The Pastor with Bipolar. Dave Quak- Host of Sunburnt Souls

29 May

Dave Quak from Sunburnt Souls Smiling and looking happy

When the Darkness Lifted: Dave Quak's Journey from Burnout to Breakthrough

Most people don't know that the pastor standing at the front of the church on Sunday morning might be wrestling with something that feels impossible to name. They don't know about the medications, the manic episodes, the dark seasons when getting out of bed feels physically painful. They see the confident leader, the one who has it all figured out, and they assume that's the whole story.

But it's not.

This is the story of Dave Quak—a pastor, a husband, a father, and a man who discovered that sometimes the greatest spiritual breakthroughs come not from having all the answers, but from finally admitting that you can't do it alone.

The Accidental Pastor: How It All Started

Dave didn't plan to be a pastor. He became a Christian at twenty years old—zealous, extroverted, and full of energy. That combination made him the perfect candidate for youth ministry. He started serving at a church in Brisbane, and before long, he was the youth pastor. Then came a placement at a church on the Gold Coast, where a pastor saw something in him and asked him to come lead youth ministry there. Dave and his wife Jess served together as youth pastors for about eight years.

"We've always been pastors together," Dave explains. "Not we as in there's two of me."

Twenty years ago, they planted a church. For two decades, Dave led that church, poured into people's lives, and did what pastors do—showed up, served, preached, counseled, and tried to be the spiritual anchor for his community.

But something was happening beneath the surface that Dave didn't understand yet.

The Diagnosis: When Everything Made Sense

About five years ago, Dave went to his GP—a man named Paul who Dave describes as "a legend." Paul did a mental health assessment and referred Dave to a psychologist named Sean. After several sessions, Sean referred him to a psychiatrist. And that's when everything changed.

"He acknowledged, yes, Dave, you've got anxiety and you've got depression," Dave recalls. "But he also diagnosed me with a condition called bipolar."

The word landed like a thunderbolt. Bipolar. It used to be called manic depression. It's characterized by extreme swings—from periods of intense energy and elevated mood (mania) to periods of deep depression. For Dave, the manic episodes could last anywhere from one to two months.

"When I'm manic, I get fixated on certain things," Dave explains. "Maybe I'd research something I'd want to start, and I'd research it to death. Or I'd look at an idea and I couldn't stop fixating on it. It'd grip me in that it'd be the first thing I think about when I wake up, and the last thing I think about when I go to sleep, and it'd consume me."

The problem wasn't just the intensity of the fixation. It was that during these episodes, Dave was absolutely convinced that his ideas were brilliant. They were going to change the world. He'd research them obsessively, find people who agreed with him, and become certain that this was the right move.

And then he'd pitch it to his wife.

"I'd wine and dine Jess," Dave laughs, "and then by the end of the night, I'd light a candle and be like, 'Jess, don't you think it would be great if we moved to Vanuatu? I've done all the research, I've found a house for us, I've worked out the budget, I've found someone to rent our house while we're away. We can bring the dog, everything's sorted out, let's move to Vanuatu.'"

His wife, Jess, has been gracious through countless sales pitches. But the instability was real. The manic episodes would eventually crash into depressive episodes, where Dave would swing from thinking his ideas could change the world to thinking he should just get a job packing shelves in a factory and never see another person again.

"You really go from one to the other," Dave says. "As the name bipolar sounds, you really go from one extreme to the other."

The Medication: A Miracle in Disguise

The psychiatrist diagnosed Dave with bipolar type 2 and prescribed two medications: sodium valproate (a mood stabilizer that originally came from epilepsy medication) and Seroquel (an antipsychotic).

"Saying you're on an antipsychotic is pretty confronting," Dave admits. "But these medications have been game changers."

It took about a year to get the dosage right, but once it was balanced, everything shifted. Dave could function. He could think clearly. He could be present with his family.

But there was a spiritual wrestling match happening underneath.

The Theology Problem: When Faith Meets Medicine

As a pastor, Dave had spent years with a particular theology about healing. He'd seen people get healed through prayer. He'd seen people set free. He'd also seen people who prayed and didn't get healed, who remained bound.

"Our theology on healing and how God intervenes really affects our mental headspace when it comes to medication," Dave explains.

When he was first diagnosed with anxiety and depression, the medication felt acceptable. Those were common conversations. People understood them. But when the diagnosis expanded to bipolar, something shifted.

"It was really hard for me to share," Dave says. "I didn't want to tell people. I think a lot of it was my own pride. But another element was that I wanted to really understand it for myself before speaking about it."

For three years, only a handful of people knew. Dave wrestled with the question that haunts many Christians: If God heals, why do I need medication? Isn't this a lack of faith?

But then something shifted in his understanding.

"We can even call medication miraculous healing," Dave says. "We look at instant miracles as miracles, and they are. But the fact that some scientist in a lab figured out that if this chemical is given to someone with this condition, it levels out their chemicals and they can live in a place of freedom and abundance—I'm like, man, God bless that scientist. The unsung hero that nobody sees."

God heals in many ways. Sometimes through instant miracles. Sometimes through the brilliant minds of researchers and the careful work of psychiatrists. Sometimes through medication that allows you to function, to be present, to be yourself.

The Darkness: When Everything Fell Apart

About two years ago, Dave hit a wall.

He'd been manic for too long—months and months and months. And then he crashed. Hard. He fell into what he describes as "a dark heap for a really extended period of time."

The darkness had a rhythm. He'd wake up and think, "No, man, the alarm's gone off." Sleep had become his only escape. He'd get maybe four hours a night. He'd look at his phone and see his pastoral schedule—people to see, things to prepare, the usual ins and outs of being a spiritual leader. And he'd think, "I love that person, but I just want to stay in bed."

But he also wanted to exercise his role as a pastor. These people were his family. So he'd survive on "a trinity of coffee, holy spirit, and grit" just to get through the day.

By three or four in the afternoon, he'd be home. He had a reclining couch—amazing, he says—and he'd sit on it with his man robe (a fluffy bathrobe) pulled over his head in the dark, trying to achieve sensory deprivation, trying to escape from the world.

"Jesus, please, man, this is terrible," he'd pray. "Can you just get me through?"

Then his kids would get home. And this was the hardest part.

His wife Jess is an amazing mother. She'd be goofing around with the kids, and Dave could picture her hanging out with their daughter—they had so many common interests, talking about books they were reading. He could picture his son milling around with no one hanging out with him. And it messed with his head.

"The craziest thing is that I just didn't have the capacity to pull the robe over my head and go and play with my son," Dave says. "There'd be some people listening saying, just pull the robe over and go play with your son. But I was cactus, man. I was dark. It felt physically painful to be alive."

He'd get through the day, go to bed early, try to sleep, wake up at 2 a.m., 4 a.m., 6 a.m., and then the alarm would go off. Do it all again. On repeat. In the darkness.

Someone told him, "Your brain's gone on holidays, man. Your body is in preservation mode. It's all gonna come back one day. You're going to be fine. And not only are you gonna be fine, you're gonna be thankful to God for this process."

Dave's response was immediate: "There is no way I am gonna be thankful. This is the worst. I hate this."

The Breakthrough: When God Finally Got Through

Fast forward a couple of years. Dave and his family were on long service leave in Thailand. He was seriously considering whether he could continue in ministry. He thought he might be done. He thought he'd had enough.

It was January 15th. They were in a small bed and breakfast in Bangkok. Dave cried out to God.

"I am done," he said. "I can't do this anymore."

And in that moment, something shifted. A sense of peace came over him. It was like God was saying, "Finally, you get it. You can't do this. That's what's been wrong. Part of the deficit to your life in Christ is that you think you can do this. You think it's your responsibility. You think people are following you. You think you're their leader. And you're not. I am."

A couple of weeks later, Dave woke up and felt awesome. It was so weird. He wanted to get out of bed. He got up before the alarm.

The next day, the same thing. The darkness had lifted. And the next day. And the next.

About five or six days later, Dave went to his wife with cautious hope.

"I think we're good," he said. "I think the darkness has lifted."

Jess was careful not to count her chickens before they hatched. She'd been on this journey with him. But the darkness had lifted. The presence of God was on him.

The Gift in the Darkness: What the Burnout Taught Him

Even today, Dave still wrestles with bipolar, anxiety, and depression. He still takes his medications. He still has to manage his condition carefully. But something changed in that two-year period of darkness.

"There was something about that two-year period of darkness that almost burnt the rest of the flesh I was holding on to off me," Dave says. "And although I was swearing at that guy who said one day I'll be thankful for this time, I actually am thankful for it. And I finally get it."

In that darkness, God revealed something to Dave that he'd never quite understood before. It wasn't just that God loved him. It was that God liked him. God enjoyed his company. God didn't just tolerate his quirkiness. God had knit him together in his mother's womb to be exactly like this.

"I've gone from a place of knowing about God to definitely knowing him," Dave says. "And I prefer his will to my will now, not out of obligation, but I actually just prefer it. I'd rather hang out with him than not. I'd rather be in his presence. And I'd rather be a minister than not."

From thinking about hanging up the skates when it came to being a pastor to now being "the most thankful person on the planet to be a pastor"—that's a miracle.

The Impact on His Family: The Messy, Beautiful Reality

Jess has been Dave's anchor through all of this. She values stability and consistency, and Dave's manic episodes create instability. She's had to carry a lot of slack—around the house, around the church, with the kids. But she's never done it begrudgingly. Not once did she make Dave feel condemned or guilty.

"She was really my pastor during those years," Dave says. "As a pastor, you don't often have a pastor. You don't have someone who can really dissect your soul and come in and pray for you. But she did that."

Dave's kids have grown up with him being him. They see him take his medications at six o'clock. They know he's medicated. They've been taken on the journey. When Dave is manic and can't handle the kids' pestering, he tells them straight: "Guys, I can't handle you poking me, pushing me right now. Just give me a bit of a wide berth."

And they're cool with it. It's communication. It's honesty.

"I think their testimony when they're older will be that God used dad," Dave says. "Dad loved us. Dad was generous with us. Dad was there for us. But he was also a bit erratic. Sometimes he got irritable. Sometimes he yelled at us when we probably didn't deserve it. But we love him and we're glad he's in our life."

That last sentence is the big one. Dave sees so many men who lose that with their kids—especially as teenagers. The kids don't want to be seen with them. But Dave's kids are still happy to be seen with him. They still want to hang out with him.

"And I love them, hey," Dave says. "And it's really cool."

The Message: Hope in the Mess

Dave started Sunburnt Souls because he believes there are so many people wrestling with exactly what he's wrestling with. People who love Jesus passionately. People who are dealing with mental health challenges. People who are trying to figure out how it all works together.

"There's just so many people who are in a similar position where we are wrestling with our mental health, we love Jesus passionately, and we're just trying to figure out how that all works together," Dave says. "How to live fully and be broken. How to be a Christian and medicated. How to be a pastor and struggling. It's just a mess sometimes, you know."

But here's what Dave has learned: the mess is where God shows up most powerfully.

The mess is where you stop trying to do it all yourself. The mess is where you finally admit you can't. The mess is where God says, "Finally, you get it. Now I can actually help you."

And in that mess, in that darkness, in that place where everything falls apart—that's where you discover that God doesn't just love you. He likes you. He enjoys your company. He knit you together to be exactly who you are. And he's not done with you yet.

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About Dave Quak

Dave Quak is a pastor, podcaster, and founder of Sunburnt Souls—a Christian mental health ministry dedicated to reducing stigma and helping people navigate faith and mental health together. He's been in ministry for over twenty years, has been married to his wife Jess for twenty years, and is a father of two. Dave is open about his journey with bipolar disorder, anxiety, and depression, and believes that hope in the mess is real.

Key Takeaways

•Mental health challenges don't disqualify you from ministry or faith. They're part of your story, not the end of it.

•Medication is not a lack of faith. It's one of the ways God heals and restores us to wholeness.

•The darkness has a purpose. Sometimes the greatest spiritual breakthroughs come when we finally admit we can't do it alone.

•God doesn't just love you—He likes you. He enjoys your company and knit you together to be exactly who you are.

•Your family needs your honesty more than your perfection. Communication about your mental health creates space for real connection.

•Hope in the mess is real. Even in the darkest seasons, God is faithful.

Reflection Questions

As you sit with Dave's story, consider:

1.What has been your experience with mental health and faith? Have you felt pressure to choose between them?

2.What would it mean for you to admit that you can't do it alone? What would change if you let God actually help?

3.How has God revealed His affection for you in your darkest moments? When have you felt most loved by Him?

4.Who in your life needs to hear that mental health challenges don't disqualify you from faith or leadership? How can you share that message?

5.What would it look like for you to be honest with the people closest to you about your struggles? What's holding you back?