Check out my latest “Faith Ponderings” Podcast Episode as I host a special guest and friend, Pastor Alex Norton on this topic:
Hey there, friend. Yeah, you—reading this, maybe sipping coffee, maybe scrolling while the kids are napping or the dog’s chewing on something he shouldn’t. Can we just pause for a second and breathe? Inhale. Exhale. Good. Let’s talk about something real, something that sits heavy in the heart of every pastor, every leader, every human trying to hold it together while pointing others toward hope: connection. Or, more specifically, why pastors—yep, those folks up front with the sermons and the smiles—need friends too.
You ever think about that? I mean, really think about it? Pastors are supposed to have it all figured out, right? We’re the ones with the answers, the ones who pray the prayers, visit the hospitals, counsel the broken, and somehow keep the church potlucks from descending into chaos. (Spoiler: It’s harder than it looks.) But here’s the thing—and lean in close, because this is where it gets honest—pastors are just people. Flesh and blood, doubts and dreams, Netflix binges and existential crises, just like you. And people? People need friends. Not admirers. Not followers. Not even congregants. Friends.
The Loneliness of the Calling
Let’s start here, because it’s real. Ministry can be lonely. Like, soul-achingly, stare-at-the-ceiling-at-2-a.m. lonely. You’re surrounded by people—Sunday mornings, Bible studies, committee meetings—but there’s this invisible wall. You’re the pastor. You’re supposed to be strong, wise, unflappable. You’re the one who’s got God on speed dial, right? So, you smile, you nod, you preach, you pray. But inside? Sometimes you’re screaming, Does anyone actually know me?
I remember this one time, early in my ministry, when I was at a church dinner. Everyone’s laughing, passing the mashed potatoes, telling stories about their kids or their jobs. And I’m there, at the head of the table, smiling, making sure everyone’s included. But nobody asked me how I was doing. Not really. They asked about the sermon series or the budget meeting, but not about Scott—the guy who’s still figuring out how to be a husband, a dad, a human. And I went home that night and just sat in my car for a while, wondering, Who’s my friend? Who’s my person?
It’s not that people don’t care. They do. Congregations are full of good, kind folks. But there’s this dynamic, this unspoken rule: pastors are givers, not receivers. We’re the shepherds, not the sheep. And that’s where the lie creeps in—the lie that says we don’t need what everyone else needs: connection, vulnerability, someone to laugh with over a bad movie or cry with when life feels like it’s cracking at the seams.
The God of Relationship
Let’s flip this for a second and talk about God. Because if we’re gonna get contemplative (and you know I love to get contemplative), we’ve gotta start with the One who wired us for connection in the first place. Think about it: God is relationship. Father, Son, Spirit—dancing together in this eternal, beautiful, mysterious community. And we’re made in that image. You, me, the guy cutting you off in traffic, the barista who spelled your name wrong—we’re all built for with-ness. For being known. For being loved.
So, why would pastors be any different? If anything, we need it more. Ministry is a crucible. It’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong—there’s nothing like watching someone’s eyes light up when they finally get grace, or holding a hand as someone takes their last breath, or baptizing a kid who’s been asking questions about Jesus since they could talk. But it’s also heavy. You carry stories that aren’t yours to tell, burdens you can’t share, criticisms that cut deeper than they should. And you can’t do that alone. Nobody can.
Jesus didn’t. Think about that. The Son of God, the one who literally was the Word, had friends. He had the twelve, sure, but he also had Mary, Martha, Lazarus—people he’d crash with, eat with, laugh with. He wept with them. He let them see him tired, frustrated, human. If Jesus needed that, why do we think we can go it alone?
The Gift of Friendship
So, here’s the invitation, the nudge, the holy whisper: pastors, you need friends. Not just colleagues you swap sermon ideas with (though those are great). Not just mentors or accountability partners (also important). Friends. People who don’t care that you’re Pastor Scott or Pastor Sarah or Pastor Whoever. People who know your quirks, your bad habits, your secret love for cheesy rom-coms. People who’ll call you out when you’re being a jerk and hug you when you’re falling apart.
And yeah, I know it’s hard. I hear you. Finding friends as a pastor is like trying to date while wearing a clerical collar—it’s awkward. People put you on a pedestal, or they’re intimidated, or they just assume you’re too busy. Plus, there’s the trust thing. You’ve been burned before—maybe by a congregant who shared something you thought was private, or a friend who couldn’t handle the weight of your calling. I get it. I’ve been there.
But here’s the truth: friendship is worth the risk. It’s worth the awkward coffee dates, the vulnerability, the fear of being seen. Because when you find those people—the ones who show up with pizza when your sermon flops, or text you a meme that makes you snort-laugh in the middle of a budget meeting—they’re like oxygen. They remind you that you’re not just a role. You’re a soul. And souls need connection.
A Few Thoughts for the Road
So, how do we do this? How do pastors find friends in the wild, messy, beautiful chaos of ministry? A few thoughts, not because I’ve got it all figured out, but because I’m walking this road too:
- Be intentional. Friendship doesn’t just happen. You’ve gotta make space for it. Invite someone over for dinner. Join a book club. Show up at the gym class where everyone’s sweating and swearing and nobody cares who you are. Put it on your calendar like it’s a meeting with Jesus himself.
- Be vulnerable. I know, I know—it’s scary. But friendship thrives on honesty. Share your doubts, your fears, your bad days. Let someone see the real you, not just the polished pastor version.
- Look outside the church. This one’s huge. Your congregation loves you, but they’re not your friends—not in the way you need. Find people who aren’t tied to your ministry, who don’t care about your sermon or your budget report. They’re out there, I promise.
- Receive, don’t just give. Pastors are great at giving—time, energy, wisdom. But friendship is a two-way street. Let someone care for you. Let them listen, pray, show up. It’s not selfish; it’s human.
- Trust God with it. If you’re lonely, if you’re craving connection, bring that to God. He’s not surprised. He’s not disappointed. He’s the one who said, “It’s not good for man to be alone.” Ask him to bring the right people into your life, and then keep your eyes open.
A Final Pondering
I’m sitting here, typing this, thinking about my own friends—the ones who’ve carried me through the highs and lows of ministry. There’s Alex, who always knows when I need a laugh. There’s Mike, who asks the hard questions and doesn’t let me dodge them. There’s Josh, who just gets me, no explanation needed. They’re not perfect, and neither am I, but they’re my people. And they make this calling—not just bearable, but beautiful. (Sorry if I didn’t name all of my friends, I do have a longer list and you’re all important to me!)
So, pastor, leader, human reading this: you’re not meant to do this alone. You’re not meant to carry the weight of the world without someone to share the load. You need friends. Not because you’re weak, but because you’re wired for it—by a God who’s all about relationship, all about love, all about showing up.
Who’s your person? Who’s your tribe? If you don’t have one yet, that’s okay. Start small. Reach out. Take a risk. And know that you’re not alone in this. We’re all just people, trying to love and be loved, one awkward, holy connection at a time.
Grace and peace,
Pastor Scott
What about you? Who’s someone in your life who reminds you you’re human? Drop a comment or shoot me a message—I’d love to hear your story.
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