This year has been rough for the church in Dallas–Fort Worth where I pastor. At least eight pastors, and recently another, have been publicly disqualified for inappropriate relationships or abusive behavior. Enough people emerged from the wreckage and made their way to our local body that I addressed the pain of this summer from the pulpit a couple of times.
As so many have done in recent years, we could look at the mess, shake our fists, and declare, “I’m done with the church!” Many have. And some have deconstructed the whole thing and left Jesus behind, not just his bride.
Or we could see these trials for what they are: a fierce God, jealous and protective of his people, rescuing his sheep from the mouths of their shepherds (Ezek. 34:10). All shepherds are susceptible. We should “stand in fear” (1 Tim. 5:20, ESV).
My ministry started with wreckage all around me.
I was barely 30 years old—no ministry experience, no seminary degree, just starting to plant a new church—when the pastor who had coached and mentored me took his own life.
It was 2010. We were gathering people in our little living room, hoping the Spirit would breathe life into this new work, and I started wondering what I had gotten myself into.
I was a former professional baseball player with a past. The gospel had collided with my heart and changed me. Grace compelled me to ministry; I never asked for it. I certainly wasn’t seeking fame or money or power. I also had no idea what I was doing.
And it wasn’t just my mentor who had lost his life; he was just the one who hit closest to home. Around that time, a Texas pastor in my circles committed suicide—with his elders in the next room. Another on the West Coast shipwrecked his marriage and consequently his ministry.
Boom. Three hits in about three months, just as I was getting started.
Over the years, every few months or so, I’d hear of another pastor disqualifying himself. It was typically the same story, either abusive authority or inappropriate relationships. A misuse of relational equity with those under their authority, either way.
That was my first ten years of ministry.
And then Darrin Patrick took his life. While Darrin didn’t mentor me personally, he was the first church planter I had met. A baseball guy. A dude I could relate to with a big, influential church. I was crushed.
I decided then that the scoreboard had to change.
Not long after his death, a woman in our church passed away. She was young, only in her forties. We had a few months to say goodbye, and watching her and her husband face death taught me something. They taught me that my job as a husband is to make it faithfully to the end. My job as a dad, as a Christian, as a pastor, is just to make it to the end faithfully (2 Tim. 4:5–8).
What if the goal of ministry is just making it to the end? What if the goal of marriage is just making it to the end? What if the goal of Christianity is just faithfully making it to the end?
We pastors can get so caught up watching the scoreboard: Am I winning? We want a more successful ministry. A bigger church. More influence. Viral content. For Christians not in ministry, it’s no different: Success. Money. Clout. A life envied.
But what if the scoreboard—the game we’re playing—is simply finishing?
At the end of Paul’s life, his eyes on the scoreboard, fourth quarter, time running out, this seemed to be his focus: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Tim. 4:7).
It might be easy to think it gets easier as you get older, with more years of experience behind you and temptation looking lackluster. I don’t know. Daniel was almost 80 when he faced the lion’s den. Abraham had some shady moments lying to cover his skin well into his 100s. Your greatest temptations probably won’t come in your 20s. Satan plays the long game.
Most of us know the practices we should employ to keep ourselves from becoming another news headline: accountability, spiritual vitality, pursuit of holiness, regular confession. This is all good advice—essential, even.
But I wonder if changing the game in our mindset first gets us halfway there: Just make it to the end.
Stop playing ministry online. Don’t preach to the sermon reel or the livestream audience. We know the scoreboard isn’t butts and bucks, but it’s also not tribal affirmation or congregational applause. Don’t play that game. It’s not a win if you lose your soul.
Instead, play the long game. Lead, shepherd, and preach for 40 years, and be astonished at all the fruit the Spirit will produce in and through your ministry. Every young pastor or church planter I know overestimates what they think they can accomplish in the short term and underestimates what God can do through them over the long haul.
Certainly, a pastor running on emotional and spiritual fumes is more likely to end up on the side of the road in marriage and ministry. But even here the right scoreboard comes into play. We should pour ourselves out. Pastor Paul spoke of facing “daily the pressure of my concern for all the churches” (2 Cor. 11:28). And he certainly burned out for his people: “So I will very gladly spend for you everything I have and expend myself as well.” (2 Cor. 12:15).
But if the scoreboard you’re watching is still “faithful to the end,” you won’t measure success in the wrong places and end up doing the wrong things. Decide today what game you’re playing in your ministry. Decide today what the scoreboard is. Decide today what you will do tomorrow.
Jesus said, “Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you life as your victor’s crown” (Rev. 2:10). Pastor Paul looked forward to the “crown of righteousness” after his good fight and finished race (2 Tim. 4:8). Peter encouraged us that we would “receive the crown of glory that will never fade away” when our senior pastor appears (1 Peter 5:4).
The Good Shepherd wore a crown of thorns that we might we receive a crown of life, righteousness, and glory at the end. As we keep ourselves in the love of God, he is able to keep us from stumbling and to present us blameless before the presence of his glory with great joy (Jude 21, 24).
Jim Essian is pastor of The Paradox Church in Fort Worth, Texas, and author of Send: Loving Your Church by Praying, Giving, or Going.
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