COVID-19 and vaccine suspicions have stressed ministers to the breaking point

Having spent more than 40 years in the Christian ministry, I sometimes can soothe my emotions during church difficulties by reminding myself I’ve seen it all before—the good, the bad and the ugly of ecclesiastical life.

I’ve endured numerous tempests, and a couple of tsunamis, and remain on my feet and in the pulpit. If I can’t say much else in my favor, I can say I’ve hung in there.

But until 2020, neither I nor any other contemporary preacher had encountered anything like the COVID-19 pandemic. This has been uncharted territory.

The pandemic continues to be tough to navigate even as we seem to be emerging from the worst days.

We’ve transitioned by fits and starts from not being able to meet in person, to learning how to worship on Facebook and Zoom, to meeting in person again but with masks and strict social distancing, to—now—deciding how to shuck our masks and shake hands without endangering those among us who remain unvaccinated, especially the kids too young to be eligible for shots.

I recently took stock of ministering during the pandemic while reading a couple of articles.

The first, by Bob Smietana of the Religion News Service, reported that some clergy are leaving the profession due to the ongoing, intensified pressures and hyper-politicization.

One departing pastor told Smietana that, in the reporter’s paraphrase, “people at church seemed more concerned about the latest social media dustup and online conspiracy theories—one church member called him the antichrist for his views on COVID—than in learning about the Bible.”

A Barna Group survey of Protestant pastors found that nearly three in 10 had seriously considered quitting within the past year.

The second piece was an op-ed in the New York Times by two evangelicals, Curtis Chang and Kris Carter, detailing their ongoing efforts to persuade other evangelicals to get vaccinated against COVID-19.

Evangelicals, for a variety of social and theological reasons that Chang and Carter explain well, have been especially hard to convince that the virus is deadly and the vaccines are beneficial. Among other things, evangelicals historically have been suspicious of official institutions and explanations; it’s part of their ethos.

Almost half of white evangelicals in the United States say they’re reluctant to get vaccinated. Their unwillingness to cooperate is a major hurdle for public health officials trying to control COVID-19 and arguably endangers society at large.

Experts have said it’s especially incumbent on evangelical ministers, then, to take vaccinations themselves and to persuade their parishioners to do the same.

But even that’s complicated. As Chang and Carter noted:

“A survey from the National Association of Evangelicals showed that 95 percent of church leaders would be vaccinated, a marked contrast to the mere 54 percent of evangelicals who planned to get a vaccination. This gap follows a documented trend of pastors feeling afraid to speak on public issues because they might alienate some portion of their members.”

In other words, evangelical ministers find themselves in a dilemma. Overwhelmingly, they believe in the efficacy of COVID-19 vaccinations. But if they say so too loudly, they’ll cleave their politically divided congregations in half and likely lose their jobs. They’re danged if they do and danged if they don’t.

So—more stress. Unending stress.

I’ve been luckier than many of my fellow evangelical pastors. An internal survey of our church a few weeks ago showed that over 80 percent of our adults were fully vaccinated, partly vaccinated or intended to start the vaccine process ASAP. That’s practically herd immunity.

There may be multiple reasons for that. It’s tricky to generalize, but I suspect that, overall, our parishioners are better-educated than those of some evangelical churches, plus we also seem to have more Democrats than similar churches. The educated and Democrats are more trusting of public health mandates.

Also, I’ve made a point of encouraging members to get their shots, and I hope my decades of faithful service have given me a measure of credibility. Finally, we’re blessed with an unusually kind and open-minded congregation, where even folks who are at small risk for coronavirus complications don’t want to pass the virus along to those who are at risk.

Nonetheless, the pandemic has been tough to navigate as a pastor, one of the two most difficult periods of my ministry. (The other was during my first wife’s battle with cancer and the aftermath of her death.)

I’ve lost much sleep and, sad to say, several church members. I’ve been chewed out and accused erroneously of hidden agendas and ulterior motives.

But mainly, my pressure has come from knowing the lives of people I lead and love could hang on my making wise decisions. That’s a big load to carry. Still, as I said, my lot has been easier than many ministers.

My suggestion, brothers and sisters, is that you might ought to cut your church leaders a little slack these days. Their heads are buzzing and their hearts are weary and, like you, they’re having to figure this out as they go—while praying their congregations don’t split and nobody dies because they made a bad call.

They, too, could use a little mercy.

Paul Prather is pastor of Bethesda Church near Mount Sterling. You can email him at pratpd@yahoo.com.