The Fellowship of the Lonely

Why Are So Many Church Leaders Feeling Alone?

I've been thinking lately about the strange paradox at the heart of ministry work. How we can be in a ministry role that is continually surrounded by people and yet feel utterly alone. There's something about the weight of spiritual responsibility that seems to carve out a hollow space within us. I have noticed this happening to many peers over the years, and it has been sad to see people shrivel up and be husks of their former selves, especially those who I fondly remember being full of life. Many people picture ministry as this wonderful experience of continual connection, but I wonder if falling into these valleys is because we don’t necessarily expect them to happen. We have seen throughout history of the struggles of those in ministry, and yet the stigma that people have faced has perhaps driven the wedge deeper.

Even when physically surrounded by people, many of which are delightfully encouraging, many of us in ministry carry an interior aloneness that feels impossible to articulate. This isolation, I've come to believe, stems not from absence but from expectation, an unspoken expectation to embody stability in a world riddled with chaos. Maybe we have become, unwittingly, victims of our own projected competence and capability. As church leaders we seek to project knowledge, ability and ‘put-togetherness’. We are the ones who can do anything and everything – right? It’s what’s expected from us. It may be starker to look at the job description that we assume of those we affirm as leaders, and check if our expectations so high of those who lead that we are inadvertently setting them up to fail. These expectations, whether internal or external, might be the very thing fuelling isolation. Perhaps deeper community is available, not for those who can care for others, but those who are willing to receive care from others. Maybe we can love our leaders well, if we expect less from them, and draw nearer to them.

Why is it that we are hearing so many church leaders expressing the feeling of being alone?

Isolation vs Solitude

Before we wade too deeply into these waters, let us pause to consider how Scripture frames the experience of solitude. There is a big difference between solitude and loneliness. Jesus Himself modelled a rhythm that many modern church leaders have forgotten. Matthew tells us that after feeding the five thousand (which was surely a ministry "success" by any contemporary metric) Jesus "went up on a mountainside by himself to pray" (14:23). Luke observes that this wasn't an isolated incident but a pattern: "Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed" (5:16). So, there is something about intentional solitude, or active withdrawal that is a helpful and formative spiritual discipline.

The actions of Jesus weren't failures of being socially connected but intentional embraces of a spiritual separation. There's something profoundly countercultural about these type of actions that challenges our always-connected, always-available ministry paradigm. I am so guilty of this in my life. I regularly talk about our missional lifestyle as “not always working, but never off.” Perhaps I’m starting to see how this affects me in my mid-forties with ever decreasing energy and ever-increasing caffeine intake. What might Jesus be teaching us about the necessity of withdrawal, not as escape but as essential tending to our own soul? What if we need time alone with God more regularly than we think?

I find myself returning often to Elijah's journey in 1 Kings 19. There are so many little scenes all across the Bible that I can wait to get to Heaven to chat to these folks! Here was a prophet who had just witnessed extraordinary power on Mount Carmel, yet soon after fled into the wilderness, overwhelmed and afraid. God's response wasn't a pep talk about pushing through or maintaining appearances – just keep plodding on Elijah – catch a grip! Instead, he met Elijah in his exhausted vulnerability, first with practical care (rest and food), then with His presence, not in spectacular displays of power but in "a gentle whisper" (v12). What jumps out to me is how God honoured Elijah's need for isolation and a kind of regrouping rather than immediately thrusting him back into community and ministry. There seems to be a understanding that sometimes our souls need space to unravel before they can be rewoven by God’s gracious hand.

Photo by Aimee Vogelsang on Unsplash

The Perfect Pastoral Performer

I wonder when exactly we developed this myth of the unflappable superhero church leader? Maybe it is this heralding of ‘unicorns,’ those throughout church history who have fit 70 hours of immense Gospel effectiveness into the same 24 hours that we have. I remember years ago looking at the achievements of a popular Christian leader whose resume made me think he had an extra day in the week to me! It really frustrated me for about 2 weeks! How did he preach, teach, lead, write, podcast, etc. etc. and still have time to eat dinner! Yet this sense can create an unspoken measuring rod than we end up beating ourselves with. This strange expectation that those who shepherd souls must themselves be impervious to doubt, fatigue, confusion, or even hunger and tiredness. It's a curious development, particularly since the biblical narrative portrays spiritual leaders as profoundly, sometimes painfully, human. Children’s Bibles rarely show Abraham passing his wife off to the Egyptians, Mr Noah drunk and naked in a tent, or James and John wanting to BBQ Samaritans. Yet, the Bible never shies away from the frailty of our humanity.

The stories that populate our ministry conferences and fill our social media feeds tend to highlight moments of success and growth. We celebrate the pastor whose church plant exploded in attendance, the scenes of dozens of people lined up to be baptised all in their matching church t-shirts, smiling people in photos. I mean, as a begrudged Irish man, are we humanly able to smile that much?! As I’m learning though, in many ways, we need to celebrate these, because after all, this is God at work. These narratives aren't false, but they're incomplete. They often spotlight the summit while obscuring the climb, and the bloody scratches and purple bruises along the way. We all know why, don’t we? Images of frazzled pastors and congregations don’t make for good Insta posts…

True Gospel community thrives not on a photo filter, but on authentic engagement with both the Gospel of grace and human frailty. We are there as church leaders for the best and worst of people’s lives, even alongside our own bests and worsts. Sometimes our fixation on striving for “success” often blinds us to the slower, quieter transformations happening in our midst. What would happen, I wonder, if our ministry testimonies included not just our victories but also our struggles? What if our conference platforms made space for stories of perseverance through doubt, of faithfulness amid apparent failure? Maybe even without the ‘happy ending.’ Perhaps we could project dependence on God’s everlasting arms, both around us and under us (Deuteronomy 33:27). One of the issues is that once people “fail”, we tend to view them as damaged and broken, not fit for service of the King. I’m not suggesting a blanket principle here, but perhaps hearing more of those stories will ground us more in an idea of a God, who Paul reminds us in 1 Corinthians 1, works very commonly through the foolish and weak.

Indeed, Paul's words in 2 Corinthians 12:9 continue to challenge conventional wisdom; “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." There's something here that runs counter to our leadership development seminars and strategic planning sessions. What if our effectiveness as ministers doesn't depend on projecting strength but on acknowledging weakness? What if our authority flows not from having all the answers but from pointing to the One who does? What if we honestly express that becoming a church leader does not remove struggle, but indeed can enhance it?

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The Quiet Crisis of Ministerial Burnout

I remember about 15 years ago hearing at a conference from an older pastor who was asked about the struggles he faced later in ministry life. His words sounded weird to me back then. He said that he was saddened at how many people who started at a similar time to him in ministry had become jaded and burnt out, leaving ministry all together. I think I now understand this after almost 20 years of ministry. Ministry is hard. Expectations are high. And we are human. I think this might be a complete generalisation, but I think a lot of people in ministry live in a perpetual moment of fatigue. The slow, imperceptible drift from passion to obligation happens not in dramatic moments but in the accumulated weight of unacknowledged burden. Our rehearsed, “I’m fine,” is so practiced that people might never actually know the truth. The isolation endemic to ministry work creates a particular vulnerability to burnout. This is not merely from overwork (though that's certainly part of it) but from a deeper disconnection between the external and reality. When we feel we cannot speak honestly about our struggles, those struggles don't disappear; they simply go underground, emerging later as cynicism, apathy, or despair.

I'm reminded of David's psalms, which model a very different approach to spiritual leadership. Here was a king who didn't hesitate to cry out, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Psalm 22:1). The man after God's own heart recorded his doubts, fears, and failures alongside his victories and praises. His leadership wasn't diminished by this honesty, it was authenticated by it. There is a reality of ministry that church leaders face questions that no seminary course could prepared us to answer: Who am I when no one in church needs me? What remains when my role is stripped away? How do I distinguish between God's voice and people’s expectations? These aren't peripheral concerns but central to sustainable ministry. They're questions that, left unaddressed, can erode not just our effectiveness but our very sense of calling.

Photo by Dan Meyers on Unsplash

How Can We Encourage The Isolated?

So where do we go from here? How do we begin to dismantle the isolation that threatens both our ministry and our relationships? I've become convinced that the path forward involves creating intentional spaces for honesty, environments where the pretence of perpetual strength can be safely set aside. But also, this is an invitation to reach out to people in ministry, whether you feel like they need it or not, because who knows, they might just. Here are a few things that I think might be a blessing to encourage those who feel isolated.

Have Honest Dialogue

There's something wonderful about speaking our truth aloud to another human being who receives it without judgment. I've experienced this previously sitting with a small group of pastors in another country who met regularly with an agreement: no success stories allowed unless they're balanced with struggles. This simple guideline transformed their gathering from a subtle competition into genuine communion. I initially felt so weird being a part of it, but then realised why it was so helpful. The power of honest dialogue isn't just therapeutic, it's theological. When we acknowledge our limitations and uncertainties, we create space for God's sufficiency to be revealed. As someone once told me the first service one owes to others in fellowship consists in listening to them. Perhaps the healing of ministerial isolation begins not with more speaking but with more listening, to others and to ourselves.

Learn The Art of Spiritual Withdrawal

Jesus' pattern of withdrawal wasn't an add on to his ministry, it was foundational to it. What might it look like for us to build similar rhythms into our lives? Not as luxury but as necessity? I am particularly bad at this, because my brain works on overdrive when I have nothing to do. So my retreats require me to do something, or I fall into the trap of thinking about everything. However, I know a lot of people that scheduled retreats, like half-days away to provide crucial space for reconnection with God apart from the demands of ministry. These aren't holidays (although we might initially feel guilty for them!) but intentional practices of presence, creating margin for the Spirit to speak into areas of our lives that the noise of activity often drowns out. (P.S. You’ll have to hold me to account for this one!)

The challenge, of course, is justifying such withdrawals in church cultures that equate busyness with faithfulness. We hate being seen as doing nothing. Yet Jesus never apologised for his solitude, never explained it as a regrettable necessity. He simply modelled a rhythm that honoured both engagement and withdrawal as essential to spiritual health.

Invest In Sustained Friendship

Perhaps the most powerful antidote to ministerial isolation is the presence of people who know us beyond our role, who see us not primarily as pastors or leaders but as fellow disciples on the way of Jesus. We might seek out mentoring relationships, or friendships, or just people who we give permission ask the uncomfortable questions and stay present through the uncomfortable answers. I think of how Jesus sent his disciples out "two by two" (Mark 6:7). I often wondered if He gave this as a model that acknowledges ministry as inherently communal rather than solitary. Also, once you notice what we understand of the personalities of the pairs, I’m sure these times were fun! What would it look like for us to recover this pattern, to resist the ideal of the solo pastor-hero in favour of genuine partnership? How might our ministries be transformed if we approached them not as individual pursuits but as shared ones?

We Are Not Called To Be Perfect

As I reflect on these practices, I'm struck by how consistently Scripture challenges our contemporary notions of success. I think this has been the theme that God has been placing on my heart this whole year. The raw honesty of the Psalms offers not just permission but a model for expressing our full humanity before God and others. David's willingness to document both his highest praises and deepest laments created a pattern of authenticity that continues to comfort and challenge believers thousands of years later.

Jesus Himself, despite being perfect, never demanded perfection from His disciples. He worked with their limitations, accepted their questions, and remained present through their failures. His leadership wasn't diminished by their (at times, idiotic) humanity but was revealed through it. Indeed, God often appears in my life most present in my moments of humility and vulnerability. I just don’t always like it! There's something about acknowledging our limitations that creates space for His sufficiency.

Pulling Back & Pressing In

I find myself reading over these notes and not knowing how to end. The feeling of isolation in ministry is not healed with tidy answers but with an ongoing path toward a more holistic way of serving. This path isn't easier in conventional terms. The journey begins with a simple acknowledgment that we don't have it all figured out, that we, like those we serve, are works in progress by God’s grace. This admission isn't a failure of leadership but of its authenticity. When we embrace our limitations, we create space for God's limitlessness to be revealed, not despite our humanity but through it.

Ministry will never be tidy. It will never follow our plans or stay within our schedules. And thank goodness, because the Gospel itself is full of surprises, of broken people held by an unbreakable God. The isolation we feel fuelled by expectation and isolation are the very places where his grace presses in most deeply. So let us learn again to pull back, not as an escape from responsibility, but as a return to the heart of our calling; to abide with Jesus. And let us press into one another, in prayer and shared lives. Maybe even with a hug once in a while!

And be honest. Share these struggles that people might see us as we truly are. Perhaps then our congregations will glimpse not flawless leaders but fellow strugglers whose very cracks allow God’s light to shine through. Ministry does not call us to perfect performance but to true fellowship, first with our Saviour, then with one another. It is in this we move to true belonging, and true fulfilment. If you’ve felt this hollow place in ministry, perhaps you could take a step today, maybe pick up the phone to a peer, pray for God to prompt you to text someone to see how they are, or maybe schedule a day away for retreat. In that small act of vulnerability, maybe you’ll discover God’s gracious provision and faithfulness.