The Pastor’s Pen

Introduction

I do not know that I have ever served in a pastoral role without feeling overburdened, overworked, and dangerously close to running on empty. From the outside, I looked productive—faithful, even. However, underneath it all, I was afraid. Afraid of failing. Afraid of being seen as weak. Afraid that if I did not deliver, I could be replaced. So I kept going. I kept performing. Not because I did not love God or people—but because somewhere along the way, I learned that ministry success looked like constantly proving your worth. Moreover, the truth is that I am not alone.

You do not have to dig far to hear similar stories. Just ask around on any church staff. It is everywhere. The worship leader is running five services with no rest. The student pastor is quietly drowning in midweek programming, event planning, and crisis management. The children’s director leads like a full-time department head for part-time pay. Turnover in these roles is not just about budget cuts or new vision statements—it is often the symptom of a deeper issue: a culture of performance that refuses to let pastors be human.

This paper examines the spiritual and theological costs of performance-driven ministry and the ways it subtly erodes identity, joy, and sustainability. Burnout in pastors is not just a psychological issue—it is a theological one. At its Root is a confusion of identity: a subtle but powerful lie that what we do for God is more important than who we are in Him. The good news is that the Apostle Paul offers a counter-story—a theology of weakness that reframes leadership, not around strength or results, but around grace, surrender, and participation in the life of Christ. This paper argues that Paul’s theology of weakness offers a vital theological and pastoral response to the burnout crisis in church leadership by reorienting identity away from performance and toward grace, dependence, and spiritual rest.

Identifying the Dilemma: Burnout in Ministry

In recent years, a growing number of Pastors have confessed to feeling overextended, emotionally depleted, and spiritually dry. The symptoms are widespread and sobering. According to the Barna Group’s 2024 research, 33% of Protestant senior pastors considered quitting full-time ministry within the past year, 60% had significantly doubted their calling, and 25% had experienced a crisis of faith. Most strikingly, 18% of pastors reported having contemplated self-harm or suicide. These are not just alarming statistics—they represent a systemic identity crisis in church leadership.

At the heart of this crisis is an insidious cultural pressure: the expectation to perform. While some of this pressure is external—measured in weekly attendance numbers, budget benchmarks, and social media engagement—it is often internalized by pastors themselves. In his book Serving the People of God’s Presence, Terry L. Cross argues that many pastors have adopted secular leadership models rooted in metrics, strategy, and charisma rather than in spiritual formation. “Ministry,” he writes, “has too often been shaped by the business world, where success is defined by upward growth, efficiency, and control.” This framing shifts the pastoral role from stewarding God’s presence to managing a brand, subtly transforming ministry into a platform for production rather than a space for spiritual formation.

Cross’s concern is echoed by Mark J. Cartledge, who frames burnout as not only a psychological issue but also a theological one. In his article “Empirical Theology: Interdisciplinary Considerations,” Cartledge argues that empirical research within theology must not reduce lived experience to data but instead integrate it with theological reflection. In other words, understanding burnout requires more than counting how many pastors are tired—it demands asking why their identities have become so fragile in the first place. When ministry becomes a task to perform rather than a vocation to embody, the cost is not only exhaustion—it is spiritual disorientation. Pastors begin to believe their worth is measured by how much they produce rather than how faithfully they abide in Christ.

This culture of performance shapes ministry environments where vulnerability is perceived as a liability and weakness is viewed as a failure. Many pastors, fearing judgment or replacement, mask their exhaustion beneath constant productivity. In doing so, they internalize a theology of self-reliance—a functional belief that God helps those who help themselves, even when their souls are crumbling. Left unexamined, this theological distortion becomes the silent driver of burnout, isolating leaders from the very grace they preach to others.

The deeper cost of performance-based ministry is theological. Michael Gorman names this dynamic clearly in his articulation of a “cruciform identity”—a way of being shaped by the pattern of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection. In his book Apostle of the Crucified Lord, Gorman describes Christian leadership not as the pursuit of power or competence but as the embodiment of Christ’s humility and self-giving love. “Paul’s apostleship,” Gorman notes, “was marked by suffering and weakness, not success in any conventional sense.” For Paul, weakness was not a barrier to God’s power but the very context in which divine strength was revealed.

Gordon D. Fee echoes this vision in his commentary on the book of Philippians. Reflecting on Philippians 2:5–8, Fee emphasizes the significance of Christ’s kenosis—His self-emptying—as the paradigm for Christian leadership. Far from defending His rights, Jesus humbled Himself, taking on the form of a servant and becoming obedient to death. This voluntary descent—what Fee calls “the downward mobility of the cross”—stands in direct contrast to the upward mobility glorified in modern ministry models. For Paul and Jesus, power is expressed not in domination or production but in self-sacrificial love and presence.

This theological vision confronts the logic of performance at its roots. In 2 Corinthians 12:9–10, Paul recounts how Christ responded to his plea for relief by saying, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Paul’s response is not resentment but radical embrace: “Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” In this moment, Paul reframes weakness not as something to hide but as a sacred space where grace is most fully revealed.

The transition from performance to weakness requires more than a shift in schedule—it demands a reorientation of identity. Ministry must be understood not as something we achieve but as something we receive and participate in. The Apostle Paul offers not only a critique of performance culture but a compelling counter-narrative: a theology of weakness that invites pastors to recover joy, rest, and presence by embracing the sufficiency of grace. In the next section, this counter-narrative will be explored as the theological foundation for reimagining leadership in the context of burnout.

Paul’s Theology of Weakness

The apostle Paul’s theology of weakness does not function as an occasional pastoral aside—it is central to his understanding of Christian identity and ministry. Two texts stand at the heart of this paradigm: 2 Corinthians 12:9–10 and Philippians 2:5–8. Together, they reveal a cruciform vision of leadership rooted not in dominance or performance but in surrender, humility, and dependence on divine grace.

In 2 Corinthians 12, Paul recounts how the Lord responded to his plea for relief from a “thorn in the flesh”: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (v. 9). Rather than remove the source of suffering, God reframes it. Paul learns to boast in his weakness so that Christ’s power might rest upon him. The statement “when I am weak, then I am strong” (v. 10) is not a contradiction—it is the Christian life distilled.

Frank J. Matera, in II Corinthians: A Commentary, argues that Paul’s theology of weakness is not incidental—it is essential. According to Matera, Paul defines apostolic authority through suffering and dependence, not success or status. Matera writes, “Paul redefines weakness as the arena in which divine power operates” and places the Cross at the center of apostolic identity and vocation.

Similarly, Philippians 2:5–8 presents what many scholars refer to as the “Christ Hymn,” a theological and ethical cornerstone in Pauline theology. “Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus… who emptied himself… becoming obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross.” Here, Paul portrays the Son’s kenosis—his self-emptying—as the ultimate model for Christian living. Gordon Fee observes that Christ’s emptying is not a temporary strategy but “a revelation of the very character of God.” The weakness of Christ is not weakness despite divinity—it is divinity disclosed through weakness.

Fee’s reading of Philippians emphasizes the countercultural nature of Paul’s leadership model. Paul’s imprisonment, loss of status, and rejection of worldly accolades are not unfortunate consequences—they are embodiments of his calling. Fee explains, “Weakness and vulnerability, as displayed in the incarnation and crucifixion, are not temporary but eternal realities of divine love.”

Andrew Root reinforces this theme in his peer-reviewed essay, “The Suffering of God and the Cross of Ministry,” where he argues that ministry is not primarily a matter of effective technique but rather a matter of faithful presence. Root insists that pastoral work is cruciform, shaped by the suffering of Christ and the limits of human strength. He writes, “God is most profoundly revealed not in our strength or success but in moments of weakness, suffering, and despair.” In his view, leaders are called not to conquer but to participate in Christ’s suffering love, confessing their humanity and practicing presence rather than performance.

Paul’s theology of weakness is not only a biblical and theological reality—it forms the foundation of his leadership model. For Paul, leadership is not defined by charisma, productivity, or competence but by one’s willingness to follow the crucified Christ. Weakness is not disqualification from leadership—it is the very qualification.

Terry L. Cross reinforces this idea in Serving the People of God’s Presence. He critiques modern ministry models that prioritize performance, platform, and production over the sacred stewardship of God’s presence. In contrast to the CEO or celebrity pastor paradigm, Cross calls leaders to be “servants of the sacred,” deeply attuned to the Spirit’s work rather than their strategic brilliance. He writes, “To serve the people of God’s presence is to relinquish control and submit to the Spirit’s leading, often in our frailty and limitations.”

Andrew Root echoes this in Faith Formation in a Secular Age, where he presents a vision of ministry not as the transmission of content or moral performance but as an encounter with divine action. Ministry, he suggests, must return to its cruciform roots—where weakness, loss, and lament are not threats to faith but the very places where God is most present. Root warns against models of ministry that mimic business or entertainment, urging instead a theology that “attends to what God is doing, often in hidden, cross-shaped ways.”

When read together, Paul’s epistles, Matera’s theological exegesis, Fee’s commentary on kenosis, Cross’s ecclesial critique, and Root’s pastoral theology all converge on a singular truth: weakness is not a theological footnote—it is the center of Christian leadership. In a ministry world obsessed with metrics, platforms, and results, Paul’s testimony rings out like a rebellion: “I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses” (2 Cor. 12:9). Why? Because that is where grace lives. That is where Christ dwells.

This reframing of weakness not as a liability but as a holy invitation demands a reevaluation of what we celebrate in our leaders. The most faithful shepherds may not be the ones who draw crowds or execute flawless programs. They may be the ones who persevere in quiet surrender, who weep with the brokenhearted, who carry burdens not because they are strong—but because they have learned that Christ’s strength is enough.

As this paper will continue to argue, Paul’s theology of weakness offers a counter-story to the burnout-producing models of leadership in many churches today. His life and letters are an open invitation to trade the exhausting cycle of overperformance for the surprising grace of surrender. To lead not from the illusion of strength but from the reality of grace.

Practical Theology Framework for Resolution

Practical theology, at its best, does not simply observe or theorize—it intervenes. To offer a sustainable theological resolution to pastoral burnout and identity confusion, this section adopts the fourfold model of Richard Osmer and the embodied theological framework of Ray S. Anderson. Together, they form an integrative path forward—moving from crisis recognition to Spirit-empowered healing action.

Richard Osmer’s four tasks of practical theology are foundational: descriptive, interpretive, normative, and pragmatic. These four movements correspond to real-time ministry engagement. First, the descriptive-empirical task asks, “What is going on?” It encourages theological leaders to listen deeply and collect real-world data—such as interviews, surveys, or anecdotal narratives—to understand the lived experiences of those in ministry who are burning out. Osmer calls this a “priestly listening role” where pastors embody empathy before offering solutions.

Second, the interpretive task raises the question, “Why is this happening?” Osmer positions the leader as a wise teacher who draws insights from disciplines such as psychology, family systems theory, or organizational sociology to explain the root causes. For instance, if ministry culture reinforces over-functioning, then theological reflection must expose how identity has become warped by unrealistic expectations or hidden hierarchies.

Third is the normative task: “What should be happening?” This is where biblical and theological truth critiques the current state. Rather than simply applying management advice, this step elevates Scripture, tradition, and Christian ethics. In our case, texts such as 2 Corinthians 12:9–10 or Philippians 2:5–8 would call the Church to reimagine leadership in terms of weakness, humility, and mutual care.

Finally, the pragmatic task asks, “How do we respond?” Theologians become servant-leaders who develop practical steps such as redistributing leadership responsibilities, implementing sabbath rhythms, or incorporating healing liturgies. This movement grounds theology in real life, inviting ongoing feedback and Spirit-led discernment.

Ray S. Anderson offers a theological foundation that parallels Osmer’s method but adds a richer doctrinal core. Anderson insists that “ministry precedes and produces theology”—not because it replaces Scripture, but because God’s self-revelation is encountered most dynamically in the ministry itself. He warns that burnout is not merely psychological; it is symptomatic of theological anemia. When pastors operate outside a robust understanding of the Spirit’s empowerment and the body of Christ, they bear burdens God never intended for them to carry. Anderson reframes ministry as latreia—a Trinitarian act of participation in Christ’s self-emptying service. This vision lifts the pressure to perform and instead emphasizes presence, vulnerability, and Spirit-empowered leadership rooted in Jesus’ kenotic example.

Osmer’s and Anderson’s frameworks converge in essential ways. Both resist the temptation to “fix” burnout with quick tools or therapy tips. Instead, they move toward deeper discipleship, where burnout is addressed through theological reflection, contextual analysis, and communal transformation. Anderson especially cautions against disembodied theology, affirming that Christ meets us in the very places we feel depleted, revealing that ministry itself is cruciform. Thus, practical theology is not merely about strategy—it is about spiritual realignment.

John Swinton adds a crucial final layer to this framework: qualitative theological reflection. In his peer-reviewed article “Practical Theology and Qualitative Research Revisited,” Swinton defends the use of interviews, ethnographies, and other empirical tools not as distractions from theology but as ways to deepen it. He famously states that “practical theology is critical, theological reflection on the practices of the Church as they interact with the practices of the world, to ensure faithful participation in God’s redemptive work.”

Swinton warns that without authentic human voices, theology risks becoming abstract and pastoral care ineffective. Qualitative research enables us to name the pain, trace how identity is warped by performance models, and let stories speak into Scripture—not in place of Scripture, but in conversation with it. Importantly, Swinton acknowledges the tension between theology’s claim to revealed truth and the social sciences’ constructivist tendencies. However, he argues that this can be navigated by using empirical methods in service of theology rather than replacing theology with secular analysis.

For example, if several ministers in a region report feeling they “are not allowed to rest,” that shared narrative demands a theological response. It could prompt churches to reconsider the Sabbath as an ecclesial norm or to review their leadership pipelines to eliminate toxic expectations. Swinton encourages an iterative cycle: listen, interpret, respond, and return to listening. This aligns perfectly with Osmer’s spiral model and reinforces Anderson’s claim that theological reflection must emerge from embodied ministry.

Together, these thinkers offer a redemptive path forward —one rooted in attentiveness, theological depth, and communal reform. Addressing burnout cannot be outsourced to therapists or taken on through sabbaticals alone. It must be a shared ecclesial journey grounded in a robust theology of weakness, presence, and Spirit-led change. Practical theology, when done faithfully, reorients not just our practices but our imagination—away from burnout-producing heroism and toward grace-shaped, cruciform ministry.

Ministry Implications and Reorientation

The pastoral implications of Paul’s theology of weakness are both urgent and transformative. To embody Christ-shaped leadership today requires not only theological assent but a radical reorientation centered on weakness, presence, and vulnerability. Three shifts are necessary: reframing success, implementing rhythms of grace, and recovering a true pastoral identity.

Much of contemporary ministry is shaped by metrics, including attendance, reach, budgets, and platform. However, these indicators often reflect cultural norms more than kingdom values. Paul’s ministry turned success on its head, pointing not to applause but to suffering as the path of authentic leadership.

Ray S. Anderson refers to this as a theology of incarnation. In The Shape of Practical Theology, Anderson argues that ministry is not primarily functional but theological: it is participation in Christ’s ongoing work. “Ministry,” he writes, “is the continuation of the humanity of Christ through the Spirit in the church.” The accurate measure of leadership, then, is not performance but presence. As Christ emptied himself (Phil. 2:5–8), so too must Christian leaders forsake ambition for embodiment.

James K. A. Smith’s “Desiring the Kingdom” complements this insight by exploring how formation occurs not through information transfer but through liturgical practices that shape our desires. He contends that humans are “liturgical animals”—we are formed by what we habitually love and do. If our ministries revolve around production, speed, and public acclaim, we are training leaders to love the platform. However, if our ministries center on worship, the Sabbath, and relational presence, we are forming leaders who find their identity in God, not in outcomes.

Smith emphasizes that spiritual disciplines—like silence, confession, and Sabbath—are not spiritual luxuries. They are counter-formative practices that recalibrate our hearts away from consumerism and back to the crucified Christ. When success is defined by love, attentiveness, and faithfulness, weakness becomes not a threat but a path to grace.

In response to toxic expectations and burnout, churches must create cultures that normalize vulnerability and embed rhythms of grace. These rhythms—rest, prayer, confession, community—must be seen not as extracurricular but essential.

Theologian Miroslav Volf once noted, “To claim the comfort of the Crucified while rejecting his way is not only cheap grace but a deceitful ideology.” The rhythms of the Christian life must match the Cross we proclaim. Sabbath is one such rhythm. Weekly rest is not only about recovery—it is a declaration of trust: “God sustains the church, not me.” This is essential for forming leaders who live from a sense of belovedness, not busyness.

James K. A. Smith notes that habits such as Sabbath observance, confession, or liturgical prayer shape the heart’s affections. For example, confessing sin weekly in corporate worship teaches leaders to prefer humility over self-justification. These embodied practices break the grip of performance idolatry and foster a posture of grace.

Moreover, spaces for lament and honest vulnerability must become normative in the culture of ministry. Leaders should not be expected to carry emotional loads alone. When a church prioritizes communal spiritual practices and peer care, it becomes a space for ongoing renewal rather than exhaustion.

Terry L. Cross challenges the model of the pastor as a performer or CEO. In Serving the People of God’s Presence, he portrays pastors as stewards of the sacred, not producers of religious goods. “To serve the people of God’s presence,” he writes, “is to relinquish control and submit to the Spirit’s leading, often in our frailty and limitations.”

This aligns deeply with my personal story. As I mentioned in the introduction, I grew up in a household marked by unspoken emotional burdens and pressure to excel. My role as a caretaker, even as a child, formed an identity rooted in being useful. That pattern followed me into ministry: I often equated worth with productivity. However, over the past few years, God has invited me to unlearn this—to discover that I am loved not because I lead well but because I belong to Him.

Cross’s image of the pastor as one who cultivates space for God’s presence—rather than generating outcomes—is healing. It offers a vision of ministry that is deeply theological and deeply humane. It affirms that ministry leaders are not above the congregation but within it—fellow pilgrims, weak and beloved, pointing others to grace.

This reframed pastoral identity creates space for other voices as well. When pastors lead from a place of weakness and dependency, they model leadership that others can follow—not because it is impressive, but because it is genuine. The result is a church that embraces both strength and sorrow, both celebration and lament, both power and powerlessness.

Conclusion

Burnout in pastoral ministry is not ultimately a logistical or psychological problem—it is a theological one. At its root lies a distortion of identity: the belief that our worth comes from our performance rather than our participation in the life of Christ. This paper argues that the solution to burnout is not better strategies but a somewhat deeper surrender. The answer is not found in refining ministry techniques but in embracing a cruciform identity shaped by grace.

The apostle Paul offers a profoundly countercultural vision of leadership—one rooted in weakness, not power. In 2 Corinthians 12:9–10, Paul reframes his limitations not as liabilities but as sacred spaces where Christ’s strength is revealed. In Philippians 2:5–8, Christ’s self-emptying love becomes the model for all Christian leadership: humble, obedient, and free from self-promotion. Through these texts, Paul exposes the illusion that strength is found in control and reminds the Church that the Spirit moves most powerfully through surrender.

Practical theologians such as Richard Osmer and Ray Anderson provide a framework for applying this vision in real ministry contexts. Osmer’s fourfold model—descriptive, interpretive, normative, pragmatic—guides us toward theological reflection that leads to faithful action. Anderson reinforces the incarnational nature of ministry, insisting that leaders participate in Christ’s ongoing work rather than performing for human approval.

The final challenge is this: to reimagine leadership rooted in grace, not grind. If the Church is to thrive, it must move beyond platforms, pressure, and productivity—and toward presence, rest, and communion with God. Burnout will never be healed by willpower alone. It requires a theological reorientation, a return to the One who said, “My grace is sufficient for you.” The way forward is not through striving but surrender. This is not weakness—it is the power of God made perfect.