When Faith Feels Heavy A Burnt-Out Christian Speaks

A few weeks ago, I sat in my car outside church and couldn’t make myself go in.

Not because I was angry at God. Not because I had lost my faith. I was just tired that deep, soul-worn tired that makes even the things you love feel too heavy to carry. I watched others walk in smiling, chatting, balancing coffee cups and toddlers and I felt the sting of something lost. I used to be one of them.

There was a time when I ran toward the things of God. Youth group, devotionals, retreats I was all in. I had a color-coded Bible, a prayer journal bursting with pages, and a heart full of joy. Faith wasn’t something I had to schedule. It was just who I was.

And even as I moved into adulthood, that fire didn’t die right away. In college, my faith matured. I asked deeper questions, welcomed doubt into the room without fear, and found a faith that felt rooted rather than rushed. I led campus ministry, devoured books by Henri Nouwen and C.S. Lewis, and found kindred spirits who encouraged me when my enthusiasm waned.

But no one prepares you for what happens when life speeds up and faith begins to slow down.

After graduation, everything changed. A new city. A new job. Bills to pay. Relationships to maintain. The pressure to keep everything afloat. I tried to hold onto the rhythms morning devotionals, volunteering, small group meetings but everything that once brought me life slowly started to feel like obligation. My spiritual habits became items on a checklist:

• Read devotional.

• Pray briefly.

• Attend service.

I hadn’t stopped believing. But I had started functioning on spiritual autopilot. And the guilt that came with it only made things worse. I’d lie awake wondering, How could I feel so empty when I’ve seen God work? Why don’t I want to open my Bible?

So I tried harder. More sermons. More reading plans. More small groups. I scheduled my quiet time like it was a meeting with a manager. But the more I forced it, the more disconnected I became. I was ghosting my own faith life praying that God wouldn’t take it personally.

Burnout doesn’t always arrive with a crash. Sometimes, it’s a quiet leak. One slow drip of joyless discipline after another, until you realize you’re sitting in your car outside church, unable to muster the strength to walk inside.

Then one Saturday, something subtle shifted.

It was a rare free morning no to-dos, no meetings. I wandered into a coffee shop with The Weight of Glory by C.S. Lewis, a book I hadn’t touched in years. I didn’t come with an agenda. I didn’t open my Bible app. I just wanted to read something that once stirred my soul.

There was no lightning bolt of conviction. I didn’t weep or pray loudly in the middle of the café. But I felt something a flicker of curiosity. A tiny moment of remembrance. That was enough.

Since that morning, I’ve stopped trying to “fix” my faith with structure alone. I’m not chasing a mountaintop experience. I’m simply making space unrushed, pressure-free space to reconnect with the wonder that once came so naturally. Sometimes that means re-reading the books that first awakened my heart. Other days, it’s a song on repeat, or a walk in silence where I don’t force any words out, just listen.

I’m not “on fire.” I might never return to the frenetic energy of my teenage years. But maybe faith in adulthood isn’t about being ablaze maybe it’s about staying lit, even if it’s just a flicker. Showing up when it’s hard. Letting God meet us not in our performance, but in our presence.

What I’m learning slowly, imperfectly is that God is not standing over me with a clipboard. He’s not grading my consistency. He’s not disappointed in my weariness. He’s simply waiting patient and kind for me to come sit with Him, as I am.

And in that sitting, I’ve found something deeper than a checklist. I’ve found grace.

So no, this isn’t a story of a dramatic comeback. There’s no viral testimony or perfect resolution. But there is a quiet peace growing in me the kind that comes when you stop trying to earn love you already have.

For anyone who’s been white-knuckling their way through faith, feeling like a shadow of who they used to be take heart. You’re not alone. And you’re not disqualified. You don’t have to be “on fire” for Jesus to be close. Sometimes, just showing up weary, worn, and willing is the most faithful thing you can do.

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