I wrote a sentence in the front of my Prayer Book, a line I still return to often: There is only one Savior of the universe, and you are not it.
I have served Calvary–Saint George’s Episcopal Church for nearly twenty years. In 2012, when I became Priest-in-Charge, the congregation was struggling. Attendance was low. Energy was low. Conflict was high. Everything felt fragile. Without realizing it at first, I stepped into a role that no preacher should ever occupy: Savior of the church.
I took on the posture of Mr. Fix-It, convinced (if not explicitly, then at least emotionally) that the future of the parish depended on me. My preaching. My leadership. My stamina. And in doing so, I forgot something my mentor, the Reverend Dr. Paul Zahl, taught me years earlier:
“I cannot save my parish, nor can anything I do save my parish. But because of God’s grace, any parish can always be saved, and great things can be accomplished. The grace of God takes the burden off you and me and places it where it belongs—in the context of a non-judgmental relationship with God.”
This truth slipped quietly out of my hands. The pandemic did not help. Old buildings did not help. Anxiety did not help. And over time, I developed habits which were shaped not by grace, but by fear.
Eventually, I wrote a sentence in the front of my Prayer Book, a line I still return to often:
There is only one Savior of the universe, and you are not it.
For about a decade, the first two keys of this series sat unused.
Working intentionally on the first two keys (calendar management and time with God) eventually made room for the third key to the care of the preacher’s soul: Learning to spend time with yourself. Not in isolation or indulgence, but in honesty, health, and truth.
There are three practices, in particular, that have been essential for me.
1. Getting Help
I meet weekly with a therapist. I knew, intellectually, this mattered. What I did not fully understand was how deeply my call to preach was connected to old wounds, some reaching back to my childhood.
Jesus speaks to us through our wounds. Human sin can distort the message, but He does speak there. And when my wounds are brought into contact with His wounds, something redemptive happens. By His stripes, we are healed.
Martin Luther once said that the root determines the fruit. My Jewish therapist puts it more directly: “You have to address the internal to remedy the external.”
Therapy has helped me ask uncomfortable but necessary questions: Where does my drive toward workaholism come from? Why is it so hard to say no? What am I trying to prove, and to whom?
Where does my drive toward workaholism come from? Why is it so hard to say no? What am I trying to prove, and to whom?
Unchecked, these internal forces shape our present and can quietly sabotage our future. Facing them is not weakness. It is wisdom.
2. Keeping Real Friends
I have also surrounded myself with a small group of trusted friends; fellow pastors, who know me, love me, and are not impressed by my collar or my sermons. We meet annually, and they understand the demands of the vocation. There is deep trust in our relationship, and because there is trust, there is truth.
Like the New York City subway slogan, “If you see something, say something,” they do. And because I know I am loved, it never lands as judgment, only care. Every preacher needs people, beyond our spouses, who can speak honestly into our lives. Without that, isolation takes over, and isolation is fertile ground for burnout and self-deception.
3. Having Something that Is Yours
This last practice may sound small, but it has been enormously important. I have something I love to do that has nothing to do with ministry. It involves no one from my church. It produces nothing for my congregation. And I am under no obligation to share it with anyone.
In an earthly sense, it is mine. This is not selfishness. It is, as my therapist reminds me, differentiation. It is remembering I am more than what I produce, more than my last sermon, and more than my role as rector.
This practice connects directly to Sabbath. It reinforces the truth that my worth is not measured by output, attendance, or applause. I am a child of God before I am a preacher.
Freedom for the Long Road
And that brings us to the third key to the soul care of the preacher: Knowing who, and who not, you are. You are not the Savior. You are defined by Christ and His righteousness. Your church will not be fixed by your next sermon. Institutions, no matter how beloved, will not love you back.
But Jesus loves you. He is your life.
So, enjoy your forgiveness. Enjoy your freedom. Get help. Find friends. Do something that gives you joy and make it yours. You may be surprised by the stamina, depth, and honesty that returns to your preaching when you stop trying to save the church and allow the Holy Spirit to care for your soul.
