I don’t know what it is about October, but for some reason, most of my spiritual and ministry milestones happened in October. It’s the month I got saved, the month God called me to the ministry, and the month I preached my first sermon. It was also October when our church moved into its first building, and then 10 years later, we moved into our second home in October — truly high points in the life of our church.
But October is also the month I nearly crashed, burned, and lost everything. Eight years ago, despite my church being healthy and my family doing well, I felt an emptiness I couldn’t shake or explain. It started in the spring with a recurring question in my mind, “Is this all there is?” My thoughts were more judgments than questions by the fall, like, “I’m holding back the church. I’ve disappointed God. My family would be better off without me.” Some days getting out of bed was exhausting. I could put on a happy face on Sunday, but I was irritable, depressed, unreliable, and a pain to be around outside of that.
Thankfully that October, I got help. I was diagnosed with bipolar II disorder, which helped answer many questions about some of my odd behavior in the past. I didn’t plan on going public with my struggles (who wants a bipolar pastor?), but God had other plans. He made sure my weaknesses were exposed, and in hindsight, I’m grateful. I wouldn’t have admitted it, but I had come to believe the church would rise or fall based on my strengths. It’s the other way around: Our weaknesses are strengths because they put the glory of God on full display. That’s the message Paul told the Corinthians, who had gravitated toward leaders who exuded confidence, charisma, and presence while being devoid of Christian character. Paul was none of those things the Corinthians prized. His sufficiency was in God alone:
“Not that we are sufficient in ourselves to claim anything as coming from us, but our sufficiency is from God” (2 Corinthians 3:5, ESV).“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:9-10, ESV).
I would never choose to go through 2013 again, but I’m a much better pastor because of it. I share that for two reasons. First, if you are in ministry and struggle with depression, anxiety, or any other mental health issue, don’t be ashamed to get help. It’s not a sign of weakness. So many pastors didn’t get help and are no longer with us. Maybe the fear of judgment, rejection and the loss of income factored into their decision, but we’ll never know if their fears were legitimate. I remember being afraid of being judged, only to learn just how supportive and loving my church could be. My guess is there are many more churches like mine.
Second, help make your church a safe place for people to share their mental health struggles, or their struggle to live with someone who is. Everyone goes through bouts with the blues and anxiety, and, more often than not, it goes away in a few days. Even so, when someone shares their pain, we need to remain open to the possibility it could be more. The church is often the first place a believer will go in a crisis, and how we respond can make all the difference between whether they get the additional help they need or suffer in silence.
Between my salvation and the call to ministry, October is a special month for me. But more than anything, October reminds me of how God used the worst time of my life to produce my most fruitful years. Ministry is at its strongest when I’m at my weakest.