The Evasion: How Pastors Avoid Their Inner War

I spent years on the road. 150 days a year traveling to speak, teach, train. But before you write me off because your calendar doesn't look like mine, hear me out.

Your evasion probably looks different. You're not boarding planes. You're in the office at 6 a.m. and home at 9 p.m. You're at the hospital at midnight for a parishioner who could've waited until morning. You're spending forty hours on a sermon that could take twenty. You're in committee meetings that should be emails. You're counseling people you should be referring. You're saying yes to everyone because saying no might prove you're not committed enough.

Same pattern. Different details.

My calendar was full of airports. Yours is full of something else. But we're both doing the same thing: staying busy enough that we don't have to face what's screaming inside us.

Cindy called herself a "single married mother." Not as a joke. As a fact. She was raising our two sons alone while I was building a ministry. Your spouse might not use those words, but they feel it. The distance. The exhaustion you bring home. The way you're present but absent.

I told myself it was for them. For the kingdom. For something bigger.

Really, I was running.

Busyness is the most spiritually acceptable form of cowardice I know.

The Evasion Nobody Names

Here's what I've learned coaching pastors for years: we're not usually running from God. We're running from ourselves.

And we've gotten terrifyingly good at it.

We pack our calendars. Say yes to everything. Build empires of busyness and call it kingdom work. In the office before everyone, home after everyone. And we wonder why we feel hollow.

But here's the thing: we're not that busy because ministry demands it. We're that busy because facing the collision demands something we're not ready to give.

Silence. Honesty. The raw admission that maybe we're chasing something we'll never catch. That we might be building the wrong thing or becoming the wrong person or losing our families for validation that's never coming.

How I Hid in Plain Sight

The Road Became My Refuge. For me it was hotels and stages. For you it might be the office. Either way, we're choosing anywhere but home. Because home requires us to be present. To be known. To let our spouse see the exhaustion and the fear and the emptiness.

The Success Drug. Every full calendar validates us. Every yes proves something. If people need us, we must be doing something right. So we chase it. More meetings. More impact. More everything. The metrics say we're winning. Our families say we're absent. We choose to believe the metrics.

The Sacrifice Mask. We wear exhaustion like a badge. Work ourselves into the ground and call it faithfulness. Miss our kids' games for hospital visits that could wait. Skip family dinners for "emergencies" that aren't. Leave our spouses to handle everything while we're out "changing lives."

We're not sacrificing for the kingdom. We're abandoning our families. And calling it ministry makes it feel holy.

What the Evasion Cost Me

Here's the thing: my story isn't different than any pastor I know. Same story. Different details. Different kids' names. Different reasons to stay gone. But the same pattern. The same running.

Cindy and I had our low moments over thirty-five years. Times when the distance felt impossible to close. Times when she was carrying everything and I was carrying nothing but my calendar. But she held on while I learned. And I was lucky. Most pastors' spouses don't get that chance.

My sons grew up with a dad who was everywhere but home. They didn't see sacrifice. They saw absence.

My body started breaking down. Literally. Four different health conditions I now refer to as "Ministry Cancer."

But the worst cost? I woke up one day and realized I didn't know who I was anymore. Pastor Tim existed. But Tim? The actual person? He'd been buried so long I wasn't sure he was still alive.

And here's what I just figured out a few years ago: I'd been chasing approval I was never going to get. Validation that I was enough. That I measured up. That all the running and building meant something.

I was killing myself trying to earn something that was never going to satisfy me even if I got it.

I figured it out. Eventually. We managed. But most pastors don't.

When I Finally Stopped

2020 hit. Health crisis. COVID. The world shut down. And so did I.

Not by choice. By force. The body that had been screaming at me for years finally made me listen. And when the calendar emptied—when there was nowhere to go and no stages to fill—I had to face what I'd been running from.

I'm grateful. Because it could've been worse. A lot of pastors push until something breaks that can't be fixed. Marriages end. Kids walk away. Bodies give out completely.

But here's the thing that haunts me: it shouldn't have taken a collapse.

The signs were there for years. I kept ignoring them. Kept believing I was different. That I could handle it. That the rules didn't apply to me.

I was wrong.

And that's why I do what I do today. Most pastors don't get lucky like I did. Most don't get the warning. They just wake up one day and everything they thought they were building is gone.

I don't want that for you.

The Lifeline

You don't have to wait for a breakdown. The signs are there. You know they are.

The exhaustion that never goes away. The distance growing between you and your spouse. The kids who've learned not to expect you. The calendar that owns you. The approval you're chasing that never comes.

You see it. You feel it. But you keep pretending it's fine. You're not different. You're just not paying attention.

Know the signs. Stop pretending. Ask for help.

START HERE:

• Clear one full day this month. Not for ministry. For your family. No emails. No calls. Just you and them. Present. Actually there.
• Tell your spouse the truth. Sit down. Look them in the eye. Say it: "I've been running. I've been choosing everything else over you. I'm sorry. Help me stop."
• Say no to something good. One committee. One project. One thing that would prove your value. Say no. Because you need to prove to yourself you're not defined by it.
• Ask yourself what you're really chasing. Whose approval? Write it down. Then ask: Will I ever actually get it? And if I won't, what am I willing to lose before I stop?

The Way Home

The evasion feels safe. But it's killing you.

The collision feels dangerous. But it's where you'll find yourself again. And your family. And the life you thought ministry required you to sacrifice.

I figured it out. Eventually. Cindy held on. My sons forgave. We made it. But I was lucky. Most pastors don't get that chance.

Most push until something breaks that can't be fixed. And then they spend years trying to rebuild what should've never been destroyed.

I don't want that for you. That's why I'm writing this. That's why I built The Authentic Pastor. Because it shouldn't take a collapse to wake you up.

November's my month to stop running from the studio. What's yours?

What's the thing you've been too busy to face?

Your life is on the other side. ◼︎

The Authentic Pastor is a comprehensive life and leadership development organization that helps pastors and churches achieve lasting growth through their proven WholeCare™ system, offering coaching, cohorts, and consulting services. We're passionate about supporting church leaders throughout their entire career journey—from early challenges to long-term success—with the goal of creating healthier pastors and more effective ministries.

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