Royal Priests and Reluctant Pastors: Rethinking Calling in an Age of Church Burnout

Royal Priests and Reluctant Pastors: Rethinking Calling in an Age of Church Burnout

When you grow up as a pastor’s kid and still decide to become a pastor, you either haven’t been paying attention, or God is up to something.

In my conversation with Dan Nichols, that tension was obvious from the start.

He described his parents, Steve and Becky, as “two of the most sincere, Jesus-y people” he’s ever known. Their faith was real, and they modeled it well. But the organized religion piece—the church politics, the hypocrisy, the double lives—left its mark.

He saw, in his own words, “the ugliest sides of church you could possibly imagine.”

He loved Jesus. He gave his life to Christ at five years old sitting with his great-grandmother, with what he calls “simple childlike faith”: recognizing he couldn’t do life in his own strength, and that Jesus had lived perfectly, died, and risen for him.

But Jesus’ bride?

“She just seemed so ugly,” he told me. “I wanted nothing to do with that.”

In sixth grade, he gave a “hero speech” about his dad in front of his entire class and ended with this line:

“I never want to be a pastor.”

Guess what happened next?

A Royal Priesthood… and a Reluctant Pastor

The New Testament makes two seemingly contradictory claims about spiritual leadership.

On the one hand:

“You are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession.”
—1 Peter 2:9

Every follower of Jesus is called a priest—someone with direct access to God through our High Priest, Jesus, and someone entrusted as an ambassador in their own sphere.

On the other hand:

“Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness.”
—James 3:1

And:

“Obey your leaders and submit to them, for they are keeping watch over your souls, as those who will have to give an account.”
—Hebrews 13:17

So which is it?

• Are we all priests—or are some people special?
• If everyone has direct access to God, what’s a pastor actually for?
• And why would anyone who knows what’s involved want that role?

Dan’s life offers one kind of answer.

He went off to college at Clark Summit University (just outside Scranton, for the Office fans among you) ready to follow Jesus, but not ready to trust the church. Then he did something dangerous: he opened the book of Acts with an open heart.

There he saw:

• A band of deeply flawed people—“guys who had no business doing any kind of leadership,” as he put it.
• The Holy Spirit taking those people and turning them into courageous, loving, bold messengers of hope in a dark society.
• A community where the Spirit, not any one man, was the primary leader.

At the same time, people who knew him well—professors, peers, church leaders—began to say, “I see something in you.”

Dan has a phrase for it: “Calling is confirmed in community.”

In other words, if you think you’re called to lead and no one who knows you agrees, it’s time to pause. But if you’re resisting something and people you trust keep seeing it in you, that’s worth paying attention to.

In his case, those around him kept seeing evidence of grace that pointed toward ministry leadership. Meanwhile, Acts kept working on him, and he eventually found himself saying yes to something he’d publicly sworn he’d never do: planting a church.

Not a church in a comfortable suburb, but in inner-city Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania.

From Mock Trial to Row Houses

In high school, Dan was in mock trial and envisioned a career in law: “make a lot of money, argue all the time—that would’ve been fun,” he laughed.

Instead, in 2012, he and a small team—his best friend Tim, his sister Cynthia, and their friend Seth—rented a couple of row houses in a gritty neighborhood. Their new neighbors included:

• Multiple registered sex offenders
• A Wiccan witch
• A heroin dealer
• A prostitute

This was not a sanitized, “safe” version of the priesthood of all believers.

They opened their row house every Thursday night:

• One hour for a shared meal
• One hour walking verse-by-verse through Colossians—the letter Paul wrote to a brand-new church plant

The pattern wasn’t flashy. It was simple, repeatable, and relentlessly centered on Scripture and table fellowship.

Their first public service was in a rented cathedral—$150 a month, which was about all they could afford (they joked they mainly had money for Little Caesar’s pizza). Over 400 people showed up on day one, many of them, Dan suspects, just wanting to see “how these middle schoolers thought they could start a church.”

The first serious question from the building’s landlord and, later, from a nervous mother was the same:

“Are you a cult?”

He answered both times, “No,” and moved on. Years later, that nervous mother herself became part of the church.

Today that church, Restored Church, is 14 years old and still reaching their city.

In that environment, the idea of being the “Holy Spirit for people” never made sense.

You can’t control a neighborhood like that into holiness. You can’t micro-manage addicts, sex offenders, or anyone else into discipleship. You have to:

• Point people to Jesus
• Open the Scriptures
• Create space for the Spirit to convict, comfort, and change

That’s priesthood—and pastoral leadership—on the ground.

When Ministry Dreams Collide with Marriage Vows

After several years in Wilkes-Barre, Dan transitioned into a new role: founder and president of the Northeast Collaborative, a network helping pastors lead and launch healthy churches across the most unreached, unchurched, post-Christian region in the U.S.

It was an ambitious, exciting assignment. They launched the Northeast Leadership Summit conference, started the “Dents in the Darkness” podcast, and saw God provide a major matching grant.

Momentum was building.

Then the pandemic hit. And into that pressure-cooker, Dan and his wife Joy welcomed their second son, Declan.

Their firstborn, Landon, had already walked them through fire.

At their 20-week ultrasound with Landon, a doctor had said, “You need to prepare to lose your son.” He had a rare heart defect called HLHS (hypoplastic left heart syndrome). They were offered abortion as an option; they declined.

At five days old, in Philadelphia, he had his first open-heart surgery. His heart was no bigger than the tip of Dan’s thumb. He flatlined twice afterward. Later came a second and a third open-heart surgery, all before he was three.

Today, Landon is ten. He’ll live the rest of his life with functionally half a heart, but he’s alive and active. He has annual checkups. He likely won’t play contact sports, but he’s here.

That experience taught Dan and Joy a crucial phrase:

“God’s grace is never premature.”

In their words: God doesn’t give us all the strength ahead of time in bulk. He gives what we need when we need it. Not before.

So when Joy came to Dan, after Declan’s birth, and said, “You being on the road has been so taxing for our family. We need to find a way for you not to be gone so much,” it forced another test of calling.

He had just launched Northeast Collaborative as its own nonprofit. He had funding, vision, traction. But his marriage and parenting were under strain.

He had to ask: Am I going to prioritize my ministry dreams, or my marriage vows?

He put it this way:

“I had visions of serving Jesus and expanding the kingdom completely apart from His bride. God said, ‘No, no, no…’ and then, through Joy, said, ‘Also, your first ministry is your bride and your kids.’”

In God’s providence, a 225-year-old church in Cortland, New York—Grace Christian Fellowship—invited Dan to become their lead pastor and bring Northeast Collaborative with him under one umbrella.

He could keep equipping pastors and planting churches, but with a stable home base and far less travel. His first calling as husband and father could take its proper, biblical priority, without abandoning his wider ministry.

That’s priesthood, too—recognizing that the kitchen table and bedtime prayers are as spiritually significant as the pulpit and podcast studio.

Priesthood at the Kitchen Table

One of the most revealing parts of our conversation had nothing to do with conferences or church history. It had to do with an 8-year-old boy who loved Lego and happened to have survived three open-heart surgeries.

Around eight years old, Landon started telling his parents, very intentionally,

“Dad, I’m not a Christian.”

He told his mom, Joy,

“I think the hardest thing in the world is following Jesus.”

When they asked why, he answered,

“Because a lot of people don’t follow Jesus.”

He wasn’t rebelling; he was wrestling. He had questions—big ones—about evil, suffering, the rarity of faith, and what commitment to Christ really means.

Dan could have done what many in church culture do: pressure him into “praying the prayer,” assure him that as the pastor’s kid he’s “in,” and move on.

Instead, he took the long, slow, priestly route:

• He listened to the questions.
• He refused to manipulate an outcome.
• He realized his son could read, but the Bible translations they had were written at around an 8th-grade level.
• He saw a gap between picture-story Bibles for young kids and full translations for older readers—right where his son was starting to ask deeper questions.

Out of that gap—and that fatherly burden—came Making Scripture Simple.

He began paraphrasing entire New Testament books, verse by verse, into language upper elementary kids could understand, while staying close to the original meaning. He added:

• Coloring pages
• Discussion questions for families
• Short “one-pagers” on hard issues (like “Why is slavery in the Bible?” in the Philemon volume)

He wrote first for his sons. Then he published for others.

The first three books:

• Philippians
• Colossians & Philemon
• 1–3 John & Jude

A fourth on Galatians is being released as you read this. You can find them by searching “Making Scripture Simple” on Amazon or visiting danandjoy.com.

One mom, a first-generation Christian, told him:

“I know this was written for kids, but honestly, it really helped me too.”

After about two years of questioning, and a lot of patient conversation, Landon decided on his own to follow Jesus.

That’s what it looks like when a royal priesthood takes kids seriously as image-bearers and future priests-in-training.

Calling in an Age of Burnout

Many in my audience are burned out on church leadership, or at least suspicious of it. Some have seen spiritual abuse, doctrinal corruption, or simple cowardice from those in authority. Others have shouldered heavy roles themselves and come away exhausted.

The New Testament doesn’t promise that calling will be easy. It promises that it will be costly—and that it will start at home.

Dan’s perspective and his life illustrate the idea that:

• Every believer is a priest.
  You have direct access to God through Jesus. You are called to represent Him in your workplace, neighborhood, family, and friendships, not just to show up on Sundays.
  
  
• Some are given heavier responsibility.
  Pastors, elders, and teachers will “give an account” for how they led. If you feel God dragging you into that role against your natural desire, that may be a sign of His call rather than your ego.
  
  
• Calling is confirmed in community.
  Your sense of what you’re meant to do should resonate with what faithful, mature believers who know you well see in your life.
  
  
• Your first parish is your home.
  If your public ministry thrives while your marriage and children wither, something is off. The priesthood of all believers includes bedtime devotions and tough conversations with doubting 8-year-olds.
  
  
• God’s grace is never premature.
  Whether you’re facing a life-threatening diagnosis, a calling you never wanted, or a decision between career and family, God will give what you need when you need it.
  
  

If you’ve sworn you’ll never serve in a particular way, don’t be surprised if God nudges you toward it.

If you’ve been using “I’m just a layperson” as a way to duck priestly responsibility, don’t be surprised if He calls you up.

And if you’re carrying a title but have neglected your kitchen-table priesthood, He may be inviting you to reorder your loves.

The good news is that we don’t walk this alone. Jesus, our great High Priest, knows what it means to be called into costly obedience. He learned obedience through what He suffered. He has walked the path ahead of us.

Our job, together, is to follow—whether that’s into a row house, a 225-year-old pulpit, or the quiet of a child’s bedroom at night with an open Bible in simpler words.

If you’d like to explore Dan’s Making Scripture Simple series, you can find it at danandjoy.com or by searching the title on Amazon. It’s written for kids—but some adults might find, like that young mom did, that it gives them a fresh way into Scripture too.

And if you’re wrestling with your own sense of calling—into leadership, out of a role, or deeper into your home—you’re not alone. The One who calls also sustains.

Sneak Peek at Next Week’s Show

Next week on Created in the Image of God, I’ll be joined by Najeeba Syeed—an immigrant, legal scholar, and interfaith leader whose life has been shaped by both Islam and the American story.

Arriving in the United States at age three, Najeeba grew up with a deep awareness that she had “adopted this country, and this country had adopted” her. Her parents insisted from the beginning that interfaith engagement wasn’t an optional extra, but a core way of being in the world.

We’ll talk about:

• What it means to be “created in the image of God” from a Muslim perspective.
• How migration and religious diversity have reshaped the American landscape.
• Practical ways people of different faiths (and no faith) can build real relationships without papering over deep differences.

If you’ve ever wondered how to navigate faith, identity, and citizenship in a pluralistic society—especially when “immigrant” and “religion” are constantly in the headlines—you won’t want to miss this conversation.

Join us next Sunday at 7 a.m. Central.