A Missing Conversation in the Church's Leadership Crisis
It seems like we can barely catch our breath before another headline drops. Another podcast is released. Another beloved leader, someone whose books we’ve read and whose sermons have moved us to tears, is exposed for hidden sin, abuse of power, or moral failure.
The Body of Christ is in an undeniable, sobering season of divine shaking.
Rightly so, the conversation has shifted toward structural reform. We are talking about the necessity of plural leadership, the dangers of celebrity church culture, and the desperate need for real, uncompromising accountability. These are vital conversations. We absolutely need healthier structures.
But structures only contain the heart; they don't transform it.
If we only fix our church bylaws without examining the spiritual root of the decay, we are just building stronger cages for starving lions. What very few are talking about is why these horrible abuses of power and moral failures took root in the first place.
It rarely begins with a sudden, dramatic leap into darkness. It begins with a subtle evaporation of delight.
The Danger of a Dull Heart
Long before the hidden sin or the heavy-handed leadership took hold, these leaders almost undoubtedly experienced a quiet tragedy: they stopped enjoying the Lord.
He was no longer their supreme delight. He no longer ravished their hearts like He once did. The quiet, unhurried thrill of simply being in His presence was slowly replaced. The soul, designed to be satisfied by the One in whom there is fullness of joy, began to ache. And when the soul aches, it searches for a substitute.
Enter the dopamine hit of ministry.
When a leader loses the joyful intimacy of their First Love, the stage becomes a very convenient drug. The rush of a successful event, the affirmation of a growing platform, the influx of money, and the notoriety of being "used by God" slowly hijack the affections of the heart. The ministry itself becomes an idol, masking the terrifying reality that the leader's inner life has gone completely cold.
As John Piper so insightfully observed, sin is simply what we do when our hearts are not satisfied with God.
When Jesus is no longer our joy, we don't just stop wanting; we just start wanting other things more. The applause of men replaces the smile of the Father. The building of a brand replaces the beholding of His beauty. And once that shift happens, the descent into compromise is just a matter of time.
The Only Antidote is Affection
This is the missing gem in the rubble of all these recent exposures: Joy in Christ is not just a nice emotional bonus for the Christian life; it is our primary purpose and safeguard.
Accountability questions like, "Have you looked at anything inappropriate this week?" or "Have you been completely honest with your finances?" are necessary. But perhaps the most fiercely protective question a leadership team can ask one another is: "Are you still enjoying Jesus? Does He still thrill you?"
Because if the answer is no, the alarm bells should be deafening.
At His right hand are pleasures forevermore. We don't avoid sin simply by gritting our teeth and trying harder. We avoid it by being utterly captivated by a superior pleasure. An inferior delight doesn’t stand a chance when we keep the One who is pleasure before our eyes.
We can never be trusted with the “desires of our hearts” until we’re consistently making it our aim to “delight yourself in the Lord” (Psalm 37:4).
A Hopeful Horizon: Finishing Well
This shaking in the Church is painful, but it is deeply loving. God is forcefully dismantling our reliance on charisma so He can restore our reliance on Christ.
And the beautiful, hopeful truth is this: you can finish well. It is entirely possible to walk with God for decades and arrive at the finish line with a heart that is more tender, more joyful, and more deeply in love with Jesus than the day you were saved.
History is full of men and women who did exactly that.
Look at Abraham and Sarah, who walked with God into their twilight years, sustained by the sheer promise and presence of the One who called them.
Look at Charles Spurgeon, who pastored thousands, endured crippling seasons of depression and physical agony, yet found his absolute anchor in the loveliness and supremacy of Christ to his dying day.
Look at Smith Wigglesworth, whose fierce, mountain-moving faith was fueled not by a desire for a platform, but by a simple, childlike, daily enjoyment of the Holy Spirit.
They didn't just endure; they enjoyed. Jesus remained their greatest reward, their ultimate prize, and their most consuming thought.
Let the headlines break our hearts, and let them drive us to repentance. But more than anything, let them drive us back to the secret place. Let them strip away our fascination with other things and reawaken our holy obsession with the Savior.
Ministry will fade. Platforms will crumble. Money will lose its luster, and the applause of men will go silent.
But the inexpressible joy of knowing Him?
That’s a crown that lasts forever.
