There is a silent weight that rests on the shoulders of every true pastor ( not because of what people demand openly, but because of what they expect silently.
Many members never speak it, but they carry invisible checklists in their hearts:
That the pastor must always be strong.
That the pastor must never have a bad day.
That the pastor must pray, hear, discern, visit, provide, and yet never feel tired.
That he must read their minds and meet their needs ( sometimes needs they never even voice.
These unspoken expectations form a spiritual pressure that heaven alone can measure.
While people see the pulpit on Sunday, heaven sees the burden on Monday.
Pastors are often crushed between divine assignment and human assumption.
Some members get offended not because the pastor failed spiritually, but because he failed to meet an expectation he never knew existed.
You’ll hear it whispered:
“He didn’t call me.”
“He didn’t notice my pain.”
“He didn’t attend my event.”
Yet nobody told him. They expected him to discern it.
What people forget is that discernment is a gift of the Spirit, not a replacement for communication.
Even prophets are human.
Even shepherds bleed.
Every true pastor carries not just sermons (but souls.
Every face in the pew is a weight on the altar.
When members complain, the pastor prays.
When they withdraw, he worries.
When they leave, he questions himself before God.
He often carries guilt that heaven never gave him.
That’s why many great men of God preach with passion but sleep with tears.
They smile in daylight but wrestle in the night with questions no one will ever hear:
“Did I fail them?”
“Did I miss God?”
“Did I give enough?”
DEAR MEMBER, sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is to pray for your pastor.
Not because he is weak, but because he is human.
He stands in battle for many who never stand in prayer for him.
If you knew the weight of what your pastor carries silently,
you would stop judging his tone and start interceding for his heart
REMEMBER THAT
The oil you enjoy on Sunday often flows from the tears your pastor shed in secret.
The sermon you celebrate may have been born in a night of warfare you never saw.
By Yaa Ayeh