A pastor friend of mine, who recently lost a loved one, reflected to me how hard it’s been to grieve. She doesn’t know why. The grief just seems stuck. It got me wondering if this is a common problem for pastors. Could it be that we spend so much time around grief that we grow numb to it?
When I first began in ministry, there was a slew of cancer diagnoses in my congregation, and quite a few of those people died. The reality of cancer’s pervasiveness freaked me out, and it felt like I was constantly turning around to see if cancer was following me. Not anymore. I’m no longer surprised or offended by cancer. Frankly, I’m no longer surprised or offended by suffering. It just is. Granted, I haven’t yet experienced a deep personal loss, like the death of a close family member or friend or my own cancer battle. But, it is striking to me how suffering in general no longer distresses me the way it used to. If it hasn’t yet, suffering will touch each of us. It’s only a matter of time. (As an aside, I do recognize that suffering touches some people more intensely and unfairly than others, and this points to the systems of injustice in our nation and world.)
I ponder why my reaction to suffering has changed. I know in part it is a survival skill. I’ve taken seriously the words of Vicky’s grandfather in “A Ring of Endless Light” by Madeleine L’Engle: “Other men’s crosses are not my crosses. … There is a certain vanity in thinking you can nurse the world.” When pastors take on people’s suffering as their own, they flame out. I learned that lesson the hard way — through burnout. I’ve had to set some distance between myself and the suffering of others in order to remain in ministry. I’ve learned how to say, “That burden is not mine to carry.”
And yet, I wonder: How much of this is exercising good boundaries and how much of this is closing myself off to the pain of others? Have I gotten so good at distancing myself from pain that I no longer feel it, even when it’s legitimately mine? I have been an associate pastor at the same church for 10 years now. So when I do memorial services, I occasionally do them for my friends — for people I care about. Yet the tears don’t come. And I wonder, is this just me, or does this struggle touch other people in caring vocations?
It’s a hard balance — not to live vicariously the grief of others, while still opening yourself to the pain that is part of living. How do you keep your heart soft, yet protected? How do you keep from worrying about what suffering might come your way? How do you remain present to the pain of others without it becoming your own? I wonder if there’s something to be said for pastors opening themselves up to moments of catharsis, whether through music, novels, movies or poetry. Perhaps those moments of catharsis can soften the barriers we’ve put up, so that when pain is legitimately ours, we grieve in a healthy way. Having healthy boundaries in ministry is an art, a dance, rather than a hard and fast rule.
RACHEL YOUNG is the associate pastor of spiritual formation at Clear Lake Presbyterian Church, in Houston, Texas. She is married to Josh, who also serves on staff at Clear Lake Presbyterian as the director of contemporary worship and media.