“You have no enemies, you say? Alas, my friend, the boast is poor. He who has mingled in the fray of duty that the brave endure, must have made foes.” —Charles Bukowski
The unique perspective we carry as followers of Jesus is this: the people who hurt us, those who slander, manipulate, or wound—are not our true enemy.
Our only real enemy is the devil himself.
He is sly. He is deceptive. And he delights in using those created in God’s image as tools for destruction and chaos. Often, parading as an angel of light, our enemy slithers right through church doors and wields weapons like pride, fear, and hidden bitterness to turn sheep against shepherd, brother against brother, friend against friend.
If you’ve been in ministry for any amount of time, if you’ve found yourself in “the fray of duty that the brave endure” you know what it means to have foes. Fellow believers who have forgotten our common enemy and, instead, cast you as the villain. The ones who turn down the grocery aisle when they see you. The ones who slide from church to church spreading slander and undermining your character. The ones who left your ministry smaller, shakier, and sadder.
There are a few classes I’d love to add to every seminary program. Things like: “Chair Stacking 101,” “Unclogging Commercial Toilets,” and “How to Figure Out Taxes and Health Insurance as a Pastor.” Honestly useful, but I’d also add, “How to Shepherd When Sheep Bite.”
Because when our hearts have been broken, our breath knocked out of our lungs, and our legs shaken beneath us, it can feel nearly impossible to pick up that staff and walk back into the flock. But if God has called us, He will equip us, even and especially when we feel most afraid to take the next step.
Now, please don’t mishear me. We are not called to endure wound after wound with a pasted-on smile while we walk on broken legs and pretend everything is fine. We must heal. We must seek counsel. We must process honestly. But to quit simply because the enemy gained ground is to believe the lie that he stands a chance of winning.
Jesus has the victory, friends.
And when we inevitably encounter the wounds His followers are promised, He is not limited in the slightest. Let this light a fire in your belly right now: your wounds are powerful tools in the hands of Jesus.
Indeed, He can use “all things to work together for good” (Romans 8:28). God does not cause evil. He does not sow chaos and brokenness in our churches to “teach us a lesson.” But He absolutely can use what the enemy meant for harm and turn it for good. He brings purpose from our pain.
Here are a few things I’ve learned after being wounded in ministry:
I serve an Audience of One.
When doubts and fears arise about my calling or qualifications, I remember who I ultimately answer to. It’s not Negative Nancy or Critical Carl. It’s a heavenly Father Who delights to see me flourish, Who forgives quickly when I bring my failure into the light, and Who gives grace and peace in abundance.
I am called to say hello.
Even if they run from me. Even if they glare with coldness or contempt. I will smile with genuine compassion and say hello when those who have hurt me cross my path. I will not gossip. I will not avoid places I know they’ll be. I will treat them as beloved image-bearers—with boundaries, with wisdom, but with a love that can only be produced by God.
I am a poor judge.
Left to myself, I often think I know exactly what needs to be said or done to set things right, or put someone in their place. But most of the time what I truly need is to keep my mouth shut. To hold my tongue. To trust the wisdom of those around me. To trust that God will work things out in His timing. Too many times to count, my closed lips have saved me from humiliation and further division.
What used to break my bones now only scrapes my knees.
I often say we need thick skin and a soft heart for this pastor’s wife gig, and God has been faithful to thicken my skin through the years. Comments, emails, and lies that once gutted me are now easier to take in, process, and place at the feet of Jesus. He has proven Himself faithful long enough that I lose far less sleep. He’s got me. He’s got you. He’s got your church. And even if the worst imaginable outcome happens, you still have God holding you. Rest in that.
Friendship is fickle.
I value authenticity deeply. I used to believe that authenticity required full vulnerability. But friendships within the church can be tricky. There have been times when I was vulnerable, believing we were bonding and spurring one another on, only to find those words tucked away like tiny arrows to be hurled back at me later. Authenticity is not the same as vulnerability. We must be discerning and wise about who we allow all the way in.
I’m sure I could go on. I’ve learned far more in the valleys of ministry than on the mountaintops. And from those lessons I can see a path forming ahead of me—a road lined with more wisdom, more hope, and more compassion than I had before.
If anyone understands ministry wounds, it’s Jesus.
His own people hated Him to the point of crucifying Him. And long before the cross, for years He endured loneliness, rejection, slander, and hatred from the very ones He came to save, the ones He was serving, loving, and healing.
Jesus knows what it means to bear wounds.
He is with us in the midst, and He knows how it will end. Ultimately, all things are made right. Ultimately, all those falsely accused will stand free and clear.
Walk in that hope.
Remember who the real enemy is.
Love deeply.
He won’t waste a second of your pain.
Promise.
Grace + Peace
Taking It Deeper
- What’s something you can take away from a time when ministry was difficult?
- Do you struggle to remember that people aren’t the enemy? If so, commit to praying for the ones you consider enemies. Pray for compassion and fresh eyes.
- Think about who you were ten years ago. What has changed? Has it been for the better? Is cynicism creeping in? How can you release what is toxic and hold onto what is good?