A Conversation That Clarified a Deeper Need
Recently, I had the privilege of spending time with Paul Joiner, Director of Ministerial Wellbeing for Geneva Benefits. Paul has worn the mantle of pastoral leadership for decades. He has felt its weight. He has known its joys. He has walked through the valley of burnout—and he has emerged, by grace, into renewal.
As he shared his story, Paul referenced a 1980s study on the body’s physiological response to prolonged stress. This study, and the visual it inspired, made one truth especially clear: our bodies were never meant to run forever on adrenaline. But for many leaders, stress has become a strange kind of stimulant. As Archibald Hart observed, when leaders live in a constant state of fight or flight—with no enemy in sight—the body adapts by pumping stress hormones into the bloodstream. It feels powerful. It feels productive. But in reality, it is wear and tear disguised as drive. We are not limitless. We are not machines. And yet far too many of us live like we are—until we can’t anymore.
The diagram (recreated below) brought it into sharp focus.
This first image reveals a truth many of us have never been taught: every period of high activity demands a corresponding season of recovery before rest can be fully realized.
We see the natural bell curve of effort—Start, Middle, End—and then the descent. Not back to neutral, but below the rest line, into a trough of recovery. The body must repair, reorient, and reset.
Recovery, too, has a rhythm—its own Start, Middle, and End. Only after that can we truly return to a place of rest.
The Moment That Throws Us Off
Have you ever narrowly avoided a car accident? The deer jumps into the road, you swerve in time—thankfully—and then… your heart races. Your breathing quickens. You’re safe, but your body doesn’t know it yet. It takes time to recover. This is your God-designed response system doing exactly what it was created to do.
But here’s the critical truth: even if the crisis has passed, your body still needs time to recover. Leadership is full of such moments, only more subtle and more frequent. A crisis call. A sudden conflict. An email marked urgent. And every time we interrupt recovery with new activity, we rob ourselves of rest.
This second image tells a more familiar story for many of us. Each recovery phase is cut short. We spring back into activity before we’re ready. Over time, we lose our baseline. We no longer return to true rest. We operate in survival mode.
This is how burnout grows—not as a sudden explosion, but as a thousand unhealed interruptions.
Here, we see both rhythms superimposed: the green line of intentional recovery and the red line of interrupted rest. The contrast is sobering. One curve allows us to flourish, while the other leaves us gasping for air. And friends, the choice is ours.
Relearning the Practice of Rest
Too many leaders—especially pastors—never learn how to rest because they never learn how to recover. We attempt to skip the valley. We short-circuit the healing. And when that text message comes in on our “day off,” we convince ourselves it’s fine. We’ll rally. We’ll bounce back. But the truth is: we’re not bouncing anymore—we’re breaking.
Paul recommends a simple but radical shift: take two days off in a row.
Why? Because the first day is for recovery. The second is for rest.
This rhythm has macro and micro implications: weekly rest, sabbaticals, and seasons of transition. When I stepped out of a Lead Pastor role in 2020, I found myself languishing, not for weeks but for over two years. I had handed off a healthy church, but my body and spirit were still unraveling. I had absorbed a decade of hard, tragedy, and pressure without ever fully entering recovery. I thought I had rested. I had only paused.
Grace for the Honest Inventory
There’s no universal formula here. Every body is different, and every ministry context is unique. But as with budgeting, we must build in margin—not to pamper ourselves but to preserve the call.
Take time this week. Two days. Reflect on your rhythms. Be honest. Invite your leadership team or elders into the conversation. Talk about your long game—your desire not just to stay in ministry, but to thrive in it.
Yes, it may feel like laziness at first. You might even wrestle with guilt. But remember: suffering is a feature of ministry, not a flaw. Jesus Himself withdrew to quiet places—not to escape people but to commune with the Father. Solitude is holy. Isolation is harmful. Know the difference.
A Benediction for the Weary
If you feel the urge to run—not toward the Lord but away from your life—please listen closely:
Don’t run away, leader.
Run toward recovery.
Run toward rest.
The Shepherd who called you is also the one who makes you lie down. He restores your soul—not only so you can lead others, but because you are His beloved.
Let yourself be restored.
Let yourself rest.
