Dave was a pastor’s pastor. About midway through his message, he said something that alarmed me: “After stepping away from three decades of pastoral ministry in the local church, I watched my ministry life flash before my eyes. I had many good recollections, but I also had one giant regret: I didn’t enjoy pastoring as much as I could have. I left so much joy on the table.”
When I heard Dave’s words, I winced. I thought of the season an elder tried to oust me from leadership, and how it took the wind out of my sails for months. I recalled a season of intense critique from a small group of people, and how joyless I felt. I thought of the seasons when demanding pastoral cases clustered: counseling a marriage on the brink of divorce, a disgruntled leader and his family leaving the church, a string of emails over cultural events.
But here’s the thing — even in those seasons, I was enjoying God. It was ministry that drained me. I found peace in prayer and satisfaction in God’s word, but when it came to ministry, I left a lot of joy behind. There was a disconnect between communion with God and ministry to his people.
Pastoral Tunnel Vision
One reason for my own joylessness is that I had developed pastoral tunnel vision — seeing the many in the pew through the pinhole of a few. Tunnel vision happens when we lose sight of the periphery while fixating on what is directly in front of us. I was so focused on painful pastoral care that I lost sight of the rest of the church: the weight of a marriage falling apart, the sting of a critic’s carefully worded email, the loneliness of a leader’s departure. The cumulative impact of difficult pastoral demands distorted my perception of ministry. Although there were saints who were edified by my sermons and welcomed my leadership, I couldn’t see them. I only saw sin, criticism, pain, and heartache.
As a result, I failed to discern the whole church. I allowed the voices of a disgruntled group to speak for the quiet and steady saints who were following Jesus alongside me. When marriage issues cropped up, I began to think, “We have a real marriage problem,” when in reality the problem was limited to a few. My narrow perception of the church operated like background software — influential but invisible. How do we shake pastoral tunnel vision?
Personal Awareness
The first step is to become aware of it. I didn’t even have the category at the time, which prevented me from self-diagnosis and course correction. I began to see everyone as a potential drain. I became reluctant to take unscheduled meetings and felt like I couldn’t handle any more demands.
Looking back, I wish I would have realized that pastoral tunnel vision is a real threat to vibrant ministry. Had I been aware of the issue, I could have adjusted my vision sooner. But once I realized this was happening, I saw it coming in advance. I learned to stop and speak back to my emotions and thoughts when they began to distort my view of the whole church. If we don’t cultivate this kind of discernment in the church, the painful stuff will distort our vision.
Pastoral Accountability
Even if we possess considerable self-awareness, and we have the right categories, we are finite. We have a limited perspective on the church. We need other leaders to check in on us. I began to invite elders to speak into my view of the church. “I feel like we’re in a rough patch in evangelism, but am I seeing the church correctly?” “Hey guys, how do you think marriages are doing in our church?” A plurality of elders can foster wide vision, enabling us to shepherd with greater discernment.
If your leadership team or elders don’t have a category for pastoral tunnel vision, introduce the concept to them and create some space to do some honest inventory. Am I seeing the many in the pew through the pinhole of the few? Where are we painting the picture of our church too broadly? Are we allowing one group to speak on behalf of the whole church?
Edifying Lunches
Another way to broaden our perspective on the church is to spend time with encouraging church members. They are under our care too! It’s okay to schedule lunches with edifying people. Not every meeting needs to feel like ministry. After all, gospel ministry is a two-way street, and we need to be humble enough to receive it.
As I began to schedule lunches with healthy church members, I was pleasantly surprised by how light I felt after meeting with them. They adjusted my vision by simply being themselves. A youth who was passionate about Bible reading, an entrepreneur who was praying for employees at work, a mom who was sharing sermons with a neighbor and having gospel conversations — they showed me angles on the church I just wasn’t seeing. I had been missing out on all these encouraging stories!
So, consider making edifying lunches a kind of spiritual discipline. Perhaps schedule at least one meeting a week with a person who will bring you life. No agenda, just joy at the table.
Turn to the Sin-Eater
But even if we have a category for pastoral tunnel vision, if we invite accountability from others to broaden our view, and if we schedule time with encouraging saints, we can still fail to find joy in ministry. How can we reconnect satisfying communion with God with joyful shepherding? I learned to connect the two through the right kind of prayer.
Not the Savior
In my early years as a pastor, I would break down under the burden of souls — weeping and crying out to God for the holiness and healing of our people. The burden of their sin would become so intense that I couldn’t physically, emotionally, or spiritually bear it. I collapsed in prayer.
This is not as saintly as it may sound. The film Final Cut portrays a future in which everyone has camera implants in their heads to record their entire lives. Alan Hakman (Robin Williams) has the task of assembling funeral video montages from the footage in the deceased’s brains. Hakman wades through all the footage to create a presentable (and false) montage of every person. But to do that, he has to consume tons of depraved scenes. When asked how he copes, he describes himself as a sin-eater — someone who used to consume food over the grave of a deceased person in the hopes of absorbing their sin and sending them to the afterlife.
I had inadvertently adopted this practice. I was so mired in others’ sufferings and sins that I had become my church’s sin-eater. I took on the burden of their sin instead of releasing it to the one true sin-eater, Jesus Christ.
Where Burdens Become Light
I learned to release the responsibility of my church’s sanctification by naming each person before the Lord and confessing that I was powerless to help them. I would describe the burden of their sin and then say, “But I cannot change them — only you can, Jesus. Deliver them.” I would describe their suffering to the Lord and then say, “But I cannot sustain and comfort them. Only you can, Jesus — do it, please!” And inevitably I would confess, “Lord, I cannot even change or sustain myself. Help me, Lord Jesus!”
And you know what? Jesus forgave sin I could not, changed hearts I could not, and comforted sufferers in a way I could not. He did it because, unlike me, his perspective on the church is complete, and his love unlimited.
Jesus’s omniscience enables him to know when to intervene and when to stand back, when to convict and when to comfort — and he never wearies of us in our need. He never thinks, Oh, here comes another inadequate pastor asking for help. No, he welcomes our burdens and bears them. In prayer, heavy burdens become light, weakness is met with strength, and despair turns to joy. When we release responsibility for the church’s holiness back to Jesus, where it belongs, rejoicing can begin.
I hope you can avoid some of my mistakes in pastoral ministry by applying these principles. I also pray you will leave less joy on the table as you serve Christ’s church! And above all, may you uncover the sweetness of desperate prayer that unites communion with God with ministry to his precious people.
Desiring God