A good friend made an interesting observation two months before I assumed the senior pastorate at Rising Star Baptist Church in Fort Worth, Texas. She said, “When I see altar calls in church or opportunities for prayer, I never see the pastor and his family go down. Why is that? Who prays for the pastor?”
This prompted a discussion about pastoral care for pastors. We talked about how the responsibility of pastoral care is often only believed to come from pastors, but not for them.
Later that day, my father and predecessor in the pastorate drove me to an engagement and told me, “Son, whatever you do in this next season, don’t make the same mistake I did. Take vacations. Care for yourself.”
My response to both conversations was the same. Pastors who look like me often cannot afford to participate in that kind of care. What do you do when you cannot afford to take days off?
In the African American church tradition, the pastor is at the pinnacle. They are held to a standard and often perceived as not needing prayer or care.
Also, African American churches are less financially stable than their counterparts. This leaves our pastors feeling severe trepidation regarding Sabbath. For the Black pastor, there is a tension between the necessity of healthy life rhythms and the availability of good resources.
Sabbath and rest are necessary rhythms for the spiritual health of the human soul and the pastorate’s longevity. In her work “Listening for the Soul,” Jean Stairs writes, “Pastoral care has the potential to be both preventative and restorative in nature. It is preventative because it lessens the likelihood of burnout for pastoral care practitioners, and it can significantly modify the range and type of requests received for pastoral services.”
Sabbath is not only a practical and holistic principle for parishioners to practice but also needs to be modeled by pastors. Pastors can’t pour out what they don’t have.
The nagging question for me as a Black pastor, leading a predominantly Black congregation in a marginalized neighborhood with limited resources, is how can I model what neither I nor my people can often afford?
Sabbath implies time off from work. It necessitates space, time, and resources, which are often lacking in African American communities.
The wealth gap in the United States provides a helpful lens for this problem. Studies indicate that 64% of Black children live in single-parent homes. These parents can’t afford to attend parent-teacher meetings, let alone take a day off.
According to Pew Research, “Black men earned the same 73% share of white men’s hourly earnings in 1980 as they did in 2015.” These families need every dime they make to live, meaning they give less to their churches. This affects a pastor’s ability to acquire a reasonable salary to afford time off.
Most Black pastors are bi-vocational by circumstance, not by choice. Consequentially, Black pastors take days off from work to work in the church.
There is a theological tension between orthodoxy (correct belief) and orthopraxy (proper practice) around rest in the Black pastoring community. Jesus says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28 NIV).
However, a few chapters later, Jesus also exclaims, “The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me.” (Matt. 26:11 NIV). Contextually, Jesus contrasts the need to prioritize him and why he came with how we operate for him once he ascends. We come to Jesus with all we have and then tend to the poor because of what we receive from him.
The tension in modern Western society is, what do you do when you are poor? How do you live when you recognize Jesus’ work but suffer from the selfishness of Jesus’ people?
Christopher Adams articulates the unfortunate reality that “Black clergy reported worse physical health than their white counterparts.” This is a glaring reality inextricably tied to the lack of resources and opportunity for African Americans.
But reality does not excuse the need for care. The factual results do not erase the faithful requirement to rest and trust God.
With this in mind, I believe that care for Black pastors, and sabbath in particular, requires three practical steps.
First, rest requires Christian risk. The gospel is not challenge-free.
Faith requires believing before seeing. Prioritizing rest often comes with the risk of not knowing how everything will work out or be provided for while resting from work.
Second, rest requires communal reciprocation. As a community of believers, it would benefit pastors to operate in a spirit of collaboration that allows others to tend to their sheep in their absence.
We often ask friends to house and pet sit for us when we are away and never worry about losing those items. But pastors will not ask someone to “church-sit” for them out of fear of losing membership. We are one body with many parts.
Lastly, rest requires a consistent rhythm. It requires pace. My encouragement to my fellow Black pastors is not to wait until the tank is empty before filling up. The moments, hours, and days we steal away create a good tempo for temperament.
Sabbath is caring for the soul. It is a practice that needs to be modeled by pastors, not simply mandated by them.
The unfortunate reality of a lack of resources and opportunities in Black communities demands creativity, community, and faith to lean into what God has called us to do so that we can accomplish the work he has set before us.