Dear Brothers,
In a recent Facebook post, Chuck DeGroat lamented about another fallen pastor, another scandal, another cycle of confession, sabbatical, and eventual re-emergence — often rebranded with a book or a new platform centered on redemption. And Chuck’s right: it’s time we talk not just about consequences, but about character. And to do that, we have to examine the culture we’ve all participated in, a culture that elevates pastors to a pedestal they were never meant to stand on.
There’s an unspoken (and sometimes very spoken) assumption that the man behind the pulpit is holier, closer to God, more sanctified, less susceptible to the same struggles the rest of us face. We often treat pastors as though their seminary training somehow immunized them from sexual temptation, compulsive behaviors, or the ache of loneliness. And tragically, many pastors absorb this pressure too. They come to believe that to be seen as trustworthy spiritual leaders, they must hide their own humanity.
This creates a dangerous silence, particularly around issues of sex and sexuality. When we expect leaders to perform holiness rather than embody wholeness, we drive them into hiding. We strip them of the permission to be real. And in that dark corner of secrecy and shame, isolation grows, and with it, the very behaviors we fear most.
But what if we created something different? What if the pastor on the stage was no longer elevated above the congregation, but recognized as one of us, fully human, fallible, with both shadows and light? What if churches became places where empathy and curiosity replaced judgment and fear? The culture of silence can only survive when we refuse to look each other in the eye and tell the truth.
This doesn’t mean that consequences disappear. When power is involved consent becomes complicated. Boundaries must exist. People must be protected. The harm done by pastors in positions of power is real, and accountability must always accompany grace. We must hold the tension: all have sinned and fall short, and some sins carry communal consequences that must be honored for the sake of justice and healing.
But we also must face the system that breeds this fear. The pastor afraid that telling the truth about their compulsive sexual behavior will cost them their livelihood is not unjustified; in many churches, confession does mean exile. And so we’ve created a system where silence is rewarded, and honesty is punished. That fear drives pastors deeper into their compulsions, and the cycle continues.
The answer is not more scripture memorization or longer hours in prayer closets. It is not flogging or performative repentance. It is the long, grueling, grace-filled work of telling the truth, about trauma, about coping, about shame, about unmet needs, about what it feels like to be a man (or woman) in ministry trying to be enough. And it is the work of a congregation willing to listen without flinching.
When pastors can stand up and say, “Me too. I know what it's like to struggle. I’m not better than you. I’m with you.” then we will begin to see real healing. The fall won't be so far when they’re not standing on a platform built on illusion. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll stop falling altogether, because they’ll no longer have to pretend they’re not human.
I think Chuck DeGroat and others like Dr. Andrew J. Bauman would agree.
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