I wish someone had told me this in my first year of ministry. Nobody will ask about your heart.
They won’t at the day job, where your prayer life is invisible and has nothing to do with your performance review. They won’t at church, where you’re the one expected to care for everyone else’s soul. And most of the people who depend on you won’t either, because they assume that since you’re close to ministry, your soul must be well cared for.
That assumption is dangerous. The person most at risk of neglecting his own spiritual life is the one so busy giving it away that he forgets to receive. That’s why pastor soul care can’t be left to chance. For the bi-vocational pastor, with two full-time commitments pressing in, it’s the discipline that decides whether you last.
What slipping looks like
In twenty-five years I’ve had seasons of deep, steady soul care and seasons of running on empty. The difference was never how much ministry I was doing. It was how much time I was spending in the quiet place.
When I was getting up early enough to pray, journal, and read Scripture before the day began, I was tired but alive. The reservoir was getting filled even while it was being poured out.
When I let it slide, it happened so gradually I barely noticed. The 4 AM alarm became 5 AM, and the journal went unwritten, and prayer shrank from a conversation to a quick request on the way out the door.
What did I learn from those seasons? My wife would notice within a few weeks. My closest friends would notice within a month or two. The church might not notice for months. But I knew almost right away.
That gap is the danger. You can run on autopilot for a long time. The sermons still get written, the counseling still happens, and you still show up where you’re supposed to be. But the life has gone out of it. You’re producing output without receiving input, and that can’t last.
Jesus didn’t skip it when things got busy
“And rising very early in the morning, while it was still dark, he departed and went out to a desolate place, and there he prayed” (Mark 1:35).
Look at what came right before that verse. The whole town had gathered at the door the night before, and Jesus healed many and cast out many demons. That was a long, full night of ministry. And the next morning, before anyone else was up, he went off alone to pray.
Jesus showed us that the rhythm of prayer doesn’t get suspended when ministry gets busy. If anything it matters more. If he needed that time with the Father, we need it more.
Richard Baxter, the Puritan pastor of Kidderminster, wrote The Reformed Pastor for men exactly like us. His first warning had nothing to do with preaching or programs. He started with the pastor’s own soul.
Take heed to yourselves, lest you should be void of that saving grace of God which you offer to others.
Three things it takes
Soul care in a bi-vocational life takes three things that won’t happen on their own.
Time you have to take from something else. You won’t find time for soul care in the margins of a bi-vocational life, because there are no margins. You have to carve it out. For me that means a 4 AM alarm, and I mean that literally. I’m giving up sleep to be with God before the day begins. There’s nothing heroic about it. It’s just necessary.
Your hour may look different. It might be your lunch break in the truck, or the first thirty minutes after the kids are asleep. Whatever it is, it has to be taken from something on purpose and then protected like an appointment you can’t miss.
Accountability you have to ask for. Nobody is going to volunteer to check on your quiet time. Nobody is going to schedule a meeting to ask about your hidden sin. You have to build those relationships on purpose, give people real permission to ask hard questions, and then be honest when the answer is uncomfortable.
That last part is where most of us fail. We have people with permission to ask, and we just give them the polished answer. If you want help thinking about how to give an honest report instead of waiting to be interrogated, Giving Account was written for exactly that.
A willingness to confess failure without living in it. There will be seasons when the discipline slips. Shame and paralysis won’t fix that. The answer is the same thing the discipline is built on, which is grace. Receive it, go back to the practice, and start again tomorrow morning. Soul care isn’t a streak you’re trying to protect. It’s a relationship you keep coming back to.
Know your warning signs
It helps to know ahead of time what your own depletion looks like, so you can catch it before your spouse has to. Here are some common ones, though yours may be different.
- You are preparing sermons you haven’t let preach to you first.
- Prayer has become a list of requests and nothing else.
- You are irritable with the people closest to you and patient with everyone else.
- Scripture has become sermon material instead of bread.
- You feel relief when a ministry event gets canceled.
None of these mean you’re a failure. They mean the tank is low, and what fills it is more time with God, not more effort.
Start with an honest answer
If you do one thing after reading this, sit down with your spouse or a close friend and answer these four questions from the couples’ discussion guide in Second Fiddle:
- What does your current spiritual discipline look like? Be honest, not aspirational.
- Who has permission to ask you about your soul? Who will actually use that permission?
- What has happened in past seasons when your soul care slipped? What were the warning signs?
- Spouse: how do you notice when your partner’s spiritual tank is running low? What do you do with that observation?
The second question matters most. If you can’t name a person, that’s your next step. Call someone this week and ask him to ask you.
Nobody will ask about your heart unless you make it possible, so make it possible. Your people need a pastor whose soul is being fed, and so does your family.
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