The hidden mental health crisis killing America’s clergy

By Janet Marugg | FāVS News Columnist

Well, it happened. A broken heart, and the only cardiologist in the valley works at the religious hospital in Lewiston, Idaho – Saint Joseph’s Hospital. A broken heart can use a saint or an angel more than most, so I go along with things, but we are there for Dr. Kim.

Everything’s fine. Don’t worry. My broken-hearted husband spent a noisy and sleepless night, got a single stent, and a follow-up appointment in two weeks. Restrictions and prescriptions.

Going home is the goal the morning after a cardio event with the blockage removed and the rhythmic flow restored. Discharge cannot come fast enough. The aesthetics of hospitals, particularly religious hospitals, is not for me. 

I learn that Joseph (Jesus’ stepfather) is the patron saint of happy (!) death. Is there such a thing as happy death? My urge to leave strengthens.

We are forced to wait. Ed is tethered by tubes and cords. We are decidedly unable to get happy about death. Sorry, Joseph. Above the door, dead Jesus does not look happy on a cross. I agree. Human suffering and sacrifice are overrated.

I miss posters with motivational scripts, the “hang in there” kitten dangling from a leafy maple or a “hold on” mountain goat toeing the edge of crumbling ledge. It’s a challenge to be inspired by the “happy” death kitch. 

Waiting for science, not prayers

The intercommed prayers do not comfort me. I have nonbeliever thoughts and wonder if codes must wait for “amen” to turn blue. I’m here for the science that delivered my husband from “happy” death, and that’s the happy I’m looking for. I Google whether religious hospitals are more curative than nonreligious hospitals (no, but also inconclusive due to too many variables).

Scrubs and thick-soled athletic shoes are the fashion on the 4th floor, so a man stands out in his hospital white dress shirt and shined shoes. He’s either hospital administration or bad news. A funeral service salesman or estate planner perhaps. Then I see he’s wearing a Jesus tie and rosary with an oversized cross. 

The chaplain’s approach is appropriate, slow and tentative. I imagine confidence is scarce when you’re about to meet the worst day of a stranger’s life. He tells us about his own broken heart when he occupied the room next door, and it makes me wonder, is there an end to the trauma that bonds people?

The invisible burden of caring for others

Ed and I are extra nice. I am aware (don’t ask me how) of the occupational hazards of clergy, how they suffer higher rates of depression, anxiety and burnout. Unlike other frontline mental health care providers and crisis counselors, clergy also officiate funerals, visit the ill, teach, supervise staff, manage facilities, fundraise, and put the needs of others above their own well-being. It is daunting.

For all the caring clergy members dole, they often suffer social isolation and loneliness. Failed prayers fester into guilt and shame. And there is a stigma that clergy are closer to God and therefore above personal illness and weakness. 

Seminaries do little to teach clergy how to recognize serious psychological distress and when to refer someone to a doctor or psychologist, including themselves. It’s been slow, but some churches are starting to partner with mental health professionals and are reporting positive results. When the congregation is mentally healthy, pastoral care is easier and healthier.

A clergy member once told me the most stressful part of his job is managing squabbles between congregants, and obviously, I am still thinking about that. Clergy-ing is people pleasing in a world that can take and take and take. Clerical comforting is never reciprocal.

It isn’t easy to carry a congregation. Congregants are wont to trauma bond, to suffer and grieve, to fear living and dying, to 

.Unfortunately, there are precious few coping resources for clergy. Depression and anxiety are serious health issues, and clergy are most vulnerable. The suicide rates amongst clergy are twice that of the general population.

So, here’s to the legit pastors and preachers, the bishops and priests, chaplains and rabbis, imams and gurus who suffer for their service. A week has passed and I am still thinking of the chaplain walking the rooms of broken hearts for the patron saint of happy (!) deaths. I hope he knows the number to the suicide hotline is 988. And I’d like to wish him a Happy Clergy Appreciation Day October 12, 2025. 

The views expressed in this opinion column are those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect the views of FāVS News. FāVS News values diverse perspectives and thoughtful analysis on matters of faith and spirituality.

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