Nobody warned me about Easter Monday.
Sunday was full – full parking lots, full altars, full heart – extra services. And then Monday came. The extra chairs set out felt like an unmet challenge for next week, the flowers were wilting, and I sat in my office feeling something I didn’t have a word for. Not sad exactly. Just hollow.
If you’re a pastor, you probably know this feeling. And if you’re honest, you’ll admit it doesn’t only come after Easter. It shows up mid-sermon when the words feel thin. It surfaces on a Tuesday afternoon when you wonder if your ministry is actually making a difference. I have found that it often hits hardest in the middle of a season that looks successful from the outside.
We need to talk about this — because the emptiness you’re feeling might not be what you think it is.
Empty doesn’t mean broken.
There is a voice in my head that tells me that emptiness is evidence of failure. If we were praying enough, trusting enough, walking closely enough with God, surely we’d feel more full. So we perform “fullness”. We answer “doing great” or “crazy busy” when someone asks. We preach about the joy of the Lord while privately running on fumes.
But here’s what I keep coming back to: Jesus didn’t treat empty things as problems to be hidden. He treated them as raw material. Empty stone jars are used when wine is needed at a wedding. Empty baskets when food is needed for thousands. Empty nets when a full night of fishing should have produced something.
That is from John 21 — maybe the most honest Easter Monday passage in all of Scripture. The disciples, fresh off the resurrection, go back to fishing. Back to the familiar. Back to what they knew before everything changed. And they catch nothing. All night, nothing.
A stranger on the shore calls out, telling them to throw the net on the other side of the boat. It’s the kind of instruction that, if you’re exhausted and you’ve been at this all night, makes you want to respond with words you wouldn’t want recorded in Scripture (if you know what I mean). But they do it. And the net fills.
In each of these moments, the emptiness isn’t the obstacle. It’s the starting point of Jesus doing something greater.
Being filled is not a permanent condition.
This is where I think we do a disservice to ourselves and to the people we lead. We talk about the Spirit-filled life as though it’s a thermostat you set and forget. As though once you’ve experienced genuine renewal, the normal state is fullness.
It isn’t. Not this side of eternity.
The Christian life, and especially the pastoral life, is more like breathing than it is like a fuel tank.
You breathe in, you breathe out. You’re filled, you’re emptied. The rhythm is the point. The emptying isn’t evidence that something went wrong — it’s what creates the capacity to be filled again.
When Jesus tells us that the poor in spirit are blessed, the word he uses — ptōchos in Greek — doesn’t just mean financially poor. It means utterly destitute. A beggar. Someone with nothing left to offer. And Jesus looks at that person and says: Yours is the kingdom of heaven. Not “yours will be” — present tense. Yours is.
The emptiness isn’t disqualifying. It’s qualifying.
So what do you do with your emptiness?
You bring it. That’s it.
You don’t need to manufacture fullness before you come to Jesus. You don’t need to have it together. You don’t need to resolve the hollow feeling before you preach on Sunday, return the phone call, or show up for the elder meeting.
In John 21, notice that when the disciples reach shore, a fire is already burning. Already bread. Already fish cooking. Jesus had breakfast ready before they caught anything.
If you’re in an empty season right now — whether it came on after Easter or has been building for months — I’d invite you to stop treating it like a problem you need to fix before God can work. The empty jar is exactly what He asked for at Cana. The five loaves are exactly the ones He took, broke, and multiplied. An empty net was filled to overflowing.
Your emptiness, offered honestly, is not a liability; it is an invitation for Jesus to offer a refill.
If you want to talk with someone about what you are experiencing in ministry, I offer that invitation as well. Please reach out and discover the blessing of talking through the realities of ministry with someone who is completely safe.
Dean Kuest
This is not a typical bio I would use to introduce myself to strangers, but ministry is often where we present our best on the “front stage” and hide the dirt “backstage.” Like social media, it is easy to produce the stuff that makes us look great, but I long for relationships that are real…so here is my “honest” bio.
I am a husband of 33 years to my beautiful wife, Leslie. I am a pastor and a PK who raised five PKs (all boys). I am now Pops to five grandchildren (four girls in there – finally). I have a great relationship with my parents and my boys. I’m so proud of each of them.
I am an example of failure—I have put my work above my wife for many years. I have never had an affair, but the church has been my mistress at times. Leslie has been gracious, and we have worked through those wounds and scars. We are an example of perseverance, and I am so grateful for the love we nurture.
I was blessed to be rooted in one church in the Phoenix area for 25 years. I was blessed to be uprooted and lead a church plant in the Seattle area for eight years. I have climbed the ladder of leadership in an exceptionally large church. And I have been humbled by a complete loss of confidence at the end of my time in Seattle.
I sought help and learned several things about myself.
I tried to do everything myself and had poor stress management.
I have ADD and need strategies and medication to deal with it.
I had a hormone imbalance that contributed to my anxiety.
Thirteen years later, I continue to learn about those strategies and how to tap into the support I need.
I was one of the original nine pastors who met together in 2018 to dream the dream that has become the Matthew 5:9 Fellowship. I am passionate about the Gospel, the love and grace of Jesus, and I long to be a peacemaker in a polarized world. I have learned to be honest about what God has gifted me to do and where my abilities fall short.
I like to build and create. I don’t like to maintain. I have always had great people skills, but I am a poor administrator and event organizer. I lead with grace because I know I have needed it throughout my life and ministry. I am not always good at giving myself grace because I have a VERY LOUD inner critic who is very opinionated and always self-effacing. I am a gifted coach and mentor and connect well with younger generations of pastors.
I would love to come alongside you as a coach. As a reminder, the first session is free, and the Matthew 5:9 Fellowship will pay for two more.
Shoot me an email if that is something you would like to explore.
