When I Couldn’t Sing in Church: A Pastor’s Journey Through Depression
I lost my job as a pastor, working with college and career students, a ministry I poured my heart into.
Everything had been going well. The ministry was growing, and lives were changing. I truly believed I was in the center of God’s will. But then came a difference among ministry leaders—whether in philosophy or theology, I still don’t fully know. What I do know is that I was asked to resign. And it shattered me.
I was hurt—deeply. And beneath that hurt was a slow-burning anger I didn’t even know I was carrying. Eventually, I thought I had moved on, but the truth is, I hadn’t. That unresolved pain would come back to haunt me.
Then came another ministry opportunity. It felt like everything I had ever wanted. A young, vibrant church, full of energy, vision, and life. A dynamic pastor. Momentum. A place to dream again. I accepted the call and stepped in, full of hope.
But something was wrong. Almost immediately, I began to lose sleep. Night after night, I tossed, turned, prayed, pleaded—nothing helped. My mind began to spiral, slowly but relentlessly. And before I knew it, I found myself slipping into a deep, black hole of depression. The kind of darkness that doesn’t just cloud your mind—it consumes it.
That depression held me in its grip for nearly a year and a half.
I was broken. Sad beyond words. Humiliated. I had to step down—again. I couldn’t function. And not just in ministry, but as a husband, as a father—as a man. I felt like a failure. I had lost two jobs. I had lost my confidence. I had lost myself.
We moved to South Carolina, into my in-laws’ home. Eventually, we got our own place. But I still felt like a shadow of who I once was.
It’s hard to describe depression. It’s not just sadness. It’s the absence of light. It’s the deafening silence of hopelessness. It’s the lie that says, you’re the only one feeling this, everyone else is okay, you’re broken beyond repair.
I remember standing in church. Everyone singing. Everyone smiling. But I stood there, tears quietly falling, unable to join in—because I was just… sad. The darkness was thick. Heavy. All-consuming.
And yet—one thing remained: Jesus.
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We are entering the Christmas season, a joy-filled time full of music and celebration. If your heart is so weighted down that you can’t join in this joy, Christmas can be an especially tough time. So we’ve written a small Christmas booklet to share the deeper, unshakable joy of Christ, called, The Night Before Christmas. In a world full of anxiety and fear of the future, you can share this hope of Christ with your friends and neighbors at Christmas. You can find it linked in the description below.
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During this dark period of my life, I couldn’t feel much. But I clung to this truth: Jesus loves me. And I made a decision—I will stay loyal to Him, no matter what.
And slowly—oh so slowly—light began to break in.
Through His Word.
Through a few faithful friends who didn’t try to fix me, just walked with me.
Through the unwavering encouragement of my wife.
Through moments of grace I didn’t deserve.
The light of hope began to flicker again in my soul.
It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t dramatic. Healing rarely is. But God, in His kindness, began to pull me out. And somewhere along the way, I began to realize—I had pride in me I’d never faced. I had pain I’d never processed. And through this valley, God was doing something far deeper than I ever expected. He was humbling me. Healing me. Preparing me.
Eventually, He opened another door—an opportunity to serve in a new church where I’d spend 13 incredible years. And for many years now, I’ve had the joy of working with Spread Truth, sharing the very light I once couldn’t see.
Someone once said, “God cannot greatly use a man until He has greatly hurt him.” I don’t know if I’ve been greatly used. But I do know this: God used the darkness to show me the depth of His goodness.
And now? I can sing again. Not because life is perfect, but because I’ve met Jesus in the dark. And He is enough.
