Another pastor died a few weeks ago, this one from an apparently self-inflected gunshot wound. There is uncertainty surrounding Darrin Patrick’s death. We do not know if the death was accidental or intentional. Pastors who heard of his death, however, almost immediately assumed it was intentional. Most of them greeted the news of his death in the same way I did:

“Oh no. Not another one.”

If you are not a pastor, you may not have noticed, but there has been a surge of pastoral suicide in recent years. This is why, despite the confusing circumstances surrounding Darrin’s death, most pastors assumed he had taken his own life. The recent suicides have prompted pastors to huddle and ask pointed questions. Most notably, we are asking: What about our profession is leading us—the ones who are supposed to help heal—to feel such despair? We must figure this out, or the quiet devastation will only continue to build. I am writing about this today, because I am still emotionally raw from Darrin’s death. I know if I wait until I feel better I won’t write at all. At the same time, I am afraid of what I am about to write, because I do not want my words to be taken as anger or ungratefulness. I am not angry. And I am extremely grateful to have served as a pastor for these twenty-five years.

I love being a pastor. But I need to say these things.

Some caveats: First, I have never felt the need to take my own life. I have, however, considered quitting. Second, I do not represent all pastors, but I think I know the hearts of many of them. Finally, I am affected by my particular experiences and personality type, so my comments will likely have many blind spots. With those admissions behind me, I’ll note a few of the reasons I believe pastors are taking their own lives (and quitting and burning out) at what appears to be an unprecedented rate.

Inability to Separate From the Office. I am a pastor in Houston. I love the city and the people. But I am not from Houston. Most every person in Houston who knows me has only known me as Pastor Steve. Unlike family and old friends, to my fellow Houstonians, I have always been a member of the clergy. Yes, of course, they know that—theoretically—there was a moment when I wasn’t reading theology and writing sermons. They simply have never seen it. This means that when I go out into town, people see me as my office—as a pastor. In one sense, this is like many professions. My wife is an educator, so I have watched small children wave shyly at her in the grocery store for twenty-one years. She is always a teacher, at least in their eyes.

Somewhat differently, however, when my wife is not at school, she is not expected to be an educator—at least not professionally. This is the way it is for most people. When they are not at work, they are not working. For pastors, however, we are almost always clergy. I am a pastor, both to those in my congregation and to those who simply know I am a pastor. People approach me in the movie theater, in restaurants, at school events for my kids, and at parties. They have spiritual questions; they need counseling; they want to understand part of the Bible; they want to find out information about the church. This, of course, is separate from the normal “business” of the church, the questions from members, deacons, staff and elders. Again, let me be clear: I do not begrudge this. I love being a pastor. But a reality of pastoring is that pastors are almost always “on.”

In short: Pastors are always pastors, and, over time, it wears many of us down.

This inability to separate the person from the office leads to the next occupational hazard I see:

Inability to Make Deep Friendships. If every person in your relational sphere knows you as a pastor, then it impairs the ability to have deep friendships. It’s difficult to explain this dynamic. Most everyone likes their pastor. Most everyone wants to be able to have access to their pastor. Most people even want to have the occasional social interaction with their pastor. But most people don’t want to truly know their pastor. Think about it: If you know your pastor too well, then you will soon discover that your pastor is not perfect. And, for most of us, we need to maintain the illusion that our pastor is at least a better person than I am. (News flash: We aren’t.)

In most churches the clergy/member relationship is quite complex. It is close enough so that we can have a high degree of familiarity, but not so close as to produce intimacy. For this reason, Joy (my wife) and I may have dozens of social engagements on the calendar, yet few (if any) of them will be by our design and few (if any) of them will be with the same people. Different personality types handle such arrangements differently, but for my wife (an extreme introvert) and me (someone who yearns for relational intimacy), social bouncing leaves both of us emotionally exhausted. Joy is exhausted from the unnatural extroversion; I am exhausted from maintaining dozens and dozens of relationships at a level that is something far beyond shallow but never quite approaching deep. I know them; they rarely know me.

I imagine some of you are thinking, “Well then. Why don’t you just make friends with some of your congregational members?” Great question. And, honestly, I am working towards doing so. Unfortunately, pastors have learned that it takes several years in a church to discern individual relational motives within a congregation. I speak from experience. Over the last twenty-five years I have learned the hard way that some church members simply want to feel special. Others merely want some sort of emotional connection that many pastors (often more emotionally attuned than other individuals) can provide that can’t be found at home. Others simply want to be close to the pastor so that they can influence decisions within the church.

Blessedly, not every person—nor even the majority of people—in a congregation is like this. But you can see why many pastors move slowly and cautiously. We are often wondering: Where can we be ourselves? Where can we be a normal person and not face reprisal? Where can we take off our pastoral hat, if only for a couple of hours?

Unlimited Accessibility. There are exceptions, but almost every night I am messaged by at least one person: “Hey, Steve. Sorry to bother you, but I need to talk to someone.” I count this as a divine and holy privilege. Over the years I have counseled individuals through marital issues, suicidal thoughts, addictions, abusive situations, and any number of other situations over the phone—both calls and texts. Now that is expanded to social media. I have fielded questions through Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

To be clear: I love doing this. To also be clear: This is sometimes overwhelming.

When a suicidal person messages you during family game night, do you answer? When the man who has been teetering at the edge of addiction and infidelity reaches out to you while you are on family vacation, do you respond?

The advent of the Internet means anyone from my past can find me. And they do. Friends from high school and college reach out. The portability of cell phone numbers means that those who had my number in 2005 have my number today. I have pastored hundreds of different individuals during that season. And they all have immediate access.

You might see how some 21st century pastors often feel overwhelmed by the relational demand.

Political Divisiveness. I am not the first person to note that our world is divided sharply among political lines, especially in recent days. This hyper-politicization means that sometimes pastors find themselves making proclamations that are thoroughly biblical, yet under scrutiny. In the last decade or so I have had people ask me why I was getting political after mentioning we should care more about poor children. The Bible clearly says God defends the cause of the poor. I have had people wonder why I was being political when I spoke out regarding race. The Bible clearly says God has created all people in His image and that He desires the redemption of all nations. I have had people ask me why I was being political when I said we should love refugees. The Bible clearly says we should love the sojourner. You can add any number of issues to the previous mentions: abortion, sexuality, etc.

Issues that were once considered “biblical” are now regularly categorized as too “political.” This creates a tension in the act of preaching that, in my opinion, is not healthy. It is always uncomfortable to tell the truth. But I think our hyper-politicized society makes many issues controversial which have complete biblical grounding. As Eugene Peterson said (paraphrasing here), “The Kingdom of God is more political than anyone believes, but in a way that no one expects.”

What To Do? If you have read this far, thank you. You clearly have a heart for pastors and want to help them. So do I. So what should we do about these things? I don’t have any silver bullets in my gun belt, but I do have a few slugs to shoot at the target. Here are a few of my thoughts:

Counseling/Therapy. Most every pastor needs to regularly see a counselor. Most of them don’t for a variety of reasons: fear, shame, confidentiality concerns, or something else. But a man who is flailing in deep emotional waters without help will, eventually, drown. I am currently seeing a counselor, and I have zero shame in that. I personally believe that we need to create a norm where pastors can see a counselor and talk about doing so openly from the pulpit. I find that a large percentage of pastors are pastoring with massive wounds from the past, and those wounds prevent them from becoming personally healthy, and, consequently, those wounds prevent them from helping others.

Rest. I think pastors need a regular time to “take off the pastoral hat.” I also think they need permission to turn off their phone, to not answer e-mail. Rhythms will vary depending on the congregation, but I can envision something like:

Sabbath Seasons. Another leader (staff or other) takes all pastoral calls. An e-mail is sent to the church letting them know that the pastor will be unavailable during that weekend. Or the pastor is allowed to turn off his phone on the same day every single week, likely on Saturdays. Or some other system that makes sense within that church. In short, the pastor needs to not only be able to get away, but the church needs to know that this is good and expected from other leaders (elders, committees, etc.).

Sabbaticals. I once had a sabbatical to write my doctoral dissertation, so I don’t know if that counts, as I wasn’t a lead pastor at that time. But I think that the rhythm of pastors having a season every seven or so years to step away for three or four months is a good idea. I think there should be design to the sabbatical—planned readings, counseling, exercise, and the like. To be clear, this does not mean that the pastor should simply “be out of the pulpit.” This means that he should be recharging by getting out of the weeds of day-to-day operations in addition to getting out of the pulpit. The goal is recreation in order to re-create the pastor’s passion for the pastorate.

Refresh. Once or twice a year (maybe on one or two of those Sabbath weekends referred to above) the pastor needs to go see old friends or family members where there is no pastoral expectation. Pastors needs to go be with people who do not expect him to be “on,” who do not need a service from him. He needs to be completely at ease, to simply be a person, to simply be. If he is married, he should take his wife and see old couple friends—if possible. Relational health is only created when space for healing is carved out.

Shepherding/Accountability. My experience as a pastor tells me that pastors are very good at taking care of others but are not very good at taking care of themselves. Someone—a team, an elder council, a trusted advisor—must take on the job of intentionally shepherding the pastor. They need to ask questions: How are you spiritually? How are you emotionally? Are you in counseling right now? Do you need to be? How are things at home? Are you having any dark thoughts? Shepherds, too, need a shepherd. They need someone to reign them in when they are out of line. They need someone to speak the truth to them, in love.

Thanks for reading. These thoughts are somewhat unformed, and they are raw. But I am also tired of watching pastors die and quit. I am convinced that we have a problem in the pastorate, and I am further convinced that we must do something. I hope these thoughts help begin a conversation that will promote health and, hopefully, save a life.