Pastor, take courage.
Written by: Brent Ingersoll
In my nearly 20 years of pastoral work I had never seriously considered leaving ministry. Since 2002, I had happily served the church in a variety of roles and positions, largely cherishing every experience. Surely there were challenges, but the overarching excitement and joy of what I was doing far outweighed my pain points. That was, until a stretch of life that ran from January 2020 to May 2022.
First, there was an onslaught of drama in the church I pastored, followed shortly after by COVID related divisions that further stressed our community. Then came the cascade of friends who I started out with in ministry that began burning out, crashing out, or tapping out one after another after another. On top of that, I’d experienced repeated family crises and losses, went through a deep personal betrayal by a friend and ministry partner, and then, the lose-lose situation of having to lead through the debacle that was the global pandemic. During that time, like so many pastors, I dealt with the daily frustration of the fact that no matter what I did from a leadership standpoint, it seemed only to set us back and make people angry with me. Most days felt like that old cartoon where Ralph Wolf would punch in to work in the morning, only to get his bell rung all day by Sam Sheepdog, then punch out at the end of the day only to do it all over again the next day. Groundhog Day, anyone? It was the first time in ministry I felt like I was being beaten down on multiple fronts, and the desire to quit was snowballing.
“I dreamt daily of quitting, moving to Idaho or Labrador, and starting over in rural obscurity.”
I remember thoughts like: “This just isn’t worth it.” “Does it even matter that I’m doing this?” “I don’t deserve this.” Or, “I could do a million other things. I could make more money, have less stress, and not have to go through the hell that I am going through.” I dreamt daily of quitting, moving to Idaho or Labrador, and starting over in rural obscurity.
I wasn’t doing well. I felt like I was failing, and for the first time in all of my ministry experience I was not enjoying myself and I wanted to quit.
In October 2021, I was invited to a small retreat with a few pastors in the Eastern Canadian wilderness. This was a divinely ordained turning point for me—one that came through a clarifying conversation. After enjoying a couple of days of relaxing, good food, conversation, and fishing, I found myself on an afternoon walk with a man who had been pastoring in the United States for over 50 years. Here I was, a 39-year-old pastor contemplating running away from it all, slowly walking through the wilderness on the most spectacular of fall days with a man who had stayed faithful to his pastoral calling for over five decades. He’d led through all the regular challenges of discipling people, growing churches, planting churches, training other pastors, and raising his family in the church he served. He faced all of these regular ministerial struggles throughout the intensity of the ‘60s, the wildness of the ‘70s, the Cold War, 9/11, both wars with Iraq, the Jesus Movement, the Seeker Movement, and now, here he was still at it in the 2020s, ministering through the strange days of the pandemic. He’d stayed in his ministerial post from the time of rotary phones and the Vietnam War, all the way to the present day. Remarkable resilience. After some small talk about sports and the natural beauty we were walking in, I finally asked him my burning question: “How have you done this for the long haul?”
As we walked, I explained to him the roller coaster I’d been on and my growing desire to get off the ride. I repeated the question. “How have you kept doing this? I have been at this long enough to know that 50 years of ministry would be rife with pain, disappointment, and frustration… how have you stayed in it all these years?”
“You have to resolve that you won’t abandon your calling, that you’ll never tap out, no matter how hard it gets, and that the only way you will leave your post is when the Lord Himself tells you that it’s time.”
Still in full stride, without stopping to look at me, he said, “Well, there’s the obvious stuff: daily time in the Word, commitment to prayer, healthy boundaries and expectations. But it’s also critical that you have accountability and great integrity in your life—no hidden spaces of compromise—if you’re going to last in this line of work… but… you know all that.” Then he stopped his march, turned to me, and said, “Honestly, a huge part of going the distance is simply making the decision to never quit.” Refining his sentiment he said: “You have to resolve that you won’t abandon your calling, that you’ll never tap out, no matter how hard it gets, and that the only way you will leave your post is when the Lord Himself tells you that it’s time.”
As leaves fell around us and the sun peeked through gaps in the red and orange autumn leaves, he said to me, “I simply resolved a long time ago that, no matter what, I will not quit. I hammered a stake of my commitment to God’s calling on my life deep into the ground of my heart and I am tethered to it.
Then he asked, “Have you ever heard of a dog rope, Brent?” I had not. The pastoral sage went on to explain that a dog rope was a short piece of rawhide that Cheyenne warriors would use to anchor their bravest fighters to their place in battle. They would drive a stake into the ground, take the leather strap and tie themselves to it, essentially forcing them to face whatever comes, without the prospect of retreat, even if it meant death. These warriors were not allowed to remove the stake or the rope themselves. Only after the battle, if they survived, could another warrior come and untie them.
Message received.
He went on to encourage me by saying that a huge key to enduring in ministry is simple, dogged, Spirit-enabled resilience. There’s a grace of God that comes through the simple refusal to quit and a commitment to keep consistently showing up. And the mystery of it all is that, over the long haul, it seems the Lord’s greatest work doesn’t come through the times where it feels like we’re winning, being impressive, or moving things ahead. The stuff that really makes a lasting impact in us and through us is less about standing out or showing off, and more about simply showing up and standing up—being willing to hang in there, even when it hurts, even when you don’t feel like it, because it’s actually in that place where God seems to do His greatest work.
That day was a turning point for me. I decided to stop fantasizing about quitting—I still have my moments, but I’m learning to take those thoughts captive—and I covenanted before the Lord that I would not abandon my post until He Himself decides to release me, move me to a different station, or until my fight here is over. You’re going to have to carry me out before I tap out.
As I’ve reflected on that day and that renewed commitment to my calling, and now, being a couple of years removed from that difficult season, I am becoming increasingly convinced that perhaps the greatest thing I can do in ministry is not preach great sermons, build effective programs, develop next-level discipleship curriculum, plant churches, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, or any other myriad of good things that good ministers can and should do. The most important thing I can do every day is simply to not give up. To just show up. Again, and again, and again, and again. To daily give God my “yes,” whether on the mountain or in the darkest valley. To fiercely and faithfully face whatever the day brings, be it joy or pain, and to hold the line, trusting that in the end, “we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”
I am convinced that God does His greatest work not through our ability, but our availability. He’s more interested in our willingness than our giftedness, and the real transformational stuff of ministry tends to come through the daily grind of ministerial perseverance. It’s in the pastor showing up, their presence in the lives of their people. It’s in the interruptions and the inconveniences. It’s in the enduring of painful situations with your people. It’s showing up again and again, in hope, mercy, and love. Sometimes, all we have to offer are these things, and strangely, it’s these things that seem to matter the most in the end anyway. In my experience, people rarely thank you for the sermons you preach, but they never forget your presence in the moments that mattered most to them. At the hospital or the baby shower, at the altar, praying with them, or weeping through disappointments. Be it birthdays or funerals, it’s our consistent presence with people that means the most. It’s the fact that we showed up that seems to resonate deepest in the end.
Is it possible that resiliency and consistency are far more important than anything else in the long run? People may never fully understand or appreciate how complicated, nuanced, and laborious leading a growing effective ministry is, but they sure understand the power of love and sacrifice when you refuse to quit on them and just keep showing up, day by day, month by month, year by year, decade by decade. It’s in the consistent showing up over the long haul that God transforms us and uses us to bless others.
You might feel like you’re in a season that you’re losing. You might be fantasizing about tapping out, walking away, or escaping. But I have it on good authority from a great cloud of witnesses who have gone before us and the insistence of the Word of God that if you choose to persevere in your calling God will transform you through the struggles and, mysteriously, you’ll find in these moments where you feel the weakest that He was doing some of His greatest work in and through you.
Pastor, take courage. Do not give up. Tighten your ties to the stake of your calling. Don’t abandon your post until the Lord says that it’s time for a new assignment or “your time is up, well done” and watch what He can do through a wounded warrior who is willing to keep showing up.
Brent Ingersoll
Brent is the Senior Pastor at Kings Church, a church community with a thriving presence throughout the Atlantic provinces. Brent has a passion for revival in Canada and is committed to seeing the local church bring a transforming, life-giving presence across the country. Brent lives in Quispamsis, New Brunswick, with his wife Melanie, their daughter Ava, their sons Aden and Alexander, and his dog, “(CS) Lewis.”
