Discover Hope

Do Weary Shepherds Contribute to Weary Sheep?

I recently received a call from a pastor. He asked, “Do you have time to meet with me?” 

I could immediately tell from the sound of his voice that this wasn’t a “Hey, let’s get together” invite. I heard the ache behind his request—I’ve heard it many times from my friends and colleagues. 

We scheduled a time to meet. 

Over breakfast, I listened to his weariness. It wasn’t the kind that sleep fixes. The stress and pressures of ministry had been non-stop for too long. My colleague wasn’t tired, he was weary—to the bone.

Have you ever experienced weariness that goes beyond being tired? I’m talking about a fatigue that requires more than a good night’s sleep—an exhaustion that needs more than a vacation. 

The type of weariness I’m speaking of is the kind that settles deep in your soul. It shows up in quiet discouragement, shortened patience, and a lingering sense that the work before you feels heavier than it once did.

I’ve known some pastors who are honest enough to admit they feel this kind of weariness. Fewer feel free to say it out loud. And even fewer churches know how to talk about it without slipping into blame, guilt, or defensiveness.

But the question still lingers, quietly and uncomfortably:

When shepherds grow weary, do the sheep grow weary too?

This is not a question meant to accuse or assign fault. It is a question meant to help us see ourselves more clearly—as a body, not as isolated parts.

Scripture does not pretend that leaders are immune to exhaustion. In fact, it tells the opposite story.

The prophet Isaiah reminds us that even “youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted” (Isa. 40:30, ESV). Strength, in the biblical imagination, is never assumed. It is always received.

Even Jesus, after pouring Himself out in ministry, looked at His disciples—tired, stretched, and overwhelmed—and said, “Come away by yourselves to a desolate place and rest a while” (Mark 6:31). That invitation was not a rebuke. It was an act of compassion.

Pastors, priests, elders, ministry leaders—these are not titles that cancel our humanity. They are callings carried within it. 

But the question isn’t only personal—it’s communal.

When leaders carry unacknowledged fatigue, congregations often feel it before they can name it. 

Preaching grows thin. Vision becomes cautious.  Relationships strain.  Not because leaders are failing—but because they are human, finite, and in need of restoration.

And yet Scripture also refuses to place the entire burden on shepherds alone.

Psalm 23 famously begins, “The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.” That’s not only David’s confession—it’s ours. Before there are under-shepherds, programs, or structures, there is the Shepherd. He alone restores the soul. He alone leads beside still waters. He alone carries what no human leader ever could.

When pastors begin to function—consciously or unconsciously—as if they must be the primary source of strength, clarity, or hope for the church, weariness is inevitable. And when congregations quietly expect that of them, the weariness deepens.

This is where the question turns gently but honestly toward all of us.

The Church was never meant to be sustained by the emotional, spiritual, or physical reserves of a few. 

It is sustained by Christ, the Head of the body, who supplies grace to every part. Leaders are called to guide, teach, and care—but never to replace the Good Shepherd.

Likewise, congregations are not passive recipients of ministry. They are participants in the shared life of faith. When leaders are supported, prayed for, encouraged, and allowed to be human, the whole body breathes easier.

Shared weariness, when acknowledged, can become shared healing.

The apostle Paul describes the Church as a body in which “the parts may have the same care for one another” (1 Cor. 12:25). That care is not one-directional. It flows back and forth—between leaders and people, shepherds and sheep, all under the care of Christ.

Perhaps the better question, then, is not whether weary shepherds contribute to weary sheep—but whether weary churches might rediscover what it means to rest together in the faithfulness of God.

Isaiah does not promise that the weary will immediately feel strong. He promises something better: 

“They who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength” (Isa. 40:31). 

Waiting, in Scripture, is not inactivity. It is trust. It is the refusal to pretend we are more than we are.

For pastors and parishioners alike, that may be the most faithful posture we can adopt right now—when weariness is all around us.

Not striving harder.

Not pretending strength.

But returning—together—to the Shepherd who restores souls.

Maybe this week, returning begins with one honest conversation, one prayer for your leaders, or one decision to rest without apology.

Take a Moment to Reflect

You may wish to sit with one or two of these questions prayerfully rather than rushing through them:

1. Where do you notice weariness showing up in your own life—emotionally, spiritually, or relationally?

2. How do you typically respond to fatigue: by pushing harder, withdrawing, or seeking rest?

3. In what ways might the Church benefit from more honest conversations about shared weariness?

4. How can leaders and congregations better care for one another without placing unrealistic expectations on either?

5. What might it look like—for you personally or communally—to “wait for the LORD” in this season?

Walking Forward Together

These reflections grow out of the ongoing work of RPM Ministries—offering intentional soul care to pastors, leaders, and learners seeking to follow Christ faithfully in demanding seasons. 

If you’d like to learn more about this ministry, pray for our work, or simply stay connected, you’re welcome to visit richardparrish.org.

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You may wish to share this blog post with someone who is carrying quiet weariness. If a line or two resonated with you, I’d love to hear what it was—feel free to leave a comment or send me a note. Sometimes your simple response helps others feel less alone.

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