Because Christ has already said, “Yes,” on your behalf, you are free, indeed, called to say no...sometimes...
I want to begin with a confession. Not the theoretical kind, but the honest kind.
I have been in ministry for nearly twenty-five years, ordained for twenty of those, most of them spent in New York City. I currently serve as Rector of Calvary-Saint George’s Episcopal Church in Manhattan. I love the Church. I love preaching. Yet, despite teaching and exhorting others about spiritual health, I often fail rather spectacularly at caring for my own soul.
Like many preachers, I am prone to what I can only describe as a self-justification project. I busy myself with ministry in order to feel necessary, validated, and indispensable. And in the process, my soul (along with my marriage, my friendships, and sometimes my joy) gets neglected.
That is why any honest conversation about the soul care of the preacher must begin not with technique, but with confession. Before we talk about practices, strategies, or habits, we must first be real about our failure to practice it. Soul care is not how we earn our standing before God. It is the fruit of our justification in Christ, worked out within our vocation as pastors and preachers.
We care for our souls not so God will love us, but because He already does.
A Complex and Exhausting Moment
We are preaching in an extraordinarily complex moment in the life of the Church. Ours is a church experiencing measurable decline, fractured by political polarization, caught between the competing distortions of Christian Nationalism and Progressive Moralism. Nevertheless, the call to preach the Gospel remains unchanged, because the Gospel is still the power of God unto salvation.
But to preach that Gospel faithfully over the long haul requires something many of us are dangerously lacking: Endurance. Soul care is not a luxury for preachers. It is essential equipment for running what is a long, difficult, and, by God’s grace, wonderful race.
The data tells a sobering story. According to the Barna Group, only one in three pastors considers themselves spiritually healthy. Fifty-two percent report feeling overwhelmed and burned out to the point that they are either actively considering leaving ministry or already planning to do so; not for another church, but altogether.
Between 2015 and 2023, pastors reporting excellence in spiritual well-being dropped from 37% to 14%. Physical well-being fell from 24% to 9%. Mental and emotional health plummeted from 39% to 11%. Overall quality of life declined from 42% to 18%.
Behind those numbers are real people. I remember speaking with one such pastor two years ago. He was gifted, articulate, and leading one of the fastest-growing church plants in New York City. The pandemic broke him. When I asked about his spiritual life, he said, “My calendar is completely overbooked. I only open the Bible for sermon prep. I haven’t attended a single one of my daughter’s choral performances. I haven’t slept with my wife for months. And no matter what I do, I can’t make anyone happy.”
He eventually left ministry. Last I heard, he was working for his father’s landscaping business in the Midwest.
We care for our souls not so God will love us, but because He already does.
The Tyranny of Pace
In 2024, I ran the New York City Marathon for the second time. It is an extraordinary experience with millions of people cheering you on through all five boroughs. Yet, despite the energy and encouragement, many runners fail to finish the race for one simple reason: They lose control of their pace.
The same is true for preachers.
The soul care of the preacher begins, quite practically, with control over one’s calendar, which is to say, control over one’s personal life. This is not merely a logistical issue. It is a spiritual one. Our culture celebrates workaholism as a virtue, even as a kind of holiness. The preacher who is always present, always available, always busy is often praised as faithful and committed.
The Church reinforces this through what is sometimes called a “theology of availability.” The pastor is expected to say, “Yes,”—always. Yes, to the meeting. Yes, to the coffee. Yes, to the committee. Yes, to the last-minute request. And when we comply, we often tell ourselves we are being sacrificial.
But more often than not, this constant availability is not sacrificial, it is compulsive. It is the fruit of an unmanaged calendar and an anxious soul. And in such cases, the preacher is not the victim of busyness but the perpetrator of it.
When our lives are ruled by relentless activity, something always gives way. Sermon preparation becomes rushed or reactive. Family life erodes. Prayer is reduced to professional obligation. And, eventually, the preacher stands in the pulpit with nothing left to give.
Learning to Say, “No”
This brings us to the first key to soul care: Learning the spiritual discipline of limitation.
Saint Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 1:20, “For in Him every one of God’s promises is a ‘Yes.’” That “Yes” belongs to Christ alone. We are not infinite. We are dust. We are mortal. And when we forget this, we attempt to live as if the world (and the Church) rests on our shoulders.
It does not.
Christ is your justification, not your productivity, not your availability, not your ability to please everyone. And because Christ has already said, “Yes,” on your behalf, you are free, indeed, called to say no...sometimes...
Sometimes it is done gently, sometimes firmly, and sometimes, if we are honest, very firmly.
Learning to say no is not an act of selfishness. It is an act of faith. It is trusting that God will care for His Church even when you are not present, even when you are not indispensable, and even when you close your calendar and rest.
The soul care of the preacher begins here: With the courage to live at a human pace, grounded in grace, trusting that the Gospel, not our exhaustion, is what sustains the Church
