I still remember the first time I had to speak in front of an audience. It was in seventh grade. I was just giving a simple introduction for my school's choir, yet my hands were shaking so much that the words on the notecard blurred to create something akin to an original Jackson Pollock.

Fast-forward to high school, and the fear was still with me. I remember the terror and frustration in my poor partner's eyes when I forgot all the lyrics to our duet, "Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better." On the upside, our performance finally solved that debate: anything I could do, she clearly could do better!

And yet, of all things, improv comedy -- a practice that requires presence on a stage -- came to me like manna in my ministry desert.

In 2009, a month after my ordination to the priesthood, on the heels of some major staffing cutbacks, my boss and would-be mentor was removed for sexual misconduct. Shortly after that, the senior associate priest took a leave of absence to care for her husband, who had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's.

I believe the technical ecclesial term for my circumstance at that time would be "messed up."

Since then, I have come to enjoy watching for the next "top 10 list" of risk factors for clergy burnout, because I have faced almost all of them. Despite the care and support I received at the time from my diocese and my congregation, I privately felt overwhelmed. I didn't want to give up my ministry, but I began to believe that it was inevitable, that burnout was both a logical and a foregone conclusion.

Pastors don't talk about it much, but my guess is that most of us have secret moments when we feel like giving up. The pressures of isolation, expectation and failure wear on even the most pious of souls. Whoever said that it's lonely at the top should try standing behind an altar.