Yesterday, Paul Vitello had a piece in the New York Times on clergy burnout. He discussed the piece on NPR today.
Members of the clergy now suffer from obesity, hypertension and depression at rates higher than most Americans. In the last decade, their use of antidepressants has risen, while their life expectancy has fallen.
In my own denomination, 69% of pastors reported being overweight. (These must be easterners--no way it's that high here in the west.) 64% of ELCA pastors have high blood pressure, and 13% take antidepressants.
This, one might have noticed, is somewhat at odds with our theology. Lutheran theology says that God's radical love and acceptance is supposed to diminish anxiety, not stir it up. As one of my seminary profs, Fr. Thomas McGonigle, once said, "The Lutherans say they believe in salvation by grace, but they sure don't act like it."
Whence cometh all these problems? Several forces are in play. For one thing, clergy are no longer--thank God--held on a pedestal, which also means that we don't get the deference or respect that we used to get. This, too, is really a good thing, but may come as a surprise to people who expected something different.
Secondly, the culture at large has pretty much had it with religion. The ranks of those who self-identify as "secular" expands with every passing day. If "spiritual, but not religious" people--i.e. people who take the trouble to self-identify as "spiritual" but don't like church--were a denomination, they would be the largest in the country. (Second largest? Former Roman Catholics.)
You can't really blame people. If they had a dollar for every time they heard about a crime committed by clergy, or heard a clergyperson say something inane or ridiculous, most could retire. Compared to our latter-day charlatans, Elmer Gantry was a piker. Wear a clergy collar on the street and people are as likely to see you as a child molester as they are to see you as an emissary of Jesus the Lord.
Third, people in this country don't care all that much for preachers anyway, and never really have. In the late 17th and early 18th centuries, the so-called "Great Awakenings"--(which weren't)--were anti-clergy. Why? Partly, it was egalitarian fervor. The idea of a clerical class struck many early Americans as undemocratic.
Priests weren't even popular in the New Testament. When Jesus told a story about a priest who passed by a half-dead man without helping (Lk 10:25-37), you can bet that heads nodded throughout the crowd. They didn't much care for these priests, who usually left you with the feeling that you weren't giving enough, or praying enough, or righteous enough. Who needs that?
It is true that there's always a certain market for piety--some people actually like it. That point acknowledged, it's also true that most people don't care for sanctimony or smarminess, which, unfortunately, is stock-in-trade for some pastors. As my Uncle Robert likes to say, "Save it for Sunday, preacher."
Some clergy discomfort, it must be said, is their own dang fault. Some pastors go into the business because they want to be loved. In order to get love, they act loving themselves. They will do about anything in order to be well thought of. They'll work 100 hours a week. They'll make sure the pop machine is stocked. They'll come back from vacation to visit the council president's nephew with an infected hangnail. ("See how much pastor loves us!")
Gerhard Krodel, seminary professor at the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia, used to say that every seminary student had one quality which prevented him or her from ever being a decent pastor. "They're all obsessed with righteousness," he said.
Yes, one must get it right. One must perform. One must be "righteous". Only then do my parents--or my congregation--pat me on the head and tell me how "good" I am. We make prospective seminary students pay $1500 for a psychological assessment before they can even think about going to seminary, yet we don't check for one psychological imbalance, called "neediness" or "dependency," which is quite likely to keep that person, and the congregation, in a state of emotional and spiritual immaturity.
This is my theory of why so many pastors smile through their sermons. They could be preaching on depression and heartbreak, smiling all the while. To steal a line from Sally Fields, their smile says, "Like me, like me, really like me. See how loveable I am?"
Congregations themselves are quite often partners with the pastor in keeping him or her in the immaturity of "co-dependency." He or she dotes on them, and, as long as that behavior continues, they'll dote back.
Both get what they want, sort of. The pastor gets love and acceptance, or mistakenly thinks so, and may not consciously notice that he or she has to keep performing in order to keep getting this fake ersatz variety of love--emotional "fool's gold," you might call it. For their part, the congregation gets a devoted servant at their beck and call (who is also seething with rage at their continual "demands").
Easily lost in this twisted psychological maelstrom is the whole question of its horrible theology. You don't have to perform for God's love and mercy, and following Jesus by serving others does not need to be yet another chore.
Jesus didn't chew Martha out for her serving (Luke 10:28-42). No, he said, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things." The life of service, following the example of Jesus, is not to be drudgery, nor should it generate anxiety or burn you out. If it does, you're not doing it right.