Jesse Reimers

We live in a culture—both secular and sometimes within the Church—that is deeply uncomfortable with grief. People will say “Stay strong” , “Move on” , or “Just trust God” as if those phrases were holy shortcuts to avoid emotional pain. Even pastors can fall into this mindset, believing that showing sadness somehow undermines faith or leadership credibility. But Scripture tells a very different story. From Job’s anguished speeches to David’s tear-stained psalms, from Jeremiah’s prophetic weeping to Jesus’ own sobbing in Gethsemane, the Bible gives grief a voice. That voice is lament —a prayer language of pain, protest, and trust. And here’s the truth many of us need to hear: Lament is not weakness. Lament is worship. What is Lament? Lament is more than just expressing sadness. It is a spiritual discipline that honestly names our pain before God while holding onto hope in His character and promises . Biblical lament has four basic movements: Addressing God — Turning to Him instea...

Ministry is filled with sacred moments—baptisms, weddings, salvations, breakthroughs. These are the moments that fill photo slideshows at conferences and the highlights in monthly newsletters. But there is another side of ministry we don’t often talk about: grief. Not just the grief of burying a member or consoling a grieving family, but a deeper, quieter grief that often goes unnamed. It is the grief of the minister —the shepherd silently mourning their own losses while tending to the wounds of others. The Invisible Weight We Carry Many pastors, especially those in small churches, carry a weight that is not easily described. It’s not always trauma or tragedy—it’s the accumulation of quiet losses . The slow fade of a member who once stood with you in the trenches. The energy spent planning an event that no one showed up for. The leadership pipeline that never materialized. The promising young leader who moved away. The Sunday where your sermon fell flat, and you weren’t sure why you ...

“The hand of the Lord was upon me, and He brought me out by the Spirit of the Lord and set me in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones.”  — Ezekiel 37:1 Pastor, have you ever stood in the middle of a valley? Not a literal one, but a spiritual one — a place where your prayers echo back to you unanswered, where the people you once led with joy now feel disengaged, where the flame that once burned so bright flickers in the winds of discouragement? You’re not alone. In Ezekiel 37, the prophet is carried by the Spirit right into the middle of a place that should have been avoided — a valley of very dry bones . These bones weren’t just dead; they were scattered, sun-bleached, and hopeless. Yet, right there — not on a mountaintop, not in a palace, not in a comfortable temple — God asks the question: “Son of man, can these bones live?” Where Hope Dies, Revival Begins Revival does not begin in places that are full of life; it starts where hope has died. It starts in valleys, in...

  More Than a Moment, It’s a Legacy Every pastor dreams of making an eternal impact. But impact is not just about the size of your platform or the number of people you reach. It’s about the legacy you leave—especially the legacy of trust. Trust isn’t built in a sermon. It’s built in the daily decisions, the unseen moments, the choices made when no one’s watching. And it’s secured by one thing: integrity. As we close this four-part series, let’s look beyond this season of ministry. Let’s look toward the long haul. Toward finishing well. Toward living in such a way that your family, your church, and the next generation of leaders can say, “He was the real thing. She didn’t just preach the Gospel—she lived it.” The call today is to live for more than applause or immediate results. It’s to live for legacy. The Crisis of Short-Term Ministry We’ve all seen the stories—leaders with immense gifts but short-lived impact. What took years to build came crashing down in weeks because of a brea...