a vibrant, reenchanted future.

Sharon Hodde Miller

Sharon Hodde Miller leads Bright City Church in Durham, North Carolina, with her husband, Ike. She earned her MDiv from Duke Divinity School and her PhD from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, where she researched the topic of women and calling. Sharon writes for sites like Christianity Today, She Reads Truth, and Propel, and she is the author of three books: Free of Me, Nice, and The Cost of Control.

What advice would you offer to pastors who struggle to prioritize their own spiritual and emotional well-being after such a long season of feeling drained and discouraged?

A pastor’s personal faith and renewal must be our first and best work. It is the fount from which all our leadership flows. That said, pastors have been through the ringer. Seasoned, long-time pastors have told me that the last few years of ministry have been the hardest of their lives. I have spoken with countless pastors who have been rejected, betrayed, slandered, and accused by some of their longest-serving members and closest friends, and this takes a toll on a person. It also takes time to heal. I would encourage pastors to give themselves a lot of time and margin to rebuild what the last several years have torn down, and to make this a priority.

Jasmine Wood

Jasmine Wood serves as associate pastor at Lower Manhattan Community Church. Originally from Alabama, she infuses her messages with Southern warmth, emphasizing prayer and worship. Jasmine loves spending time outside in NYC with her husband, Brandon, and their daughter Trinity.

How can pastors measure the success of their efforts to foster spiritual renewal within their congregations, recognizing that spiritual growth can be subjective and multifaceted?

Eugene Peterson has done some work here that I found transformative. In The Jesus Way he writes about Christianity being an apprenticeship with Jesus. If we are developing as followers of Christ, shouldn’t we take a closer seat to observe him? Do we look like Christ? Does the congregation agree on the principles of what it means to be a disciple, and are they moving in that direction? If we, as pastors and leaders, are aware that more church members are actioning Jesus-centered ideas, we can rest assured spiritual growth is right there beneath the service.

Raymond Chang

Raymond Chang is the president of the Asian American Christian Collaborative. He has lived throughout the world, traveled to nearly 50 countries, and currently serves as the executive director for TENx10 and lives in Chicagoland with his wife, Jessica.

How can churches ensure that efforts toward spiritual growth and engagement are accessible and inclusive for individuals from diverse backgrounds and life experiences?

Design by centering the margins. One of the problems with the spiritual formation industry is that it is so focused on the individual that it never addresses the structural and social forces that alienate those who are considered the other (especially those from underrepresented and underresourced communities). Many Christians have told me that they do the work of evangelism, service, and discipleship among those who have been disenfranchised in our society only to have no church that they feel like they can entrust those marginalized groups to.

It often has nothing to do with doctrine but with culture—and cultural commitments that center those that have always been centered. One way you center the margins is by listening deeply in a nondefensive manner, seeking honest critiques of the status quo, and allowing others to speak into and shape the culture.

Courtney Ellis

Courtney Ellis is the author of Looking Up: A Birder’s Guide to Hope Through Grief (IVP, 2024). She and her husband, Daryl, pastor Presbyterian Church of the Master in Southern California, where they’ve served for ten years. They are raising three young birders.

What unexpected sources may have contributed to the church’s spiritual fatigue?

We’ve lost touch with creation. Natural theology points to the goodness of God, yet we design church life around explicitly religious practices (worship, Bible reading, prayer). As a result, the wonder, brutality, beauty, and awesomeness of the natural world are pushed to the background, creating a disconnect from the divine. I feel this most when I pray and words feel inadequate. But bird walks have become my solace, a spiritual practice that tethers me to the pleasure of God. Rather than dividing my life into secular and sacred, these moments remind me that the earth is the Lord’s and that I am invited to delight in his creation. Had my faith practices remained narrow and insular, too easily I would forget the vastness and complexity of creation—and of our Creator.

Trevin Wax

Trevin Wax is vice president of research and resource development at the North American Mission Board and the author of multiple books, including The Thrill of Orthodoxy, Rethink Your Self, and Gospel Centered Teaching. His podcast is Reconstructing Faith.

How can church practices cultivate a deeper awareness of the Holy Spirit’s presence and guidance?

There are many practices I could recommend that might help reinvigorate the church’s spiritual life—everything from frequent fasting to corporate prayer to a renewed emphasis on catechesis. And yet, too often we think it’s our activity that matters.

I’ve heard it said before that the most dangerous part of ministry is that you can learn to do it. And much of what passes for ministry today takes place without true dependence on the Spirit’s work. Were we to see our need, our dependence on the one who has called us, we would summon his presence with quiet desperation, begging that he might allow us to taste and see his goodness. The sidelining of God, as demonstrated by the absence of fervent prayer—surely this is the biggest obstacle to renewal today.

Collin Hansen

Collin Hansen serves as vice president for content and editor in chief of The Gospel Coalition, as well as executive director of The Keller Center for Cultural Apologetics. He hosts the Gospelbound podcast and has written and contributed to many books, most recently Timothy Keller: His Spiritual and Intellectual Formation.

How can churches create a culture of spiritual growth and engagement?

You don’t see revival without holiness and prayer, and renewal starts by going back to God’s Word with complete confidence in its truthfulness and sufficiency. Additionally, there are three shifts in thinking that, if understood and embraced, would greatly contribute to the spiritual vibrancy of a church:

1. We shouldn’t have to agree with someone 100 percent in order to learn from them.
2. We should be able to criticize and reject evil practices in the church, past or present, without either inciting a backlash or deconstructing our faith.
3. We should be able to follow in the example and grace of Jesus Christ by being compassionate, courageous, and commissioned at the same time in our personal lives and in our churches, no matter our particular gifting.

Derwin Gray

Derwin Gray cofounded the Transformation Church in Indian Land, South Carolina, with his wife, Vicki Gray. He speaks at conferences nationwide and is the author of several books, including Building a Multiethnic Church.

As we think about fostering spiritual revival across broader communities, how can pastors look for, or create, opportunities for cross-denominational collaboration?

Sparking a spiritual revival can be catalyzed when pastors from different streams of the Christian faith see themselves as partners in the gospel, not competitors for religious consumers. This means they pray together, centering their ministries in the gospel of King Jesus. There must be a willingness to resource each other with best ministry practices, mentoring, and financial assistance.

In our ever-increasing diverse contexts, it is essential for pastors to model what it means to love the other relentlessly, listen to the other intentionally, and learn from the other continuously.

What would happen next Sunday morning if God did not show up? Would the sermon still touch hearts and resonate with truth, if the Spirit of God didn’t illuminate the Scriptures as they are read and preached? Imagine a worship service where hands are raised but the music, absent of the Spirit dwelling richly, lacks its usual resonance. As people leave, would there be a noticeable void?

Perhaps the service would not look that different at all. That possibility is even more terrifying than the threat of God’s absence.

My journey into ministry began in 1999, in a small apartment gathering. As a group of displaced believers, we were spiritually homeless, seeking something we called “authentic spirituality.” Those simple meetings were some of the most spiritually enriching experiences of my life.

We would talk in an unstructured way with vulnerability about faith, doubt, loneliness, grief, and mental health. We would pray for one another and sing a hymn, chorus, or psalm. Rarely was there any formal teaching, yet we found ways to support one another.

Afterward, we could honestly say, “Surely the Lord is in this place” (Gen. 28:16).

From these humble beginnings came discussions about planting a church. Having outgrown the apartment, we eventually moved to an old church basement. The gatherings became slightly more formal as we grew, but the earnestness and simplicity remained. We prayed, sang, and supported each other through career decisions, relationships, miscarriages, and moves.

Several years later, the church resembled a large institution. The staff was splintered and exhausted as we launched our third capital campaign in five years. We faced a leaking roof and a sleep-deprived band. And yet we managed to conduct the service seamlessly. We could—almost literally—have done it in our sleep.

But does an altar call still draw people if the Spirit’s presence is missing? Even as we adeptly masked the behind- the-scenes turmoil, I wondered if our well-crafted services were as spiritually charged as those early gatherings.

Reflecting on these experiences, I often considered the difference between those days in the apartment and the realities of a larger church. It wasn’t just about being young and idealistic. Despite our lack of accommodations, we had an undeniable sense of God’s presence.

Yet, as time passed, the question of whether that same presence was as palpable in a much larger, structured church service often haunted me. I believe that both the simplicity of our early days and the complexities of our larger gatherings were authentic expressions of our faith journey, but there had clearly been a shift in my own sense of expectation and possibility.

The why behind that shift lies in disenchantment.

When Faith Became Functional

Max Weber, a 20th-century sociologist, was the first to describe the effect of modernity as disenchantment. As Weber saw it, a post-Enlightenment, post–Scientific Revolution world had been drained of mystery. One might board a streetcar, Weber said, and have no clue how it operates, but for a modern person, understanding is only a trip to the library (in his day) or a quick Google search (in ours) away. His point was that this default setting drains the transcendence from every moment. There are no mysteries in this world, only processes we do not yet understand.

Canadian philosopher Charles Taylor, building on Weber’s theme, suggests that modernity ushered in a pervasive skepticism, particularly toward the supernatural. Where belief in transcendence once underpinned daily life, with most individuals holding faith in God and acknowledging the existence of mysteries and forces beyond their control, the modern zeitgeist has shifted.

Today, much of the intellectual discourse within the modern world operates under the assumption of a godless reality, where everything can be explained through material means. Our understanding of the world has demystified many phenomena: Plagues are no longer the products of spirits or curses but the consequence of germs and viruses, and bad weather can be explained by air pressure systems, not acts of God. Much like Weber’s streetcar, even if we don’t understand the exact mechanics at play, we often believe there’s a logical explanation.

Christians, especially pastors and church leaders, share a common tendency to view spiritual life through a similar lens. We often frame religious experiences as the result of a process we can understand and manipulate. Anything that triggers a positive reaction in ministry, be it a Sunday service or a discipleship program, holds a particularly strong allure.

While this desire for control is understandable, it ultimately leads us down a path of pragmatism and, sadly, cynicism. Instead of seeking genuine spiritual growth, church gatherings become more focused on “meaningful moments,” by relying on evocative music or performative preaching. Worse still, congregations, starved for transcendence, readily accept and even reward these manipulative, emotionally driven gatherings.

This emphasis on production, performance, and energy can result in a hollow ministry that lacks several critical markers of health: spiritual maturity, wisdom, character, and love. As many large churches and denominations face the fallout of leadership failures, it’s worth asking, how did disenchantment lead to neglecting the character and spiritual development of leaders? And what price is the church paying for this oversight?

Burnt-Out Torchbearers

Imagining an alternative approach may seem daunting, but it starts by acknowledging the inherent doubt brought on by disenchantment. Not as a surrender, but as a challenge we must confront and grapple with. Only then can we lead our churches in ways truly reliant on the Holy Spirit’s active presence.

This is an invitation to switch from performance to presence. While the practicalities of ministry—like preaching, praying, leading worship, and visiting others—remain, we must learn to engage in these activities with an openness to the mysterious workings of God.

The good news is that this path isn’t shrouded in darkness. The Scriptures themselves resonate with this yearning for the divine. The psalmist’s words echo our own when he cries, “My tears have been my food day and night. . . . how I used to go to the house of God under the protection of the Mighty One with shouts of joy and praise” (Ps. 42:3–4). Our truest longing isn’t for a bygone era but for the presence of God himself.

Just as the psalmist sought renewal in moments of vulnerability, so too can we find our way back by nurturing spaces of personal communion with God. This quest, both individual and communal, lies at the heart of authentic worship in our disenchanted world.

Leading others toward wonder can feel like carrying a torch for an entire congregation. This burden underscores the need for pastors to carve out personal spaces for spiritual renewal and to pursue sanctuaries where they can shed the mantle of being a guide and instead take on the role of seeker. These safe spaces may not be grand cathedrals but rather small groups, friendships, or even quiet moments in a church basement.

Like all Christians, church leaders are susceptible to spiritual fatigue. These feelings, far from marking failures, mirror the struggles faced by countless prophets and saints throughout history. Recognizing this state is a step that aligns you with a courageous lineage of souls who sought God even amid doubt. The same is true for your congregations. Weariness and disenchantment don’t diminish faith or signal a spiritual deficit; rather, they present an opportunity for both leaders and congregants to seek understanding and renewal.

While there’s no magic formula for encountering God, actively seeking him is the lifeblood of faith. Caving to cynicism and stagnation means missed opportunities to experience the divine. But an open heart and vulnerable spirit can crack open the door to rediscovering the joy we yearn for. It’s in this intentional pursuit that the embers of enchantment are rekindled—not just for ourselves but for the communities we are called to lead.

The Death of the Hero

Many pastors have been cast as the hero of their church’s narrative by their members, mentors, and peers. They deliver inspiring sermons, offer wise counsel, and act as trusted guides. Playing that role can be emotionally rewarding for a time, but eventually it starts to wear thin—because when the church views you as the hero, the time may come when they start to wonder why you haven’t solved all their problems, and that pressure can take an enormous toll on your soul.

Instead, pastors need to rewrite the narrative. While Jesus is undeniably the overarching hero, framing it solely on that theological level won’t empower the church to overcome cynicism and disenchantment. The key lies in throwing out the hero paradigm and helping members understand their own roles as the protagonists in their spiritual journeys. Pastors, leaders, and mentors can illuminate the beauty of this journey and offer guidance through obstacles and challenges, but they cannot take or replace individuals’ own steps toward the kingdom of heaven.

Practically, this means inviting the church into a life of real, vibrant spirituality. It means equipping them with spiritual disciplines so that they can learn to pray, fast, and listen for the Spirit of God in silence and solitude. It means empowering them with tools and sending them out into the wilderness. It means embracing their own feelings of doubt and disenchantment and inviting them to pursue God through it.

As pastors, it also means putting to death some personal pride. Instead of chasing grandiose visions of “reaching the city” or “changing the world,” what if we welcomed the quiet moments of presence? Being there at a hospital bedside, celebrating life’s joys and sorrows, and encouraging church members to serve their communities in practical ways—these are the actions that truly matter. What would happen if we valued tears shed and meals served more than seats filled and dollars collected?

Of course, no one can guarantee a profound encounter with God. But that’s part of the point: We need to grow comfortable incorporating practices that rely on God to be actively present.

Only by learning to attend to God’s presence in a broken, hurting world can we find a sense of transcendence once we gather. Then, no longer arriving as individuals starved for something beyond ourselves but as people who have witnessed God’s presence in a myriad of ways, we can come together to share those testimonies through worship.

What if we traded standing ovations for the murmur of shared prayer in dim apartments? Not the performative prayer orchestrated with smoke machines and polished sermons, but the vulnerable kind that call back to the early days huddled together, seeking authentic spirituality. May our embers be fanned into a blaze that warms not just ourselves, but the world.

Chances are that you have shelves filled with commentaries, a podcast app loaded with learning, and a calendar stacked with conferences—and we’re glad you do! Instead of adding more books or to-dos for your NONFICTION professional growth, these resources are intended to be invitations to rest and reflect. Enjoy a book in your favorite chair, listen to a podcast during an evening walk, or spend the weekend meditating on a retreat. Think savor, not study.

BOOKS

Nonfiction

Abba’s Child: The Cry of the Heart for Intimate Belonging by Brennan Manning (NavPress) From Burned Out to Beloved: Soul Care for Wounded Healers by Bethany Dearborn Hiser (IVP) Recapturing the Wonder: Transcendent Faith in a Disenchanted World by Mike Cosper (IVP) Revelations of Divine Love by Julian of Norwich (Oxford University Press) The Care of Souls: Cultivating a Pastor's Heart by Harold L. Senkbeil (Lexham Press) The Way of the Heart: The Spirituality of the Desert Fathers and Mothers by Henri J.M. Nouwen (HarperOne)

Fiction

I, Julian: The Fictional Autobiography of Julian of Norwich by Claire Gilbert (Hodder Faith) Peace Like a River by Leif Enger (Corsair) The Undoing of Saint Silvanus by Beth Moore (Tyndale) Watership Down: The Graphic Novel by Richard Adams, adapted and illustrated by James Sturm and Joe Sutphin (Ten Speed Graphic) When In Rome by Liam Callanan (Dutton)

Poetry

David's Crown: Sounding the Psalms by Malcolm Guite (Canterbury Press Norwich) Endless Life: Poems of the Mystics by Scott Cairns (Paraclete Press) ​​Now, Now by Jennifer Maier (University of Pittsburgh Press) Touch the Earth: Poems on The Way by Drew Jackson (IVP) What the Light Was Like: Poems by Luci Shaw (WordFarm)

Podcasts

Abide Daily Meditation (Abide) Common Prayer Daily (Michael W. Livingston) Daily Lectio Divina (Abiding Way Ministries) Life with God: A Renovaré Podcast (Nathan Foster) The Liturgy of the Hours: Sing the Hours (Paul Rose)

Albums

Abide With Me, Sara Groves (Sponge Records) Patient Kingdom, Sandra McCracken (Integrity Music) Psalms: The Poetry of Prayer, Caroline Cobb (Caroline Cobb) Sanctuary Songs, The Porter’s Gate (The Porter’s Gate) Yet Not I, CityAlight (CityAlight Music)

Retreats

Monastery of Christ in the Desert Abiquiu, New Mexico This Benedictine Monastery follows St. Benedict’s rule and asks monks to treat each visitor as Christ would be treated. Stay for a minimum of two days and two nights. The suggested donation is $90 per night. Meals are included. https://christdesert.org/visiting/

Our Lady of Guadalupe Carlton, Oregon This Trappist abbey offers a monastic guest house and retreat environment built on the Eucharist, the table of fellowship, and the table of welcome. Stay for a minimum of two nights, maximum of ten. There is a required donation of at least $80 per day. Meals are included. https://www.trappistabbey.org/booking-a-retreat

Society of Saint John the Evangelist Cambridge, Massachusetts SSJE features an Anglican monastery and guesthouse that offer spaces of silence, beauty, and simple comfort to guests. There are specific dates to choose from, with some retreats including topical workshops at an additional cost. The suggested fee for a self-led retreat is $120 per night, $50 for students. Meals are included. https://www.ssje.org/reservation

As a pastor juggling crushing schedules and overflowing inboxes, carving out time and space for spiritual nourishment can feel burdensome. Thankfully, we can look to church history for resources to refresh the soul. Throughout the centuries, Christians have woven intricate tapestries of renewal, each thread a path designed to draw God’s people closer to him and to each other.

In the pages that follow, we examine a few of these tapestries, illuminating strands that have dimmed with age or lack of use. In doing so, we find permission stitched into every image—permission to consider these practices, to honor our own longing for sustenance, and to find, or even create, the quiet moments where our souls can drink from the well of God’s goodness.

1. SOLITUDE

After [Jesus] had dismissed [the crowds], he went up on a mountainside by himself to pray. Later that night, he was there alone. Matthew 14:2-3

In solitude the useless trivialities of life begin to drop away. We are set free from the many “false selves” we have built up in order to cope with the expectations others place upon us—and we place upon ourselves. Solitude empowers us to walk away from all human pretense and manipulation. In addition, God uses our experiences of solitude to enable us to become who we truly are. Richard Foster in The Making of an Ordinary Saint by Nathan Foster

How do you feel about being alone? Really alone? No headphones, no phone, just you and your thoughts in the silence.

Many feel anxious with the idea of being alone with silence. Nearly every moment of the day, our lives are narrated by noise. Whether or not we’re conscious of it, we’re accustomed to it. And this is what makes solitude so vital.

Solitude plays a powerful role in viewing one’s identity in light of who God is. It removes the evaluations you may experience with others as a pastor and welcomes you into a place where only God can meet you. In solitude, you are invited to remember that while pastoring is an important thread, it’s not the whole picture.

Preparing sermons, counseling congregants, and leading meetings can—and should—be done in service to God. Yet, alone, those efforts can leave many pastors feeling spiritually parched. Solitude offers a sanctuary, a space to ask the soul-searching question: Who am I? And in the quiet, to hear God’s reassuring whisper: “Mine.”

If you’re new to solitude or revisiting it, consider easing in with a three-minute visit. Find a quiet corner, set an alarm as a reminder so you won’t compulsively check the time, and then silence your phone. If needed, sip some water and take a few deep breaths to help ease the transition from doer to receiver.

This time isn’t about mastering meditation poses or memorizing Scripture. It’s about loosening your grip on the reins and letting Jesus hold them for a while. Embrace the posture that best allows you to receive God’s presence, be it sitting with open palms, gently rocking, or taking a quiet stroll. Fix your gaze on a single verse, a heartfelt prayer, or a virtue that resonates with your soul. Don’t overthink it; just let it be whatever feels important in that moment.

Three minutes, a few times a week might seem insignificant, but those small stitches of solitude can create a beautiful and deep awareness of God. As Richard Foster writes, “In solitude, we are so bathed in God’s greatness and goodness that we come to see the immense value of our own soul.” Slowly, the frantic strivings begin to lose their grip, replaced by a newfound peace and freedom in God’s presence.

2. WORSHIP

Lord, you are my God; I will exalt you and praise your name, for in perfect faithfulness you have done wonderful things, things planned long ago. Isaiah 25:1

Worship will become the constant undertone of our lives. It is the single most powerful force in completing and sustaining restoration of our whole beings to God. Nothing can inform, guide, and sustain pervasive and radiant goodness in a person other than the true vision of God and the worship that spontaneously arises from it. Then the power of the indwelling Christ flows from us to others. Dallas Willard in The Great Omission

Worship isn’t about Sunday mornings with dimmed lights and raised hands. Rather, as Dallas Willard explains, it involves engaging with, dwelling upon, and expressing the greatness, beauty, and goodness of God. For some pastors, this might feel like a daunting task, a shift from leading to simply receiving. But, thankfully, worship is constant.

When including worship in daily life, we should not limit it to praise and worship music or recitations of the psalms. According to Willard, the heart of worship lies in sharpening your focus on God’s goodness. It’s about a daily audit of your thoughts, asking, “What truly sparks joy, brings beauty, or fills me with awe?”

Work hard to embrace the everyday, the ordinary, and the joyful, for in these moments lies the essence of true worship.

3. FELLOWSHIP

For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them. Matthew 18:20

The more genuine and the deeper our community becomes, the more will everything else between us recede, the more clearly and purely will Jesus Christ and His work become the one and only thing that is vital between us. Dietrich Bonhoeffer in Life Together

All friendships require work, and those nurtured within a congregation carry extra layers of consideration. Some caution against them, while others see these relationships as the cornerstone of community. Most, however, agree friendships for pastors are complicated—and essential.

A staggering 65 percent of church leaders report loneliness according to a 2023 Barna survey. That’s a sobering statistic, but it doesn’t have to be your reality. Here are some key reminders for navigating the murky waters of pastoral friendships.

1. You deserve deep, mutual bonds.

Ministry requires sacrifice, but being truly known and loved shouldn’t be one of them. Your whole self—desires, joys, frustrations, memories—deserves genuine connection.

2. You have more to offer than guidance.

While pastors are often sought out for support, that’s not your sole contribution. Remember–your presence, your laughter, your stories–these are gifts to your community, not burdens.

3. Investing in friendships is ministry.

Many pastors leave ministry due to isolation. Cultivating friendships isn’t selfish; it’s an act of care for you and your flock. Everyone deserves deep, reciprocal relationships, and pastors are no exception.

4. Recognize the warning signs of isolation. Inner reservation: Do you hold back from being vulnerable? Guarding yourself constantly can be a sign of growing isolation.

One-sided relationships: Assess your interactions. Do your conversations feel lopsided? Lack of reciprocity can point to a lack of mutual support.

Sense of disconnection: Are you just going through the motions socially? It might be time to reevaluate your community.

5. Take proactive steps to build healthy friendships.

Foster open dialogue: Be honest with a trusted friend or family member who understands your journey. Vulnerability builds connection.

Initiate shared activities: Learn, play, and feast together. Shared experiences deepen belonging and community.

Seek collective wisdom: Discuss your needs with church leaders. They can help navigate the complexities of pastoral relationships.

Create a stable social rhythm: Because community thrives with consistency, schedule regular meet-ups or activities.

Explore new interests: Shared curiosity and learning can strengthen bonds. Try a new hobby or discuss a mutual interest with a friend.

Prioritizing Renewal

Implementing these practices can be transformative, offering renewal in the midst of demanding ministry seasons. May each step taken in solitude, worship, and fellowship knit you closer to both your community and the heart of God.

Take a moment to pause, reflect, and introspect. These questions are meant to be a compass, helping you discover the path toward joy and wonder.

What are my rhythms of sleep and exercise? Are they right for the season I’m in?

What aspects of my life and ministry spark joy? How do I regularly make space for these things?

What spiritual practices nourish my soul and connection to God? Am I engaging in those?

What unrealistic expectations do I have of myself, my ministry, or my church? How do these contribute to me feeling overwhelmed?

How do I (or can I) make space for creative pursuits that refresh my soul and perspective?

What do I feel from and toward God right now? Do I feel free to express those feelings to God openly and honestly?

Is there something tough in my ministry or life that I have not fully lamented?

How attached to my devices am I? When can I schedule times to unplug?

How do I prioritize building meaningful relationships outside of my congregation?

In what ways do I feel alone in bearing the responsibility for my church? Who can bear this with me?

When and where can I seek professional support or mentorship to address challenges in ministry or personal life?

The thing about pastoring is that, at any given moment, someone is experiencing one of the most significant moments of their life—and they need their pastor. Someone is in the hospital. Someone is getting married. Someone is dying. Someone is welcoming a new life.

At the same time, someone is angry that the pastor’s sermon didn’t speak to the latest national tragedy. Someone is ready to leave the congregation if the pastor’s political opinion doesn’t match their own. Someone is asking for advice but not actually ready to receive it.

Pastoring is marked by a myriad of needs for leadership and pastoral care. Shepherding souls is a noisy task, one that can drain even the most called and equipped. Set these demands against the backdrop of an increasingly chaotic cultural moment, and it’s no wonder that pastors are burning out and daydreaming of a cubicled nine-to-five.

For some, the decision to step back from vocational ministry is a wise and honorable choice. For those called and determined to persevere; sometimes the question becomes how?

Perhaps the answer to this present problem lies in centuries-old monasteries. From the Lowcountry of South Carolina to the heights of the French Alps, Christians who have committed themselves to these borrowed rhythms are exchanging exhaustion for renewal and cynicism for wonder. Though a cloistered existence is markedly different from the calendar-ruled days of congregations, these monastic spiritual practices offer special benefits to pastors looking to find rest for their weary souls.

Psalms and Sweat

Father Joe Tedesco of Mepkin Abbey in Moncks Corner, South Carolina, spends most of his time in silence. Yet, he makes a deliberate departure from his quietude to uphold another cherished virtue: hospitality. This commitment to welcoming others is why Tedesco is regularly featured in local news segments, where he shares insights into the daily lives of the monks and invites others to visit and experience their serene way of life.

“Our work is prayer,” Tedesco says, “prayer for the church and the world. And so it’s that praise of God, and worshiping God, and living in the Word that is our life.”

The monks converse with God in the quiet of their own hearts and in groups throughout the day. Vigils begin at 4 a.m., the first of five daily gatherings. The brothers chant from Psalms—twice a month reciting the entire book—before spending 30 minutes in silent meditation.

In addition to their communal reflections, the monks at Mepkin Abbey also embrace the somatic spirituality of physical labor, finding God not just in quiet meditation but also in the sanctity of sweat. The brothers make a point to engage in farming, cleaning, and landscaping. This work generates some income, while it exerts and exhausts their bodies, which frees their hearts and minds to maintain a posture of prayer.

Though this dual devotion to prayer and physical labor may seem simplistic, it serves as a powerful tool. They are able to resist what the monks refer to as acedia, or the state of “spiritual boredom” that is often followed by “apathy and subsequent despair,” as defined by Harold L. Senkbeil in The Care of Souls.

And while apathy and despair may also seem like legitimate threats to the modern pastor, the Mepkin brothers’ solution—hours spent in silent reverie and reflection, followed by planting a field by hand—doesn’t seem directly replicable for those leading and shepherding congregations. Indeed, it isn’t. However, even though these practices are unique to monastic life, the underlying principle of nurturing both body and spirit through dedicated prayer and physical activity can be adapted in various, equally impactful ways.

For some, this may simply look like setting aside time each day for Scripture memorization. For others, it could include thinking about a name of God while walking around the neighborhood or praying while mowing the grass. The goal is neither perfect prayer nor intense physical training. Instead, the Mepkin monks demonstrate that the goal is found in the act itself: deep connection to God through ongoing conversation with him.

Walking with Fellow Pilgrims

Just as the silence of the monks allows for greater devotion to prayer, it also grows their love for one another. The Carthusian monks of the Grande Chartreuse in the French Alps take four-hour walks together each week. While they spend most of their time together in silence, these walks are dedicated to speaking with each other.

“The purpose of these recreations and walks,” one of the Carthusians explains in the documentary Into Great Silence, “is to maintain mutual affection and to further fraternal union, while ensuring good physical relaxation.”

The practice of a four-hour walk, as embraced by the Carthusian monks, may not be feasible for a ministry leader immersed in the demands of congregants and calendar requests. Yet, the purpose behind this practice—a consistent rhythm of mutual edification—holds special significance for those in ministry. In relationships, pastors are often required to give far more support and guidance than they receive, so reciprocal relationships, where pastors feel deeply understood and valued, are vital for their long-term health and success.

Pastors often think about their relationships to those whom they are leading. Drawing on the wisdom of the Carthusian brothers, pastors should also consider how to nurture relationships with those walking alongside them. “One who has unreliable friends soon comes to ruin,” says Proverbs 18:24, “but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.”

Even the most selfless, self-sufficient shepherds need such friendships. Jesus certainly did. As the perfect Son of God, Jesus sought, nurtured, and relied upon friendships for encouragement and support. Despite the risk and complexity of those relationships, with 12 men who rarely understood his teachings and one who would betray him, Jesus still chose to invest in his community. Instead of isolating himself, Jesus ate meals together with people, joined in celebrations with others, and even shared his sorrows with his disciples.

Victoria Atkinson White, director of grants at Leadership Education at Duke Divinity, interviewed hundreds of pastors and Christian leaders about the ways they stay holistically healthy. Many pointed to their friendships. “Early in my ministry, I remember thinking that as a pastor, being vulnerable and revealing my shortcomings could diminish the message of Christ through me,” recalled Lance, one of White’s interviewees. “Through time, therapy, and some periods of intense loneliness, I figured out I have to be totally real with . . . my inner circle. I have to choose these people wisely, but I have to have them.”

The journey to forge this inner circle is not for the faint of heart. It demands introspection and intentionality because it’s not merely about finding people to fill a void. Pastors must discern those with whom they share a profound, soul-nurturing connection. The value of these relationships is not found in the frequency of interactions but in the authenticity and depth of the connection. Whether it’s through a simple annual retreat or regular honest conversations (even via digital means like FaceTime), the key is in creating a space where pastors feel genuinely supported and understood. If that level of trust and connection is absent, consider what practical steps can be taken to build such relationships. Maybe it means confiding honestly and humbly with elders and chosen congregants who are too often held at an arm’s length. Maybe it is literally walking side by side with someone once a week. This intentional cultivation of deep, meaningful relationships is not a luxury; it’s a lifeline, essential for the well-being and sustainability of ministry.

Creation's Melody

At the heart of monastic life is an integrated approach, purposefully designed to create deeper spiritual and communal bonds. This approach also profoundly influences how the monks engage with their environment, reflecting a holistic connection to the natural world.

Tedesco notes the significance of the name Mepkin, a Native American word meaning “serene,” which is fitting with the abbey’s chirping birds, sprouting ferns, and hanging moss. Engaging with this backdrop, the monks devote themselves to gardening and contemplative walks along the river, seamlessly integrating their spiritual practices with the rhythm of creation.

In parallel, the Carthusian brothers of Grande Chartreuse are similarly connected with the physical world, as captured in the documentary. Into Great Silence is almost deafening with its lack of sound—limited to footsteps, prayers, and occasional singing. It invites viewers into the heart of a monastery nestled deep in the French Alps. In this near-silent world, Carthusians live a calm, disciplined life, deeply rooted in contemplation and prayer.

It might be easy to assume this Carthusian setting is entirely somber and austere, but that isn’t the full story. In one scene, several monks stand on a snowy mountain. Their white robes mirror the flake-covered ridge, the darker hues of their bald heads clearly visible. Two brothers climb higher than the rest and sled down, collapsing in a tangled heap at the bottom. The laughs of monks abruptly rupture the silence of both the serene mountainside and the film depicting it. The only thing more shocking than the sound is the beauty of it.

This moment is an expression of joy, delight, and worship, all harmoniously, gloriously intertwined. While a stark contrast to their usual solemnity, the laughter serves as a poignant reminder of the multifaceted nature of spiritual life, where prayer and reflection and grief and monotony often commingle with joy and lightheartedness and affection.

For the overworked and overburdened pastor, finding similar moments of joy and reprieve is crucial. It might not be a sled ride down a snowy mountain, but it could be as simple as a walk through the woods, a stroll on the beach, or a jog down a local park trail. These moments offer the chance to reconnect and step back from the demands of ministry to sit in the presence of God and nature.

Pastors can incorporate this monastic practice into their lives, be it in daily intentional moments or with retreats to monasteries or by spending time in nature. Spending a few hours every month in nature—equipped with a Bible, book, journal, and water bottle—echoes the monastic commitment to solitude and contemplation.

Monks show us the value of quiet devotion to God, dedication to community, and delight in the natural world. By embracing these principles in our own context, we can cultivate a spiritual rhythm that balances the demands of ministry with personal well-being. Through these rhythms and the Spirit’s guidance, we can find rest, connection, and the space for laughter to emerge as a shout of praise.

Nearly every pastor carries a narrative of vocation, a time they once whispered “yes” to the beauty and mystery of God’s grace. But over 40 percent are now contemplating retreat, the disillusionment most profound among young and female pastors. Outside the church, culture often shrugs with indifference, or worse, hostility. Within the church, cracks continue to spread, fracturing communities and amplifying loneliness.

The weight of the present relentlessly pushes. The question hangs heavy: How did we arrive at this precipice?

Clergy in Crisis

Church leaders, as spiritual paramedics, have borne the brunt of crises in recent years. From beloved congregants dying without funerals to the heartbreak of mass shootings and the rising tide of social unrest, pastors found themselves in perpetual triage, their phones abuzz with another news alert, prayer request, suggestion, or question.

The world has grown angrier, and that anger often targets Christianity. Scandals and abuses have tarnished the image of faith and fueled public disillusionment, reflected in the record low number of Americans claiming religious affiliation.

But most church leaders began their ministry in a different social landscape. “Being a pastor used to mean people assumed you were probably a moral person,” says Anglican deacon Ben Lansing of Our Church Speaks. “Now the assumption is often the reverse.” Lansing is conscious of wearing his clerical collar in public, aware it “can trigger people who were abused in the church, and that’s not a small group.”

Though pastors grapple with increased scrutiny and rising skepticism, contemporary issues carry past expectations. Cultural commentator and pastor Mark Sayers suggests that apolitical pulpits are actually a recent anomaly. “If you go back to, say, the 1600s, or the American Revolution, pastors were expected to weigh in on certain issues,” says Sayers, “because often the reverend was the most educated person in the room.”

This pattern is reemerging as congregations again are looking to pastors for guidance on a range of issues, from foreign strategy and presidential endorsements to Christian celebrities and birth control. These expectations mirror the broader societal polarization: “Because we are inundated with information,” Sayers says, “we look to our leaders to simplify it for us with this attitude of, ‘Just tell us who’s good and who’s bad.’”

Contemporary demands may create unique pressures for pastors, but Christianity is no stranger to clergy in crisis. Dating back to the Reformation and Great Awakening, seismic shifts fundamentally transformed the church’s role, reshaping both eras and laying the groundwork for the ongoing evolution of faith.

From Royalty to Reformation

The 16th-century Reformation, spearheaded by figures like Martin Luther and John Calvin, emerged as a direct response to clerical power and privilege while aiming to democratize access to God. Archbishop Thomas Zinkula describes the preceding period as one of “clericalism,” where priests were “put on a pedestal” and the laity expected to be “overly deferential and submissive.”

Medieval priests often functioned as religious professionals, exuding an air of authority akin to royalty. Under their oversight, prayers and Scripture shifted from familiar languages to esoteric tongues, becoming inaccessible to the common people. Even the Eucharist was transformed, writes Catholic deacon Jerome Buhman, from “a meal-like setting in house-churches” to “a more ritualized form in the basilicas” which were given by the Roman government.

In response, the Reformation dismantled clerical gatekeeping and fought to restore direct access to God for all believers. While this reform was essential, it also inadvertently led to certain challenges.

The first issue is the dilution of communal faith. The Reformation’s emphasis on a “priesthood of all believers,” a concept pulled from 1 Peter 2, was intended to empower individual faith. However, in the context of Western hyper- individualism, this focus can lead to isolated, lone-wolf spirituality, where communal aspects of faith are neglected.

Second, the problem of clericalism persists. While 16th-century priests withheld sacraments and spoke in esoteric tongues, modern-day clericalism can manifest in the undue loyalty expected by church elders, sometimes preventing necessary scrutiny or challenge. It can also appear in the reluctance to thoroughly investigate abuse allegations, under the assumption of a leader’s infallibility.

The juxtaposition in today’s church, where congregants entrust pastors with spiritual duties yet often reject teachings that don’t align with their own views, mirrors a tension that has been evolving since the Reformation. This movement, while liberating theology from clerical confines, planted the seeds of individualistic interpretations of faith. It also set the stage for another significant shift in Christian history: the Great Awakening.

From Tent Revivals to Televangelists

The Great Awakening, as described by historian Clarence C. Goen, emphasized “a meaningful relationship of the individual to God . . . stress[ing] personal repentance and faith, warm devotion, and assurance that they were in truth the children of God.” This movement, spanning from the 1730s to the 1740s, marked a pivotal period in American religious history, profoundly influencing the fabric of American Christianity.

During this era, George Whitefield emerged as one of the Great Awakening’s most charismatic preachers, rousing the colonies with drama and verve. He attracted enormous crowds, sometimes numbering up to 30,000 people. Benjamin Franklin, one of his contemporaries, was overwhelmed by Whitefield’s powerful delivery. He observed that “every accent, every emphasis, every modulation of voice, was so perfectly well turned and well placed that . . . one could not help being pleased with the discourse, a pleasure of much the same kind as that received from an excellent piece of music.”

Theatrics in worship weren’t born in the modern megachurch. Whitefield’s sermons, captivating and stirring, drew out laughter, tears, even swoons, all fueled by a profound call to action. As the Great Awakening winds swept through the colonies, folks flocked to open fields to hear preachers like Jonathan Edwards, Samuel Davies, and Gilbert Tennent. Going to only one or two tent revivals a year, they craved lasting impact. So demand grew for emotionally charged preaching, dramatic conversions, and intense personal encounters with God. Pastors and music leaders became entertainers of sorts, hoping good programming could spark the Spirit if he wasn’t already moving. This performance-driven approach laid the groundwork for the later rise of televangelists, who further blurred the line between entertainment and spiritual experience.

The revivalism that ignited the centuries to come changed American Christianity, shaping society and birthing movements for abolition, temperance, women’s suffrage, and more. However, a worrying shift also arose. Christians began judging preachers on charisma, not character, and evaluating churches on emotional resonance rather than faithfulness.

The reverberations of those arena-style sermons are still felt in today’s consumerist church attitudes. We yearn for an encounter with God, but we expect our pastors and worship leaders to deliver it on demand.

At the Algorithm’s Altar

Our digital world has only amplified the shifts in American Christianity sparked by the Reformation and Great Awakening. Smartphone apps—as tech writers like Andy Crouch, Jay Kim, and Adam Graber argue—are shrinking our attention spans for Scripture, worship, and listening to God. They draw us away from real-life connections and reward negativity. Bombastic video clips and inflammatory comments generate more clicks and profits than thoughtful, grace-filled discussions.

“People’s minds are being baptized not by communal meditation on the Scriptures to have the shared mind of Christ,” says pastor and author David Tieche, “but on the fear-driven, divisive politics of the day. . . . The iPhone really has discipled people.”

Technology, however, also offers a double-edged sword. With it comes customizable access to a buffet of high-quality Christian content. Don’t like your pastor’s sermon? No problem; a YouTube “prophet” with slickly produced videos might be just a tap away.

“We’ve come to this place where some YouTube ‘prophet’ has more influence and authority over you than your real pastor,” says pastor and author Aubrey Sampson in an interview with CT. “We have walked through marriage counseling and miscarriages, sat in hospital rooms and had dinner with you, we know you—but suddenly some guy online has more say in your life.”

Barna Group March 2022 Pastor Survey

Lamenting Together

While these challenges have simmered for generations within the evangelical movement, the upheavals of recent years have pushed them to a boiling point. So, how do we move forward? The answer might seem counterintuitive. Instead of scrambling for a grand solution, perhaps it’s time to pause and lament.

Despite the parade of scandals and catastrophes, many of us have simply kept our heads down and soldiered on. Maybe it’s time for a public acknowledgment: We can’t fix the problems of our day, inside or outside the church. We need God’s intervention.

Lament isn’t just wallowing in despair. As Sampson says, it grants us the ability to “speak the weight of these sad times, declare to God the absence of his shalom, and remind him of his promises.” This is why pastors are meant to be community mourners, like Jeremiah, the weeping prophet. We need leaders to guide us in modeling loss.

Many of us haven’t even processed everything we have lost, pushed by a culture that urges us to quickly move on. But as Christian Wiman warns, unaddressed grief will make itself known, showing up in “every kind of crying but the kind you can see.” Our bodies keep the score. Bottled sorrow can metastasize into physical ailments, unexplained fatigue, heartache, weakened immunity, or constant irritation.

Yet, many American Christians are terrible at grieving. We prefer to skip to the “Hallelujah Chorus.” We’re deeply disconnected from our bodies, emotions, each other, and the God we serve. Instead of facing the pain, pressure, and confusion, we work harder or numb ourselves with entertainment and substances.

But shutting down our sadness, silencing our bodies, and isolating ourselves locks the door to the wonder we crave. Lament might be the key. Simple faith is only found on the other side of complete surrender.

When we lament, especially together, we embrace the reality that God is our only hope. We return to the simple truth that he, and only he, will make all things new (Rev. 21:5). This fertile ground is where a renewed sense of wonder begins to take root.

Wonder’s Return

Formal theological training might equip clergy with knowledge, but little prepares them for the essential dance with wonder. As Eugene Peterson reminds us in Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places, wonder is “that astonished willingness to stop what we are doing, to stand still, open-eyed and open-handed, ready to take in what is ‘more and other.’” Without it, he warns, we become moral workaholics, malformed by effort rather than shaped by the Spirit.

Absent the prism of wonder, we’re left grasping, spinning the world on trembling fingers. Weariness whispers that the engine of striving sputters and stalls. Disenchantment settles in, heavy as dusk.

“Yes,” echoes Sayers, “platforms have been torn down. Idols have been exposed. Maybe our disenchantment is the opportunity to see things through a truer spiritual vision.” Sayers has glimpsed a different church, forged in the crucible of his wife Trudi’s aggressive cancer diagnosis. The prayers of a global community move him to tears, a chorus of voices that transcends borders and limitations.

Even in the crucible, through the cracks of hardship, “the church is at work,” Sayers affirms. “We are seeing new patterns of prayer, new patterns of knowing your limitations. We are being recalibrated to the kingdom.”

Sobered by our human bounds, yet bathed in the luminescence of wonder, we return to a childlike faith. Awe unwinds the knotted threads of self. Honest lament keeps our hearts tender to joy. In wonder’s embrace, our days sing with gratitude.

Music stirs our souls. Silence humbles. The Bread and the Cup astonish us anew. This is a radical departure from the world’s script, a symphony whispered only to those attuned to wonder’s song.

Whispers of Hope

In a world that prioritizes productivity, weary pastors might be forgiven for succumbing to burnout. After all, they stand between the resonance of past traditions and the clamor of modern challenges, hunched over as they protect a flickering ember of wonder that struggles against the wind.

The Reformation echoes of clericalism and individualism. The Great Awakening yearns for personal encounters. The digital deluge shrinks attention spans and frays connection. In each, there are seeds of both blessing and burden, reminders that the path of ministry is one of both profound joy and crushing weight.

But amid the shadows, there are whispers of hope. It won’t be a quick fix, no divine panacea, but a slow tending of the soul. A patient opening to the whispers of the sacred found in the ordinary. For even the most disillusioned pastor, God is not absent. He has not left. He is still the ever-present companion, as silent and steadfast as the ancient trees themselves.

Recapturing Wonder in a Cynical Age

Full Screen

1 of 4

Barna Group March 2022 Pastor Survey

Infographic 1

Full Screen

2 of 4

Barna Group March 2022 Pastor Survey

Full Screen

3 of 4

Barna Group March 2022 Pastor Survey

Full Screen

4 of 4

Barna Group March 2022 Pastor Survey

I hope this issue gives you hope.

But I want to give a disclaimer.

I don’t want you to think that the destination of hope indicates a pleasant road ahead. The journey toward hope is often bumpy, and we tend to find hope along these unexpected paths of grief that we’re forced to travel.

I use the word along intentionally because so often we’re led to believe that joy comes after grief. But grief is always fresh—especially for those of us in ministry. We know what it is to suffer vigorously in our own lives, and we also know the unique burden that comes from suffering vicariously as our shoulders are forced to hold the tears and the losses of other’s infertility, infidelity, miscarriages, and funerals.

As these hard days swell into harder years, it becomes clear that sorrow, hurt, and grief are like waves on the beach. As one subsides, another one rises and makes its way to our feet. In this we learn two things: The griefs keep coming, and those that have already come have a knack for sticking around.

Grief doesn’t have an expiration date.

If we’re waiting on some end to the suffering, we’re missing out on so much of the joy that comes along the way. When a small group of us started a church almost a decade ago, we prayed that God would knit our hearts together as a family. We set out to do this work, and we knew that with this small group, we needed to be close. And we were shocked at the ways he did that.

In the first year of our church plant, over and over again, we attended the funeral of a loved one, a brother or sister, a close friend, family member, or somebody who was a part of our church.

These losses came like waves, and we thought the sorrow would drown us. But in that tumultuous time, the sorrow reminded us that if we were going to stay afloat, we had to cling to one another.

God did answer our prayer and knit our hearts together as family—by allowing us to mourn and weep together. And it’s produced a depth of relationships. It’s produced resilience and perseverance. It’s produced a deep and abiding joy that isn’t blinded by life’s shallow substitutes.

It’s convinced me that grief and joy aren’t parallel streets that require us to exit grief to reach joy. In reality, grief and suffering and hope and joy are all winding roads that intersect in the most unexpected places.

I hope that this special issue is that place for you. I hope that in these pages you find some points of divine intersection. I hope you’re reminded that joy doesn’t come after grief but is found all along it.

Tragedy doesn’t ruin us. Hopelessness does.

My prayer is the following pages help you to hold on to hope.

Peace,

John Onwuchekwa

John Onwuchekwa—theologian, entrepreneur, and community champion—has joined Christianity Today as the director of leadership resources. John’s passion lies in empowering Black and Brown communities and nurturing diverse churches, all while working to elevate underrepresented voices and foster church growth and spiritual engagement. In his new role, John aims to infuse his academic research, pastoral insights, and entrepreneurial spirit into developing resources and strategies that support and energize church leaders across cultural and denominational backgrounds. His commitment to authentic ministry and practical wisdom makes him an invaluable asset to the CT Pastors community.