The Bruised Pastor

“Be still, and knHe who is the Lord of life… came to bind up, not to break; to heal, not to destroy. (Richard Sibbes, The Bruised Reed)

I sat alone with my back to a big elm tree, looking out over the Des Moines River valley, North toward the Kate Shelley bridge. The 16” of snow on the ground around me was actually warm compared to the cold, midnight air that stung my exposed face. But that didn’t matter much. The pain I felt inside was much worse. And all I could do was beg God to make it stop.

I graduated from seminary the previous May, and was ready to change the world. I knew ministry would be tough, but I was ready for it. I had been a youth pastor for several years already after all.

Nothing prepared me for the mental and emotional wall I hit that winter.

I entered a deep depression that lasted for months. I would curl up on the couch after work and sleeplessly wait for the night to end, only to repeat the cycle again the next day. According to my wife (who was pregnant with our first), when I walked out the door that night to go on a walk,she wasn’t sure she would ever see me again.

This depression was, in my mind, confusingly multi-faceted. I couldn’t tell whether it was clinical, my own sin, despair in my current ministry position, or something else entirely. I was hurting, confused, and felt utterly alone.

“At such a time, God seems terribly angry, and with him the whole creation. At such a time there is no flight, no comfort, within or without, but all things accuse… In this moment the soul cannot believe that it can ever be redeemed other than that the punishment is not yet completely felt… All that remains is the stark-naked desire for help and a terrible groaning, but it does not know where to turn for help.” (Martin Luther, Luther’s Works, vol. 31)

Many pastors have been in this place of pain that Luther called Anfechtung…

Maybe you’ve been in this place before…

Maybe you are now…

The Bruised Shepherd

One question gnaws at me to this day about that winter in Iowa: Why do we suffer when we’re doing all we can to follow and obey?

We’re following God, and then…

Depression.

We’re seeing amazing things in our study time with God…

He goes silent for months.

We’re leading dozens or hundreds of people to Christ…

A rumor gets us fired from our church.

Will I ever know joy or happiness again? Did I do something to make God mad at me? Do I even belong in ministry?

Why?…

At the heart of this question lies the belief that God is good and wants the best for us. And the assumption is that if we follow him and sacrifice for the ministry, he will give us good things and make our lives easy. We probably won’t be rich or famous, but we will have all we need.

Of course, we know that’s not how life plays out for believers, especially ministers. However, werarely admit our false assumption, even to our own conscious thoughts. We know we face a life filled with spiritual warfare, opposition from people, and thankless sacrifices. But the deep pain we face causes us to question our sanity nonetheless.

We understand the call to shepherd and heal others who are hurting. It makes sense. It’s messyand painful, but it makes sense to us. After all, this is what Jesus was like, the one who will not break bruised reeds or quench faintly burning wicks (Isaiah 42:3). Others are weak and in need of Jesus’ tender care. And with the same caring heart we want to help others.

What doesn’t make sense is the moment we are the ones being bruised. But, as Henri Nouwen said, “The great illusion of leadership is to think that man can be led out of the desert by someone who has never been there” (The Wounded Healer). Pastor, your bruising can be used. Richard Sibbes wrote, “The heroic deeds of great saints do not comfort the church as much as their falls and bruises do” (The Bruised Reed).

And so here we sit, with our backs to an elm tree staring into the darkness.

The Grace of Pain

Pastor, fellow under-shepherd, what if the pain and suffering you’re praying to escape is actuallya gift of grace?

For the sake of discussion, let’s separate suffering into two categories. First, we have pain caused by the consequences of our sin. (Yes, we all sin). This pain makes logical sense. It’s the mechanism God uses to bring us to repentance. And it’s in the place of repentance we experience grace.

Second, we have pain inflicted on us through no fault of our own. This makes no sense. Yet, there is as much grace here as in the first. And despite what we feel, God is revealing just as much grace to us in the second as in the first. This has happened time and time again in history.

Martin Luther

Martin Luther struggled with both categories of pain. He felt tremendous guilt for his own sin (category 1), was attacked by the Catholic church for speaking against indulgences (category 2), stood trial for his statements, and escaped that trial only to go into hiding for years (category 2). Before his trial he wrote, “I spent more than a week in death and hell. My entire body was in pain, and I still tremble. Completely abandoned by Christ, I labored under the vacillations and storms of desperation and blasphemy against God” (Letter to Melanchthon).

Because of these experiences, he would later develop his theologia crucis, a theology of the cross. He wrote, “A theologian of the cross… teaches that punishments, crosses, and death are the most precious treasury of all” (Heidelberg Disputation). He knew what it was to experience suffering, and he called it precious, a thing to be treasured.

Teresa of Ávila

Teresa of Ávila spent decades in a convent devoted to the work of a nun. However she would later describe those years as nothing but empty ritual. An illness later left her partially paralyzed and confined to a bed for 4 years (category 2). Without those practices, she came face to face with who she was without her acts of service to God. This led to despair and abandonment of prayer altogether (category 1).

After her recovery, she was captured by a statue of the wounded Christ. It broke her. She would later write, “I realize better every day what grace our Lord has shown me in enabling me to understand the blessings of suffering so that I can peacefully endure the want of happiness in earthly things since they pass so quickly” (The Life of Teresa of Avila). She knew what it was to experience suffering, and she called it a blessing that brought peace.

John Bunyan

John Bunyan spent twelve years in jail for preaching and holding unsanctioned church meetings (category 2). Separated from his wife and unable to provide for his blind daughter, depression crushed him. He wrote at the time, “And now was I both a burden and a terror to myself; nor did I ever so know, as now, what it was to be weary of my life, and yet afraid to die. Oh! How gladly now would I have been anybody but myself!” (Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners).

He would later write, “There is that of God to be seen in such a day as cannot be seen in another. His power in holding up some, his wrath in leaving of others… his discovering the uprightness of the hearts of his sanctified ones, and laying open the hypocrisy of others, is a working of spiritual wonders” (Seasonable Counsel).

It was in this same jail cell that he wrote The Pilgrim’s Progress. He knew what it was to experience suffering, and he called it a work of spiritual wonder.

Believers and ministers who experience pain and suffering like this are the norm throughout history. Yet when we experience pain and suffering in our own ministry, from either category, wefeel we are the exception. However, as Richard Sibbes said, “It is better to go bruised to heaventhan sound to hell” (The Bruised Reed). Even if we don’t arrive at a place where we can call pain a blessing, is it still worth it?

The Nature of Bruising

When pain hits us like this, something inside us breaks. We stop believing that God is good, not with our minds but at a gut level. This is what makes the pain, the breaking, a grace. That moment of disbelief is a window to a part of our soul we wouldn’t have seen otherwise.

This place confronts us with a cold reality. We are not enough to prevent the danger we fear. If this situation doesn’t change, we could lose everything. We won’t be able to afford food. Our spouse may leave us. Our kids may walk away from God. The bank may foreclose. We may be kicked out of our jobs. Suddenly in this place, the fears become real. This sends us grasping for any means of escape, and, in the deepest places of pain, we find none.

It’s not natural to call pain of either category a precious thing, a blessing, or a wonder when our backs are against the elm tree in the dead of winter. Our hearts and our minds know for certain that this pain isn’t right. Like David in Psalm 22, we pray and plead for justice: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning?”

But time and time again his children find themselves in this place.

Why?…

Because each of us, the worst sinner and purest saint alike, have a problem. We are not God. But we think we know better than he does. And when pain and injustice hit us as we sit staring into the darkness, to an extent we stop believing that God is good. In this moment, our heart denies what Scripture says about God’s goodness because the pain feels unbearable and we are powerless to stop what’s in front of us.

These pains reveal the true object of our trust. Peace and security in a job, the approval of others, a steady income, a place to sleep, healthy bodies, all good things! But could it be that our sense of security in these things has led us away from total dependence on God?

Every time we ask a question about why we suffer, typically from pain caused by others (category 2), there is a basic belief hidden behind the question. We want to be in control, like a god. But we don’t have the capacity for godhood. And God is too good to let us pretend we do.

How is it that Paul learned to be content in any and every circumstance, near-death experiences included (Philippians 4:11-13)? God met him in the middle of those places with a work of grace. There he learned that he could do and endure all things because Christ was his strength. He would later write in 2 Corinthians 12:9, “[God’s] power is made perfect in weakness.”

This is the nature of bruising. God is so good that he will utilize any tool necessary to help us experience the joy of complete and total dependence on him. It’s not punishment. He’s not abandoning us, hoping that we’ll come crawling back to him. It’s an intimate work he does at thedeepest level of our being, a place that is dominated by the darkest parts of our soul.

This work requires us to abandon self-preservation and self-will, the core of our yet-to-be-perfected self. C. S. Lewis wrote, “The human spirit will not even begin to try to surrender self-will as long as all seems to be well with it” (The Problem of Pain).

Our bruising, the moments we find ourselves with our back against an elm tree in winter, are not a problem to be escaped. Our pain, even the pain that is inflicted on us by others, is a gift to show us the places in our heart we have not yet said to God, “Not my will, but yours.”

This is necessary for the pastor fired by his board as well as the pastor whose sin ruined his ministry. Both sit at the same elm tree. God works the same grace to each as we find the end ofour ability to be something great in our own eyes. Pains that come from our actions and pains that come from the actions of others are reminders in their own way that we are not enough.

The breaking of our will in these dark places is not the end goal. It is the beginning. Richard Sibbes put it this way, “Holy despair in ourselves is the basis for true hope… If men were more fatherless, they should feel more God’s fatherly affection from heaven” (The Bruised Reed). When we have nothing left to prove and nothing left to protect, we find ourselves in a position to gain everything.

This does not make the source of our pain any less evil. Instead, it means God is so good that he finds a way to use even the evil of others and the evil we commit ourselves to pour out his grace in our lives. He works his grace into the deepest recesses of our souls where our will is most resistant to him. Through his work the elm tree has become one of the most beautiful experiences of my life.

The Call to Embrace Pain

Don’t waste this moment as you sit with your back to the elm tree! You are on holy ground here where God does this work. It’s a work that can only be done when we give up all attempts to preserve and protect our life. He loves you more than you love yourself. He loves your family more than you do.

What you do with the pain in your life, the way you fight against it as well as the way you accept it, becomes a window to your soul. Are you fighting to be in control? Are you constantly beating yourself up for your mistakes? Are you placing all your worth and value in the empty rituals of your ministry? Are you suffering unjustly through no fault of your own?

Whether you’re here at the elm tree because of your own sins or the actions of others, the samework of grace is active in your situation. The Shepherd doesn’t first ask how the bruising happened, only to leave you to your own devices if you messed up. He works to bind them up just the same.

Here’s the incredible news: You don’t need the strength to make this happen. Your weakness in this moment is the very thing that’s required. It is the solution.

The pain you feel is the tool God is using to shape you. And when you feel it you are faced with a choice. In The Problem of Pain, C. S. Lewis put it this way: “Once pain has roused him, he knows that he is in some way or other ‘up against’ the real universe: he either rebels… or else makes some attempt at an adjustment.” And even in the attempt, not the success of the adjustment, God does his work and meets us with grace. “God can pick sense out of a confused prayer. These desires cry louder in his ears than your sins” (Richard Sibbes).

Jesus knew the pain of giving up self-preservation for the love of God. In the garden of Gethsemane he begged God to take away the pain. But when faced with that real universe, withhis back to the tree, he chose to say, “Not my will, but yours” (Luke 22:42).

You are faced with the same choice in your pain. Will you choose to accept the work God is doing, painful as it is? Or will you fight to escape it?

You may decide to become bitter because of your pain. You may wallow in self-pity and self-loathing as you look through the window at your soul and see the evil that hides there. Both of these responses deny God the desired outcome of his work. It’s a form of taking back control. You cannot accept the pain from God without also accepting the grace and joy, the treasure, he brings to you in it and through it.

God wants more good for you than you do for yourself. If you trust him enough to accept it, and even if this pain ends with the loss of even your own life, you will find that you have gained everything. If you trust the Lord who said, “I am the resurrection and the life,” you will find the price you paid incomparable to the abundant life he is working in you.

Helpful Books

When I’ve got my back to the elm tree, I’ve found these books to be helpful. May they also feed your soul when you don’t have the strength to feed yourself.

Bunyan, John. Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners.
Bunyan, John. Seasonable Counsel.
Lewis, C. S. The Problem of Pain.
Manning, Brennan. Abba’s Child.
Manning, Brennan. The Ragamuffin Gospel.
Nouwen, Henri. The Wounded Healer.
Owen, John. On Indwelling Sin in Believers.
Owen, John. On the Mortification of Sin.
Sibbes, Richard. The Bruised Reed.
Teresa of Ávila. The Life of Teresa of Ávila.

Bio: Josh Havens, lives in the Springfield, MO area with his wife and three sons. His passion for discipleship, coaching, and solving puzzles keeps him engaged in deep conversations. Learning to walk in God’s grace is his greatest joy and challenge. He’s a software developer by vocation, leading a team that currently develops educational software services for several government departments of education around the world as well as several seminaries.

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The Bruised Shepherd