On “Quitting” Ministry
***The following is from a resignation message I shared at a member’s meeting in 2021 with a church full of people I had pastored since 2014—some since 2006. There is certainly more to this story of this transition than is written here, but I believe it does offer a glimpse of what many pastors in transition feel but are too afraid to say.***
I wanted to spend some time sharing my heart regarding the decision to resign from the role of lead pastor. I trust that my efforts to compress a four-year journey into few minutes will fall well short of answering every question you might have. Undoubtedly, there will be some who do not fully understand or even disagree with this decision. I am not here to convince anyone of anything, but to accomplish a few things. First, I hope to quell any false assumptions or rumors concerning the reasons for this decision. Second, I desire to share my thoughts and heart behind this decision. Third, I aim to equip others to face their own equally difficult decisions with courage and faith.
TAKING THE ROAD LESS TRAVELLED
Prior to planting Damascus Road, when I was assessed as a church planter, I was asked a question from a few Acts 29 pastors: Will you be disobeying Jesus if you don’t plant this church? As I was an un-ordained high school English teacher with a wife and three kid, it was a reasonable question. The question was both helpful and harmful. The implication is that the call to pastor or plant a church is an issue of obedience. This is one way to make sure the prospective planter is serious about the mission. There are other ways to asks the same question like, “Could you see yourself doing anything else?” Unfortunately, questions like this backfire on the other side. If it is obedient to start, is it then disobedient to ever stop?
For me, this tension is represented well in the poem THE ROAD NOT TAKEN by Robert Frost. The famous poem ends with the line:
“I took the road less travelled by and that has made all the difference.”
The traveler in the poem says that he took the more difficult BUT more meaningful road. It seems to follow then, that the “other road” was potentially less meaningful. Arguably, planting a church (or two) is a “road less travelled”. Having chosen that path, I have had to work through the black and whiteness of God’s will and the freedom he affords us to do something else. I have had to work hard to change the image of two roads…to one of “many” different roads that require different kinds of faith. Relative to ministry, there are no right or wrong paths; every path requires faith and Jesus walks with us down them all.
Experience has also taught me that he often draws us onto new paths so that we will walk closer to Him. It might sound foolish….but the song from Frozen 2 INTO THE UNKNOWN made me cry (Don’t laugh!):
I can hear you, but I won’t.
Some look for trouble, while others don’t.
There’s a thousand reasons I should go about my day.
And ignore your whispers, which I wish would go away.
You’re not a voice; you’re just a ringing in my ear.
And if I heard you (which I don’t).
I’m spoken for, I fear.
Everyone I’ve ever loved is here within theses walls.
I’m sorry, secret siren, but I’m blocking out your calls.
I’ve had my adventure; I don’t need something new.
I’m afraid of what I’m risking if I follow you.
After 15 years of leading this church, I believe the cloud is moving, and God is inviting me onto a new road and a new faith adventure. The place of surrender I find myself in now came as a result of YEARS of wrestling with the Lord. The thought of leaving ministry used to give me a pit in my stomach as I imagined damaging the church, disappointing people, and even disobeying God. The desire to be “responsible” before God and men has historically caused me to ignore many signs of suffering in my life. While the cost of ministry is real, the primary reason I have made this decision is a change in my desires.
Reflecting on my desires led me to ask a lot of questions about who God designed me to be. It could be said that I am a starter, a builder, a creator, or an entrepreneur. I am not sure I am the greatest shepherd or manager. I thrive planting but sort of survive pastoring. It’s not that I abhor routine or long-term relationship, only that I enjoy and flourish leading a new challenge, a new adventure, making new relationships. This was true of me even before becoming a church planter where, as a teacher, I found great joy in writing new curriculum, designing new classes, and experimenting with new methods—which were redone every new year with new students. Planting and building provides this same experience but pastoring and shepherding is something different entirely. I’ve concluded that I must either deny how I am built and grow or embrace how I am built and go. Either way, there is a “letting go” that needs to occur.
FULFILLING THE MINISTRY RECEIVED
I’ve heard it often said, God only calls us away from something IF he calls us to something. Because I am not retiring, or being called to another specific church, I fear some will have their doubts about what I feel. People need an explanation like burnout, COVID 19, or a secret sin to explain LEAVING. Interestingly, on my journey to understand what it means to “leave” or “quit” ministry, I discovered that all of the books, videos, podcasts, and blogs can be organized into two categories. The first is directed toward those who wish to transition from one ministry (or church) to another. The second is direct toward burned out pastors who are “tempted” to quit.
From what I have found, there are very few resources addressing those pastors who sense their calling fulfilled. One pastor who, at age 44, transitioned out of pastoring after 19 years described this reality well:
I see a deficit of faith around the concept that God can tell you when to START without knowing what the future will hold, but he can’t show you just as clearly when to STOP without your knowing what the future will hold. You always hear about people who wrestle with accepting their calling, but you rarely hear about wrestling with the Holy Spirit’s prompting someone to leave. It’s almost as if endings are bad or wrong, and not a good thing from God. Too many church leaders follow a paradigm that does not make room for God to use them in more than one way over their ministry lifetime. Some people are called to pastor for forty even fifty years, but for others, freshness, innovation, passion, and growth can wane if they stay past their time.
In 2017 I went on a 3-month Sabbatical. I spent a few days in the woods alone with God asking deep questions. One was, “What was my original call?” I came up with very spiritual sounding answers like: I am called to teach the Bible. Months later I reflected on what I had written and determined I was wrong. My original call was to plant a church. I did that…twice. Right now, there are great things happening in the life of our church. The membership is healthy. The leadership is strong. The mission is alive. The facilities are beautiful. As it is, I have fulfilled the ministry I received here and my season in this role has come to an end…but the mission continues. This decision is not a knee-jerk reaction but a measured response to an undeniable feeling I have wrestled with for a long time. Admittedly, considering all of the blessings of this role, these feelings don’t always match what I think they should be. But even if I don’t fully understand them, they are real, and I must face them. Denying, minimizing, or ignoring these desires for too long will only harm myself, my family, and our church.
DARING TO DESIRE
The last 15 years of ministry on the front lines have been exhilarating but exhausting, both rewarding and costly. These years have taken a toll on me physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I have every form of fatigue imaginable—decision fatigue, vision fatigue, compassion fatigue. I feel like Forest Gump…who after years of running said, “I’m tired now...I think I’ll go home.” For several years, I have also evaluated the impact of ministry on my home, and my children. The tales of the proverbial “preacher’s kid” (PK) have always haunted me. I only began to recognize the impact of ministry on my children when my older children began to observe (and voice) the impact of ministry on me. There is no way to calculate the costs or benefits of ministry on my children—both exist. I think I can honestly say that my children have not always gotten my best. When my oldest son was recently asked how he would “feel” if I was no longer a pastor. His response shocked me. He said: “I would feel jealous because my siblings would experience a different kind of life with you.” Ministry has often received my best energy, creativity, and care. This does not mean I have neglected my children but, they have undoubtedly, been robbed of my presence even when I have been present at times. I have to consider how I want to my children to experience me going forward.
Despite the difficulties and sacrifices, I love ministry. I love the church. I love to preach. I love to plan. I love to lead. I love to serve. No doubt, I could continue in this role…the question is whether I should. Having sought the face of the Lord faithfully, I am choosing to listen to the desires of my heart. For most of my life I have avoided listening to these desires. It has never felt responsible to act on my personal desires if I felt they might upset or unsettle others. In vowing to doing what is always “right” or “responsible” I have unwittingly become somewhat of a people pleaser, fearful of failure, and dedicated to doing everything in my power to ensure the happiness of others. I will no longer do that. Until recently, I could only identify what I did NOT DESIRE; not what I DID. Now, I can voice what I desire: I desire a simpler faith. I desire to teach I desire a marketplace ministry. I desire to serve the church. I desire to shepherd one family.
At this point, I will better serve my soul, my family, my church, and my God as a minister who serves in the church but works in the world. It should come as no surprise that I still have a passion for teaching. Over the years, I have thought about it, talked about it, even dreamt about it. Without doubt, the public schools present a tremendous mission field steeped in darkness—and it is getting worse. The light of God and His truth is desperately needed. While a growing number of Christians are understandably pulling their children from public schools, the majority of children attend there. Up until 2009, I spent 90% of my time in this secular context and 10% in the church. Since 2009, I have spent 90% of my time in the church and 10% in the secular world. I desire to do the work of an evangelist.
We will spend the next three months working through this transition as a church—for me it will be much longer. I do not know what the future holds for my role in this church. I do know that I want to finish this leg of the race well, because there are a lot of bad ways and reasons to leave ministry. Sometimes men were never called to begin with and, early in their ministry, that becomes abundantly clear to all. Sometimes, men sin and disqualify themselves. Sometimes, men fail to read the signs of depression, of burn out, or of the impact on the family and reactively quit without warning—or worse. I am convinced that a genuine god-ordained “release” from a call to ministry should generally follow the same process as one came into it—if they came into it biblically. A true call to AND from ministry should begin with a personal desire, find agreement with the spouse, and be affirmed by the elders of a local church.
There few transitions out of ministry found in Scripture. One is the prophet Elijah who, weary of ministry and hiding in a cave, he asks God to be done. God responds:
“Go and return by the way you came to the Wilderness of Damascus. When you arrive, you are to anoint Hazael, as king over Aram. You are to anoint Jehu son of Nimshi as king over Israel and Elisha son of Shaphat from Abel-meholah as prophet in your place.” 1Kings 19.15-16 (CSB).
Though I do not tend towards charismatic crazy or mysticism, I find those words personally poignant. He accepted his resignation but the transition took several years. The “way I came to the wilderness of “Damascus Road” was a process that extended over three years, from 2006 to 2009. My exit is following a similar path…from 2017-2020. Both experiences have required a difficult choice and a letting go of something good.
The choice before us is not “make life happen.” The choice before us is a choice to enter into the adventure of God set before us. So much of the journey forward requires letting go of all that once brought us life. In a way it means we stop pretending that life is better than it is, that we are happier than we are, that the false selves we present to the world are really us. We respond to our deepest desires, the longing for another life. – Dare to Desire by J. Eldredge.
How does someone know for certain if this choice is the right or wrong next thing? You don’t. Every major decision in life includes risk and the fear of regret. As I have often said, question marks are better than exclamation points. Among other things, my journey has been governed by these basic questions (Taken from a podcast by Emily P Freeman):
Is this choice drawing you nearer to God or pushing you from him?
Is the process of making this choice, is your faith being built up or assaulted?
Would you dare to believe that if there isn’t one right choice, that Jesus is inviting you to confess your desire and act accordingly?
If there is one right answer, and you choose the wrong one, would you dare to believe that Jesus is with you to comfort and help?
Do you trust in the love of the Father, the friendship of the Son, and the comfort of the Holy Spirit?
TWO IMAGES – from Return of the King
I leave you with two images, both from one of my favorite stories. The first is an image of GRATITUDE. In one of the final scenes of The Return of the King, the four hobbits—Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin—sit together at the Green Dragon Inn, quietly drinking their ale while the pub around them is filled with laughter and joy. Unlike the other patrons, who are oblivious to the weight of what has happened, the hobbits share a deep, unspoken understanding. They have returned home, but they are forever changed.
There is a sense of sober gratitude in their silence. They have saved the Shire, but at great personal cost. Frodo, in particular, carries wounds—both physical and emotional—that will never fully heal. Sam, Merry, and Pippin, though changed by their experiences, still have a place in the world, but Frodo seems distant, as if he no longer fully belongs. Their quiet moment of drinking together is a recognition of all they have lost, all they have gained, and the deep bond they share—one forged through suffering and sacrifice. It is a moment of bittersweet reflection, where words are unnecessary, and the weight of their journey is felt in the simple act of raising a glass.
Please know that leaving is not easy, nor is it without uncertainty. But I trust that God is leading me into this new chapter. As Frodo said to Sam at the end of The Return of the King, "We set out to save the Shire, Sam, and it has been saved—but not for me." My journey is changing, but the mission continues. And I step forward with faith, knowing that God is with me in both the going and the letting go.
