by Jamie Brown
Six weeks ago I began a four-month long sabbatical, for a whole lot of reasons, not the least of which was to have the time and space to heal from a couple decades’ worth of bumps and bruises and scrapes and scars caused by the everyday journeys of life and ministry. The break from weekly worship leading has allowed me to slow down, zoom out, and examine myself and my ministry from 30,000 feet. God has graciously, mercifully and sometimes painfully, shown me some areas that need his attention, and I’m very acutely aware that there are a lot of people praying for me. The Holy Spirit is doing his work of convicting, counseling and comforting, and even while I’m knee-deep in five seminary classes this semester, I’m feeling refreshed and renewed.
Every single person in ministry bears their own wounds and has their own stories of how they’ve been hurt. And in the last six weeks alone I’ve had the chance to have long phone conversations with several worship leader friends of mine who are burned out, who have left worship ministry, who are thinking about it, who needed a break a long time ago but haven’t had the opportunity, who have been let go, or who feel like a car stuck in the sand, just spinning their wheels and not getting anywhere. They each have their own stories of being hurt while serving different churches, and while they genuinely want to be effective in ministry, they’re finding that it’s difficult to do so when you’re in pain.
A few weeks before I began my sabbatical I had one of those infamous conversations where someone told me something they had heard from someone else, who had talked to someone else, who had conveyed something they heard second-hand from someone, who heard it from someone somewhere. You know the kind of game-of-telephone thing I’m talking about. The particular thing that was communicated to me, and the particular dubious source from which it originated, was not surprising to me in the least, but it still hurt. Why? Because it happened to rub up against one of those wounds from decades earlier. It wasn’t the thing itself that hurt, but it aggravated an old wound.
I explained that kind of scenario to another worship leader friend of mine by likening it to when you walk into a room and smell something that takes you back to an old house or an old memory from 25 years ago. In an instant, you’re transported back in time. She told me that she knew exactly how I felt, and then proceeded to tell me something that had just happened to her the morning before our conversation. For her, it wasn’t the particular “thing,” but it was how it smelled, and what that smell evoked.
Being in a ministry is a wonderful privilege and joy. And it is also an exhausting and painful experience. When the church hurts you, it leaves a wound. And when we’re not honest about those wounds, to quote an old seminary professor of mine, “it messes us up.”
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Source: Church Leaders