Behind the pulpit’s polished surface, a storm rages in silence. Pastors laugh with congregations but cry in private. The anointing flows like oil, but their soul feels like dust. Some are drowning in moral failure, some in depression, some in betrayal. A few have written suicide notes in their hearts, waiting for the courage—or despair—to act. This is not just burnout. This is heartbreak dressed in cassock. But hear this: if the milk is spilled and the cow is still alive, there will be new milk. Don’t kill yourself.
God never called perfect people. He called broken men to feed broken people. You are not exempt from pain because you wear a collar. Dr. Juanita Bynum once said, “The anointing makes you visible, but healing makes you valuable.” It is possible to be publicly powerful and privately empty. God is not shocked by your flaw. He saw your humanity before He called you. He knew about your struggle with lust, fornication, your fear, your anger—and still said, “Go.” Your wound does not disqualify you. Your silence might.
The truth is, your mistake may be viral, but God’s mercy is eternal. David fell. Peter denied. Elijah gave up. Yet, their stories didn’t end in shame. Bishop David Oyedepo says, “When you fall, don’t lie there. Get up, clean up, and fire on.” Judas died not because he sinned, but because he gave up. Don’t become a martyr of self-condemnation. As long as the cow lives, the milk can flow again. Grace is not a myth—it is a Person, and He still knows your name.
In Nigeria today, wounded shepherds are everywhere. Pastors who give prophecies but need therapy. Those who cast out demons while being haunted by their own. We celebrate power but ignore pain. We clap for sermons, but not for survival. Nobody asks the pastor, “Are you okay?” We bury their brokenness under titles until they quietly disappear or collapse publicly. But mercy is louder than failure. What you lost in milk, God can repay in oil.
Repent if you must. Step down if needed. Take therapy without shame. There is no reward for dying with secrets. TB Joshua once declared, “Your weakness is not a barrier to God unless you make it your identity.” The same mouth that declared healing for others can speak life into you too. You are more than your sermons. You are more than the fall. You are a child, not just a servant. And the Father has not fired you.
Let your tears water your healing. Let your silence give way to safe voices. You can begin again. Even Apostle Ayo Babalola had to go through fire before revival fell. Your lowest point may be the seedbed for your next oil. Don’t be ashamed to start over. Don’t bury yourself in guilt. The cow still lives. There is still life inside you. And if life remains, heaven has not closed your file.
Dear pastor, don’t die with your milk. Don’t hang your collar on a rope of regret. Don’t let shame do what Satan couldn’t. If you can’t preach right now, rest. If you can’t lead right now, heal. But live. Breathe. Hope. Rise. The pulpit is not your identity. The mistake is not your obituary. God is still your Father. You can still feed nations again. There will be new milk. Don’t kill yourself.
You can call me for prayers and counselling. God bless you
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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