“I’m not sure what I’m doing,” he said.

I’d never met him before, but the air of fragile confidence was familiar, this sense of being lost in the house you grew up in.

“I’ve been a pastor for 15 years, and most days I have no idea what I’m doing. It makes me nauseous,” he continued.

He seemed like a man struck with malaise, a chronic illness in which the source is hard to pinpoint.

He’s not alone. I find myself talking with more and more pastors stricken with uneasy nausea and fatigue that they can’t name. It’s as though their calling has been stripped of meaning.

This man could do a good job with the regular activities of being a pastor, he went on to say, but he wasn’t sure whether they meant anything to his people.

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