A Call to Leave

                                        A Call to Leave inspired by "It is Well" and Psalm 23                                                                                     A Statement and Reflection in regard to leaving a career in Ministry                                                                          Written and Curated by Joshua Michael-Sievers 

This valley of Shadow feels long and isolating. It is filled with unanswered questions, nights when grief presses heavily on my chest, and the sorrow of letting go of an identity of being full time in ministry since 2017. For years I found belonging through that. Faith here does not feel bold or victorious—it feels like clinging  on with numb hands. My favorite hymn, the first one I ever learned to play on the flute—It Is Well with My Soul—echoes faintly, not because things are well, but because God has not left. Most days I cannot sing it and most days I cannot play it. Some days it is only a whisper through tears, but even a whisper is prayer.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I lack nothing.” Until 2020, those words felt effortlessly true. My life did not lack, I had everything I could dream off. I was wrapped in a vibrant family life in Cologne, Germany, grounded in meaningful relationships. My earthly needs sustained by a professional calling in Nordrhein-Westfalen in medicine and ministry - where I was teaching, preaching, reaching, in a structure that gave me dignity. Blessing surrounded me so completely that I did not know how to name it. Only now do I understand how often we do not recognize what is lacking until it is gone. For years I spoke the words of Psalm 23 in churches, in hospital rooms, in moments meant to steady others—never imagining how desperately I would one day need to be steadied myself, as if my whole world could be shaken and still I would have to find a way to stand. 

                                                    

Now I whisper through tears. My body is broken in ways I am still learning to live with. My soul feels fractured. My heart does not believe it can be made whole again. There is so much lacking now. I wanted to believe—deeply, stubbornly—that ministry would always be a place of safety, care, and shared humanity. Instead, over time, it became a place where words from leaders wounded, where expectations crushed what little strength remained, where love did not look like Jesus, and where silence and ghosting screamed louder than compassion. I did not lose my faith all at once. I lost myself slowly, piece by piece, at the hands of people who called themselves Christians—people who should have known what love requires.                                                     

There was a time when ministry felt like still waters, when service itself gave me breath and purpose. This past year, something in me gave way—not suddenly, but through a long, devastating unraveling. My body and soul were worn down by words and actions from men in the Body of Christ—men I loved, men whose leadership I trusted. Their words cut deeper than they should have. Their silence replaced care. Their expectations erased my humanity. And what broke me was not only what was said, but what was withheld: gentleness, humility, repentance, the simple courage to do what is right. I kept waiting for someone to treat my suffering as sacred, not inconvenient. 

In the days ahead, an official statement will be released by Eclipse Ministries, in accordance with the German College of Physicians and Surgeons and the local court. Even now, voices still whisper, “Serve here. Stay here. Endure.” But the voice of Jesus has become clearer than all the rest—not demanding I grind myself into dust, but calling me to truth. I never imagined that obedience might mean stepping away. I never imagined that faithfulness could look like laying down what I helped built, handing over what I loved, and admitting that I cannot carry this anymore. There comes a point where staying is not bravery, it is harm, and leaving is not quitting, it is choosing life. 

"He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake", now means something entirely different. For so long, I believed the right path was endurance at all costs—absorbing pain quietly, tolerating abuse, sacrificing myself for the sake of others. Now the right path looks like choosing life over collapse, truth over performance, honesty over survival mode. Leaving ministry is not the rejection of my calling; it is obedience to the Shepherd who sees my limits and does not despise them. God’s name is not honored by my destruction. His guidance is gentle, even when it leads me away from what once defined me. I do not know what life will look like without a ministerial role, but I know that to heal from a traumatic brain injury, I must remove myself from people and systems that caused harm, so that one day I might become myself again. I am reminded of Joshua standing before an unexpected call, hearing words that were not about triumph, but about holy surrender and obedience in uncertainty. 

I am finally admitting that I have reached a season where I can no longer stand as I once did. A traumatic brain injury has altered my life in ways I am still grieving. My body does not respond when I ask it to. My thoughts scatter. My balance fails. Simple tasks demand exhausting focus. Since April 2024,  the church and body of Christ on Vancouver Island —the place meant to offer shelter—became another source of strain, my soul unraveled into despair. I did not stop loving the church or the Body of Christ. I simply reached the edge of what my wounded body and spirit could endure, and I had to tell the truth: I need help, I need space, I need justice, and I need to be protected from the individuals who keep injuring me on a weekly basis.

In the dim light and darkness of leaving Ministry, I am asking our Lord to carry what I cannot. Even though I don't believe it is possible to be called to Serve again in Ministry- I am ready if he calls. I trust that the caucasian Men in Church Leadership, who I once loved, adored, and saw as role models will be brought to justice. Nightly I pray, that heaping coals will be poured upon their heads, and they will learn the destruction, and harm, they have caused by not following the holy annointed and appointed words of the Bible and the Holy Spirit.