Hey, pastors. Church leaders. You who pour yourselves out week after week—sermons, visits, meetings, crises. Can we talk about something for a minute? Something that might feel a little uncomfortable, a little urgent? Rest. Yeah, rest. Like a nap. Not just any nap, though—a nap that could keep you from crumbling under the weight of ministry. And to get there, I want us to sit with Elijah for a bit. You know him: the prophet who called down fire, fed widows, outran chariots. But there’s this one moment in his story that’s been rattling around in my head lately, and it’s got everything to do with why so many of us end up burned out, brittle, and wondering how we got here.
Picture this: 1 Kings 19. Elijah’s just pulled off the ultimate showdown with the prophets of Baal. Fire from heaven, victory in the bag. He should be on top of the world. But then Jezebel sends word she’s coming for him, and he runs. He bolts into the wilderness, collapses under a broom tree—this scraggly little desert bush—and prays something raw: “I’ve had enough, Lord. Take my life. I’m no better than my ancestors.” Then he lies down and falls asleep.
Can we just pause there? The guy who outran horses and summoned miracles—he takes a nap. It’s almost absurd, except it’s not. It’s Elijah hitting the wall. And if we’re honest, we’ve all been there. You’ve preached your heart out, sat with grieving families, wrestled with that budget line that won’t budge—and suddenly you’re under your own broom tree, whispering, “I’m done.” Burnout doesn’t wave a flag. It seeps in—sleepless nights, that tightness in your chest, the way you dodge calls because you just can’t. We’re supposed to be the steady ones, right? The shepherds with the strength. But Elijah shows us something else: even the giants get tired. And maybe that’s not weakness. Maybe that’s sacred.
So what happens next? He’s asleep, and an angel shows up. No lectures, no guilt—just a gentle touch and these words: “Get up and eat.” There’s bread baking on hot stones, a jar of water—simple, earthy stuff. Elijah eats, drinks, and—yep—goes back to sleep. Another nap. The angel comes again: “Eat more. You’ve got a journey ahead.” That rest, that food, it fuels him for forty days and nights to Horeb, where he’ll hear God’s still, small voice.
I love how physical this is. Bread. Water. Sleep. No grand theological pep talk—just the basics. And it’s enough. We’re not just souls floating through ministry, friends. We’re bodies—tired, hungry, human bodies. We need naps. We need snacks. We need to stop sometimes and just breathe.
So let’s get real for a second. Ministry burnout is a beast, and too many of us are fighting it—or losing to it. What does it look like to not just survive but thrive as a pastor, a leader? Here are a few thoughts, not as rules, but as invitations—little nudges from Elijah’s story to carry us forward.
First, rest is holy. It’s not slacking off; it’s built into the fabric of creation. God rested on the seventh day—not out of exhaustion, but to show us a rhythm. Sabbath isn’t a prize for finishing your sermon early; it’s a lifeline. Maybe it’s a literal nap. Maybe it’s an afternoon with your phone off. What’s your broom tree moment?
Second, eat the bread. Feed yourself—body and soul. Elijah had his bread and water; you might need a good meal, a walk in the woods, a passage of Scripture that lands like a balm. Ministry’s an outflow, but you can’t give what you don’t have. What fills your tank?
Third, let help find you. Elijah was alone under that tree, but not abandoned. An angel showed up. Who’s your angel? A friend who gets it, a counselor who listens, a mentor who’s been there? You don’t have to carry this solo—don’t try.
Fourth, know your Horeb. Elijah’s rest wasn’t the endgame; it prepared him for the mountain, for God’s voice. Rest isn’t just collapse—it’s fuel for what’s next. Where’s God calling you that you’ll need strength for? Rest today so you can hear tomorrow.
Burnout’s real, and I’ve seen it take down too many good leaders—pastors who’ve lost their fire, shepherds who’ve walked away because the well ran dry. But Elijah’s story whispers something else: a nap, a snack, a touch from something bigger—it can carry you further than you think.
So here’s my challenge, pastors: Where’s your broom tree? What’s one small step you could take this week—today, even—to rest, to eat, to let help in? Ponder that. Wrestle with it. And maybe, just maybe, take a nap. You’ve earned it.
Pastor's Ponderings 
Leave a comment