Struck Down But Not Destroyed

Frank Wible
Aug 3
3 min read

Jeff sat at his desk long after everyone else had gone home. The fluorescent lights above flickered slightly, the only sound in the church office was the humming of the HVAC. His hands were on his face, fingers pressed against his eyes, trying to fight off the pounding headache that had become his daily companion.

Man sitting at a dimly lit desk with head in hands, surrounded by papers and a book, conveying stress or exhaustion in an office setting. — He gave everything until there was nothing left in him.

He had once been full of vision and drive. As the lead pastor of a growing church, Jeff had poured his life into every sermon, every counseling session, every hospital visit, every outreach event. But now, everything felt like a blur of effort and exhaustion. His passion had turned into performance, and his purpose had gotten buried under pressure.

People still saw him smiling on Sundays, still raising his hands in worship, still preaching truth. But behind closed doors, Jeff was unraveling. He hadn't prayed in weeks — not really. His Bible sat untouched on his nightstand. He couldn’t even remember the last time he felt God’s presence.

It wasn’t that he stopped believing. He just didn’t know how to breathe anymore. Ministry had become a machine, and he was just trying to survive the gears. Every expectation felt like a brick on his back. He wanted to quit, but he felt trapped by the fear of disappointing everyone who looked up to him.

One night, after another sermon that left him feeling empty, Jeff finally broke. He sat in his truck in the church parking lot and said aloud, “God, I’m done.” Not angry, just depleted. “If You want this church to keep going, You’re going to have to carry it. I can’t anymore.”

It was the most honest prayer he had spoken in months. And in the stillness, God met him. Not with a solution, not with fireworks, but with quiet assurance: You’re not alone. You are hard pressed, but not crushed. Struck down, but not destroyed.

Those words from 2 Corinthians 4 flashed in his mind. He had preached them countless times to others. Now they landed on his own heart like rain on dry soil. Tears came. Not out of pain, but from relief. He didn’t have to be the Savior. That job was already taken.

A man sits on a bench, facing a misty lake at sunrise. The tranquil scene includes lush trees and soft sunlight, creating a peaceful mood. — Healing didn’t happen overnight, but it started the moment he let go.

Jeff took a sabbatical for the first time in his life. He met with a counselor, spent time in silence, and learned to let go of the false pressure to be everything for everyone. He began journaling again. Slowly, prayer became something real again, not a duty but a dialogue.

During that time, Jeff also reconnected with a few close friends he had kept at arm’s length. He shared what he had been going through. For the first time in years, he let himself be pastored instead of always being the pastor. Healing didn’t happen overnight, but it started to happen.

When he returned to the pulpit months later, something had changed. He spoke with less polish but more power. He didn’t need to perform anymore. He simply shared what God had been doing in him. And the church responded. They didn’t need perfection. They needed honesty.

Jeff learned that strength wasn’t about always getting it right. It was about getting back up. He had been struck down, but not destroyed. God used the burnout not to break him, but to rebuild him from the inside out.

And now, when men in his church come to him, exhausted and ashamed of their weariness, Jeff knows exactly what to say. He looks them in the eye and tells them the truth: “You’re not weak. You’re human. And God hasn’t left you. He’s just getting started.”

Have you ever felt burned out in your faith or calling?