One Sunday during March 1965, the worship service at our church in Baltimore got out early. Great, I thought. That gives me more time to play with my friends in the church yard. At 14 years old that was a main focus of Sunday mornings. I had spent eight years developing some great friendships in this church.
I did think it was unusual. We typically did not get out early. My father, the pastor, was very time-conscious and would preach until five minutes before noon. This time he had stopped at 11:40 a.m. But that was not a problem for me.
As I was playing with friends, I was approached by a man in the church calling my name as he walked in my direction. “Oh no,” was my first thought. “What have I done now?” If anything was wrong with what we were doing, I was always the one singled out because I was the pastor’s son.
“George, something is wrong with you father. I think he is sick. He is in his office. You better go check him out.” I began running.
When I arrived at my father’s office, I saw him sitting in the chair behind his desk crying. My mother was at his side. Several deacons and other leaders of the congregation were also in the room.
It turns out my father was preaching, had a panic attack, stopped, offered a traditional invitation, sang one verse of a hymn, pronounced the benediction, and then turned around and went to his office to cry.
He had experienced a burnout incident right in front of the congregation. He had been unable to prevent it. The closest thing to burnout we knew to call what happened is that he had a nervous breakdown.
The following Tuesday my father left home for seven weeks. He had to get away from the pressure he was feeling in this stressful ministry setting.
He went to our home state—North Carolina. He visited the Baptist hospital there, had a complete physical, had a psychological evaluation, received some anxiety medicine, and stayed nearby for regular counseling. He also visited friends and relatives around North Carolina.
It was a very anxious time for my mother—and for me. We did not know when Dad would come home. We did not know what shape he would be in. At my age, I did not understand a lot of it. I probably caused my mother additional stress beyond what she was already feeling as I tried to cope with this experience.
The external presenting issue for my father that led to his burnout is that this congregation was the first ministry setting that had not made great progress under his leadership. He tried everything he knew to do, and nothing was working. The congregation was going backward numerically, and the people were not spiritually maturing in a manner that met my father’s expectations.
