Dryness as a Gift (or “did Jesus burn me out?)

Could it be that the spiritually dry seasons are not our fault, but God’s choice? I’m of the belief that man, in his own deluded selfishness, would never pursue God by his own volition. I believe salvation is a gift, and not something to be acquired. It seems logical, then, that nearness to God is also a gift. If we cannot earn salvation, how could we earn sanctification?

If God-experiences, profound insights, and holy moments of God’s presence are gifts, then we can claim no credit when they occur. Just as we cannot tease the sun to emerge from the eastern horizon, we cannot bait God. And the adverse is also true: dry seasons are not our fault. God is responsible for the harvest, we are only called to abide in Him (see John 15). If we are being faithful laborers and the season does not bring the sweet fruit of God’s holy presence, then it is a logical assumption that God is choosing to withhold His felt manifestation for a time, a dry season.

Burnout is often an indication that a ministry leader has fallen victim to Satan’s great lie: that we can earn anything with God. When we are dry, we pastors tend to work harder, study more, pray incessantly, and dive deeper into the disciplines of the faith. What if we faced the dryness instead of fleeing from it? If God is at work in the dryness then an act of worship would be an embracing of this season in honor of its Source. Our theology tells us that God is near, but He’s choosing to be cloaked; perhaps resting in the ambiguity instead of wishing it away will bring us peace.

“God did this so that they would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from any one of us.” (Acts 17:27)

Beneficial Brokenness (or “why it is good to be burned out”)

The soul-shattering, heart-crushing initial moments of brokenness are the things of pastoral nightmares.  The ornate rug of pride (we call it acknowledgment of God’s blessings), self-righteousness (we call it discernment), and arrogance (we call it confidence) is pulled from beneath our well-polished Sunday shoes and we find ourselves on our backs, looking up at the ugly face of reality.  The world has an axis and in such moments we rediscover the uncomfortable reality that it is not us.  The impact leaves us breathless, stunned, hurting.

During such moments we feel hopelessly ruined, gravity has shifted and what was up will now be down for all of time.  The recovery does come, but slow.  And this is where we find truth  in the biblical paradox: last really is first, weak really is strong, broken really is whole.  The swift knock to our far too large heads brings clarity, the godly perspective: we really are not capable of anything by ourselves.  Our sin-soaked, self-seeking hearts are addicts of praise, we are glory thieves, we hoard what we were never intended to receive.  When we glimpse the divine perspective we are convicted, which leads to confession, which leads to repentance, which leads us to a place where we can worship “in spirit and in truth”, and when we worship we can truly minister properly.

Nancy Leigh DeMoss said, “It is a wonder what God can do with a broken heart, if He gets all the pieces”, and it is when we are on our knees after being put on our backs that we learn exactly how true her words are.  Being burned out means relying on God, and there is no substitute for such a powerful position of weakness.