The Shame and Dignity of Pastoral Ministry
When ministry feels like the source and solution to our shame
Pastors experience shame too. We can trace its path to things we have done, to things done to us, and like everyone else, find its seed in Eden.
But there are times when the ministry itself feels like the source of our shame. We feel misunderstood. Our ministries are not what we envisioned. Our persistent calls for people to come, to care, to contend for eternal things leaves us feeling vulnerable to their rejection. Over decades of ministry, accumulated vulnerability can take its toll.
Yes, we know where to look for hope. We can look to Christ and remember the dignity of belonging to him. But isn’t it easier to deliver this promise to others than possess it ourselves? We can preach that Christ has taken their shame, even as we use our ministry calling to cover our own.
I didn't realize that I was doing this. I placed a burden upon the ministry that it could not bear—the burden to be seen, known, loved, and belong. And when it failed to satisfy this longing, I thought it was the ministry itself, and not my false hope in it, that triggered my shame.
So what can pastors and church leaders do when we see our ministries as both the source of and solution to our shame?
Remember the Truth. Confront the Lie.
We know there is relief when we remember our identity in Christ, that we are seated with him not as a result of works done by us but because of his work on our behalf. Indeed, knowing we are fully seen and known by God, and yet fully loved and chosen by him, can be sufficient enough to draw us out of our despair.
But why is this relief short lived? I assumed that for me, the problem was forgetfulness. I just needed to create more reminders that reoriented me to the truth. However, when I considered the ministry conditions that led me to feel shame, I realized I was delighting in a truth without uprooting the lie.
Attendance dwindles and our sense of acceptance along with it. We think we are as significant as our last sermon. Our influence wanes and we fear we will be forgotten. What’s the lie here? It’s that crowds, visible impact, and being known by those we do not know is the path to dignity. But this creates a spiral where the sources and solutions to our shame become the same thing: worldly measures of success and affirmation.
To confront this lie, we must not only remind ourselves of our identity in Christ, but also our call to identify with him. And when we do, things like success and dignity take on new meanings.
Identity in and Identify With
What does it mean to identify with the man of sorrows, acquainted with grief? Mark records a conversation between Jesus and two disciples who longed to be seated with him at his right and his left. In response, Jesus asked, “Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or to be baptized with the baptism with which I am baptized?” (Mark 10:38)
He responded to their request to identify with him in his glory with a question of whether they would identify with him in his suffering. Were they willing to rethink their concept of honor and dignity in light of the cross?
Jesus was despised and rejected by men, with no beauty or majesty that any should desire him, perceived as cursed by God and afflicted. When we experience suffering that remotely resembles these things, do we consider it unnatural for a minister of Christ, or the incredible privilege and costly dignity of following him?
When the American dream, and not the suffering of Christ, shapes our expectations for ministry, we will cling to our identity in him only in the moments we don’t succeed—without ever questioning our definitions of success in the first place. We will find our identity in Christ but still prefer not to identify with him. We will relish the comfort of “identity in” without embracing the discomfort of “identify with.”
Imitation and Association
There are times when I place my desires for ministry on one side, and the crucified son of a carpenter on the other, and ask myself which ministry I would rather emulate and with whom I would associate.
To be sure, none of us are the Christ, called to bear the sin and suffering of the world, and it takes wisdom and relationships to discern whether we are trying to be. However, we are called to embrace a cruciform life, where the cross doesn’t simply teach us that Christ has died, but teaches us how to live.
Christian ministry is cross and resurrection, sacrificial love and life. We who live are given over to death for Jesus’s sake so that his life may be manifested in our mortal bodies. So that while a kind of death is at work in us, resurrection life is at work in those we love (2 Cor. 4:11–12).
But even if this new life is not visible to us—even if there is more dying than rising in our ministry—shame need not cover our faces. Not if imitating Christ and being associated with him is the greatest honor of our lives. Not if sharing in his glory in heaven and his suffering on earth is our fullest joy.
Ministry is a labor of love that will likely force us to face our fear of rejection, our fear of being forgotten, and our fear of being perceived as a failure. And when it does, we can rest in our identity in Christ, embrace the call to identify with him, and minister without shame.
This post was originally written for The Gospel Coalition under a different title with additional edits.