It's Not That He Doesn't Love the Lord—He Just Doesn't Know How to Say It.

The Growing Desire to Leave

I often receive emails from readers seeking advice. This time, the message came from a ministry worker in his early thirties who had been serving in the church for several years:

I first started attending church because I wanted to make friends. Being naturally quiet and introverted, I found myself in a church that was expanding rapidly and desperately needed volunteers. The pastor also showed a great deal of care for me, and I was experiencing some spiritual stirrings. So, with a simple desire to serve, I got involved. At first, I still had some free time, so I took responsibility for the youth ministry. Later, as the church continued to grow, new organizations and ministries were established, and the pastor asked me to help with administrative work as well. I genuinely wanted to serve God, so I agreed to everything.

Now, I work a full-time job during the week, and almost every weekend is spent serving at church. I wear many hats—administrative assistant, greeter, helping with fellowship meals, and taking care of various other tasks. I have been a Christian for less than five years, and to be honest, I am not particularly close to the pastor. About six months ago, I began seeking God in prayer, asking whether I should adjust my areas of service or even leave the church. But so far, I have not received a clear answer.

Recently, the desire to leave the church has been growing stronger and stronger. But I have taken on so many responsibilities that I have even begun quietly preparing for a transition. The problem is, I honestly do not know how to bring it up with my pastor.

After reading the letter, I felt a sense of familiarity. Although we had never met, I had heard many similar thoughts and struggles through years of walking alongside young people. They do not know how to begin the conversation. The pressure keeps building, and eventually, after stepping down from their ministries, they disappear from church altogether—as if they were running away, too afraid to show up again.

Why is it “him” who wants to leave?

In many similar cases I have encountered, I have noticed a curious phenomenon—the people who eventually drift away from the church are often the most passionately involved core workers. Those at the center leave, while those on the margins remain.

At first, I found this puzzling as well. But through interviews and many deep conversations, I gradually came to understand: the reason they leave is often because they once carried too much. Some are university students; others are young adults just beginning their careers. After investing themselves to a certain point, they begin asking difficult questions: During these past few years, have I really been serving God, or have I simply been helping keep the church running? I have sacrificed my rest, friendships, studies, career development... Was it all worth it? Once questions like these begin to surface, their sense of purpose can suddenly collapse, leaving them trapped in self-doubt and discouragement. If there is no one around to help them face these struggles, they may start by taking a leave of absence. The first time, there is a legitimate reason; the second time, the reason becomes less clear; the third time, they simply do not show up... and before long, they are gone.

I have also asked people who left, “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” One person replied, “It wouldn’t have made any difference. In church, if you raise questions, people assume that you're not mature enough or that you don't love the Lord enough....” And so silence becomes a form of self-protection. By the time they finally leave, others may describe them as cold, weak, or having drifted away from the faith, making it even harder for them to express the confusion and turmoil they carry inside.

When the same pattern keeps appearing over and over again, I cannot help but wonder: Does this suggest that the problem does not lie with any one individual, but rather with a common struggle that arises in the course of church ministry?

Why Is Communication So Difficult?

When a younger ministry worker gathers the courage to speak with a pastor, what he or she often longs for most is simply to be heard. What may be needed is a simple acknowledgment such as, “You have really given a lot of yourself over these past few years. I know you're tired.”

Yet the moment a pastor hears that a ministry worker wants to step down, the brain often shifts immediately into problem-solving mode. The first thought may be, “Who is going to take over this ministry?” This is because a pastor is both a spiritual mentor and an organizational leader. From that position, they must think about several things at once: how the church will continue to function smoothly, how responsibilities will be distributed among workers, and how the congregation will perceive the situation, among other concerns.

When a weary ministry worker comes to them, and they are unable to discern in that moment which role they should respond from, they may fail to meet the emotional needs of the person seeking help. This is often a matter of being on different wavelengths rather than a lack of care. Yet when someone is already feeling vulnerable, they may still come away feeling hurt.

In addition, within Chinese culture, we are taught from an early age not to trouble others and to put the greater good first. As a result, expressing personal needs can easily be seen as selfish. We often struggle to give ourselves permission to do so, and those around us may also view such a person as lacking consideration for others. Having been raised in the same cultural environment, many of us have naturally learned to suppress our personal feelings or simply do not know how to deal with the tension between individual needs and the needs of the group. When differences in seniority are added to the equation, the struggle only becomes more complicated.

Over the years of working in counseling, I have noticed that our culture often lacks a particular interpersonal skill—what I would call “checking for understanding.” We tend to interpret others through our own assumptions, which leads to endless misunderstandings and miscommunication. When a young person says, “Let me think about it,” an older person may hear, “He is being resistant.” When an older person says, “You need to submit,” the younger person may hear, “My feelings don't matter.” In reality, checking for understanding requires only a very simple question: “Is that what you mean? Am I understanding you correctly?”

Here is a complaint I hear quite often.

An older church member asks, “We haven't seen much of you lately. What's been going on?” The young person replies, “I've been pretty busy lately.”

The older person responds, “No matter how busy you are, you should seek God's kingdom first!”

This conversation contained no checking for understanding whatsoever. The response itself reveals a preconceived conclusion. What if it had been handled differently?

The older person asks, “We haven't seen as much of you lately. Are you doing okay?”

The young person replies, “I've been pretty busy lately.”

The older person asks one more question to check for understanding: “You must be pretty tired. Would you like to talk about it?”

The young person replies, “I’m not really sure how to put it into words.”

The older person replies, “That's okay. Whenever you feel like talking, or if you need prayer, let me know.”

The difference in the second conversation is simply that space is created, allowing the other person not to have an answer right away. What is being communicated is a kind of unconditional care. And perhaps it is this very care that will influence a young person in the years to come—so that when they face a season of spiritual struggle, they will still be willing to return to the church and seek help.

What is making this hard for you?

I invited this weary reader to pause for a moment and think carefully about what was truly at the heart of the difficulty they were facing.

Wanting to lighten their ministry load but not knowing how to bring it up—was it because they were afraid of disappointing the pastor? Or because they worried it might affect the operation of the church? Or were they actually unsure whether they were tired, hurt, or truly sensing God leading them in another direction? Only by identifying the key reason can they know how to handle the next step.

I also suggested that, rather than expecting the pastor to fully understand all of his struggles, he could begin with one specific request:

“Pastor, I’ve been wanting to think through the direction of my future ministry. Could we find some time to talk? I’d appreciate your help as I seek God’s guidance.” This kind of opening is both honest and respectful. It also leaves room for the pastor to prepare mentally to shift into the role of a spiritual mentor—someone who can walk alongside him, talk things through, and explore possible directions together.

In reality, everyone in the church is trying their best to do what they believe is right. But people standing in different places inevitably see things from different perspectives. We can learn to look at issues from multiple angles. Doing so not only helps us express our own needs more clearly, but also gives us a better chance of hearing what the other person is really trying to say.

Spiritual Maturity Begins with Seeing One Layer Deeper

Over the years of walking alongside brothers and sisters who have been hurt in the church, I have noticed that when Chinese Christians encounter discomfort in their faith journey, they often remain at the emotional level. Relationships within the church inevitably bring hurt at times. Yet those involved can easily fall into self-condemnation: “I’m too sensitive. I’m not spiritual enough.” Or they may swing to the opposite extreme, blaming others for treating them unfairly or not caring enough about their feelings. Both explanations keep circling within the same loop—the focus remains on one’s own inner world.

Based on years of observation, walking alongside others, and my training in counseling, I believe that spiritual maturity requires us to move one step beyond our emotions and reflect on the situation we are in. Yet this often runs counter to our spiritual instincts. In church, we are frequently taught to look inward—at our sin, our weaknesses, and our relationship with God. Much less often are we taught to look outward—to consider the structures we are part of and the positions in which we have been placed.

When emotions are the only tool we have, we cannot truly deal with our exhaustion. We simply swing back and forth between “I’m so tired” and “Maybe I don’t love the Lord enough,” eventually becoming trapped in a cycle of self-interpretation.

I would like to encourage this reader, as well as my brothers and sisters in Christ: if we are willing to think about our circumstances and look one layer beyond ourselves, perhaps we can begin by asking:

In your current church life, what role or position are you carrying? How much of your present exhaustion comes from your own personal limitations, and how much comes from the difficulty of the role itself? If you were able to stand in someone else's position, what might you see that you cannot see right now?

These questions are not meant to invalidate our emotions. Emotions are always the starting point; without them, we would not even become aware that something is wrong.

However, emotions are only the doorway; there is still a journey ahead. As we learn to move from personal feelings to role responsibilities, and then to organizational structures, we have a better chance of seeing the issue more fully and clearly.

I am especially fond of the passage in 1 Kings 19 that describes Elijah under the broom tree.

He had just experienced a great victory on Mount Carmel, yet now he was alone in the wilderness, asking God to take his life. What especially moves me is the way God responded. God first stayed quietly with him, letting him sleep and providing him with bread and water. He slept, then ate; he ate, then slept again. Only after his strength had returned did God lead him to Mount Horeb. There, after the wind, the earthquake, and the fire, Elijah heard God in a gentle whisper. God then told him that there were still seven thousand people in Israel who had not bowed the knee to Baal.

God waited for a prophet who was exhausted in both body and soul. He allowed Elijah to emerge from his emotional turmoil, and then He opened his eyes to a broader vision.

When you feel both exhausted and tempted to step away, start by taking care of yourself—eat a good meal and get some proper rest. Give yourself some space to look beyond your emotions and slowly consider the structure and circumstances in which you find yourself. Pray for the Lord's peace and wisdom, and ask Him to help you find the right words to express yourself and communicate well.

You will gain a clearer sense of where you need to go.

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