“Burnout can be defined in many ways, but that’s how it looked in my situation. The seeds of this meltdown had been planted years earlier, and I had unknowingly nurtured them, carefully tending the soil and watering the plant until finally it sprouted.”

I was preaching one Wednesday night when, in the middle of the sermon, I packed up my notes and walked off the stage—with no explanation to the congregation. I had just had it, and I wasn’t going to take it any more.

I drove home thinking, “I’m not going back. I’m finished with ministry. In fact, I may even be finished with church.”

By the time I got home I couldn’t stop crying. I shut myself in our bedroom and didn’t leave the room for three days. My wife came in and prayed, but I knew I was done with ministry.

Burnout can be defined in many ways, but that’s how it looked in my situation. The seeds of this meltdown had been planted years earlier, and I had unknowingly nurtured them, carefully tending the soil and watering the plant until finally it sprouted into a very ugly weed. I was oblivious to what I had been doing and never would have guessed I could end up in such a state.

During seminary, I pastored a small church just outside of Kansas City for three and a half years. It grew from some thirty-five souls to almost three hundred. I liked the feeling of “success”. After seminary, one growing church led to the next until I was called to a mega-church in another state.

Once I settled in, however, I discovered the church was rife with problems. I uncovered dishonest staff members, strife between members, and a legacy of incomplete truths being offered to the church. Members no longer trusted the staff. I had never encountered such serious problems before.

Furthermore, my predecessor was well known in the community because of the church’s television broadcasts. He was a flamboyant personality who preached powerful evangelistic sermons. His departure was sudden and unexpected, and most of the church grieved the loss. By contrast, I was in my mid-30s and more of a Bible teacher than evangelist.

To my shock, a number of people didn’t like the new guy and left. Attendance reports and contribution spreadsheets confirmed my unpopularity. People wrote to me, telling me that I was ruining the church. Some even turned away when I approached them.

What did I do to turn things around? Did I pour my heart out to the Lord? Did I accept being rejected if it meant obeying him? Did I trust the simple preaching and teaching of the word? Nope! I tried every trick in the book and worked longer and harder.

The sad truth is that the gimmicks worked—but I felt ashamed and guilty.

Then a church in Tennessee contacted me. It was bigger—and nicer—and they really wanted me. I jumped at the chance for a new beginning and success in another city and didn’t look back. The overused cliché, “The definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result” described me to a T. I attacked my ministry with the same work hours, drive and methods.

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