Plenty of things fascinate me. I am mesmerized by sunrises. Animal instincts—how they know things humans do not—are incredibly intriguing. A two-month-old’s facial expressions are attention-absorbing in every way. It’s mind-boggling that, technically, the space between any two objects can be infinitely divided in half. The fact that people will throw away life-long friendships after one disagreement is profoundly unbelievable.

In his poem “To,” Edgar Allan Poe wrote:

What a dreadful rhyme Poe scribbled. And yet most poets, like novelists, often fetch their words from personal encounters. I don’t know the history of his poem, but I’m convinced he was describing a wounding experience. Unfortunately, this experience is familiar to many. For pastors, there’s often a unique layer to it, especially since, even as they may be their parishioners’ friends, they are also in a servant role.

For example, imagine a pastor devoting himself to a person in his direst hours of need. And by “devoting,” I mean that the pastor was there for every cancer treatment. I mean that he answered the person’s 3:00 AM phone calls, sometimes even getting dressed and driving an hour to the hospital to be with the panicked caller. I mean that the pastor called him on his birthday. I mean that the pastor baptized all the man’s children and rejoiced alongside him at his children’s successes.

Now, imagine the pastor accidentally overlooked the man’s hymn request on Father’s Day. Imagine that same man was so offended by this that he left the pastor’s church.

Is it any wonder that pastors are more likely to experience depression and other mental health issues than the general population? I read one study showing that the percentage of clergy with diagnosed depression was 12.7%, which is nearly double the national average among U.S. adults. I read that at least 7% of clergy experience extreme anxiety. Roughly half of all pastors report feeling so burned out that they eventually resigned or took an extended sabbatical. Would it surprise anyone that 65% of pastors report feeling lonely or isolated, with nearly 18% saying these emotions resonate daily?

In another study, 41 of the 345 pastors surveyed (12%) actively contemplated suicide.

If you didn’t know it already, someone decided to designate October as “Pastor Appreciation Month.” Perhaps, like me, you’re somewhat annoyed by this or that group laying claim to certain months for personal appreciation. I suppose, in this instance, I’m a little less bothered. Pastors exist in this world’s underbelly. They regularly deal in the darkest of humanity’s dreadfulness.

What’s more, pastors are engaged in a cadence of stressful activities like counseling, writing multiple sermons a week, and juggling the countless needs of hundreds of congregants. As you can imagine, pastors often feel guilty about not doing enough in any or all of their tasks. When this happens, they begin doubting their calling. Add to this the “pastoral confidence” factor. Much of what pastors do cannot be shared. This leaves them socially isolated from family, friends, and even from fellow pastors. Mix in church bureaucracies and mistakenly consumer-driven parishioner mindsets, and a pastor’s life becomes far more burdensome than joyful.

For the record, I drink whiskey because I have an almost autistic sense for its various contours. That said, anyone watching who’s also familiar with pastoral life might have reason to think there’s more to it.

There isn’t. Don’t worry. I’m fine.

In the meantime, know that it’s not far from me to arrive home after a contentious day of viciousness and pour myself three fingers instead of two. Certain events prompt it. Certain people demand it.

When this is the case, I prefer something like the Boxergrail edition from Rabbit Hole. Not only does this particular distillery have a way of whisking its imbibers away to far better uplands of hope, but the Boxergrail is out on point in such emotional expeditions.

With a nose of vanilla and citrus, the whiskey wraps its bearer in warm invitation. A sip proves the whiskey’s reliability, serving up the vanilla while adding hints of spiced apples and peppery oak. The finish is medium-long. Its warm spices remind the sipper, “The day is done. You’re home. Rest and enjoy because, in this place, you are loved.”

Thanks, Rabbit Hole. Keep up the excellent work. For guys like me, you play a critical role in our survival. It may be small, but it matters. It might even be argued that you’re saving parishioners’ lives, too… if you know what I mean.