Although the external challenges facing the church in a secularizing Western culture have dominated Christian discourse for more than a decade, the internal, personal conduct of pastors in the Dallas-Fort Worth area has proved a scourge in 2024. This emerging trend has garnered national and international attention; some local news sources in North Texas are, understandably, simply updating their lists that tally one scandal after another rather than running new stories each time, since apparently there are almost too many to keep up with.
A false comfort can be found in categorizing these scandals as the consequence of a particular polity or style of church, such as large churches, or churches with popular, celebrity-like leaders. Whether the scandal in question involves some form of abuse or otherwise consensual moral failure, congregationalists can easily think themselves superior to cover-ups and abuses of power among episcopal polities; likewise, Anglicans, Lutherans, and Orthodox, and Roman Catholics think themselves superior to the autonomous independent churches that are accountable to no extraneous authorities. Presbyterians probably oscillate between both sentiments. However, this is a false comfort, because while each polity might be more or less prone to certain problems, each of these forms of church government only function insofar as their participants cultivate and persevere in personal integrity.
The church’s external critics routinely complain that the church is both judgmental and hypocritical—rebuking sinners, while itself sinning. Ordinarily, in times free from scandal, there is arguably a certain sense in which that indeed should be the case. The nature of the church is to simultaneously show hospitality to sinners seeking refuge, while also calling all to repentance and towards the life of God and away from the black hole of sin’s nothingness. Our confession in the Apostles’ creed, that the one catholic and apostolic church is “holy” has never been regarded by the church as a belief that the church will be perfect in this age, but that God’s holiness has broken into our common life and will one day sanctify us completely. Rather than perfectionism, within Holy Scripture the church is exhorted to continue turning away from sin, but also we have an advocate in Jesus Christ if and when we do, invariably, fall short (1 Jn 1:6–2:1). If so, then a tension between hypocrisy and judgmentalism is constantly being negotiated in the church’s life.
Yet, especially in times of scandal, the church’s critics are rightly incensed by the rank hypocrisy of willful and deliberate moral failure. The Apostle Paul in his letter to the Romans devotes nearly a whole chapter to the problem of hypocrisy in excoriating, molten-hot rhetorical questions:
[19] and if you are sure that you yourself are a guide to the blind, a light to those who are in darkness, [20] an instructor of the foolish, a teacher of children, having in the law the embodiment of knowledge and truth—[21] you then who teach others, do you not teach yourself? While you preach against stealing, do you steal? [22] You who say that one must not commit adultery, do you commit adultery? You who abhor idols, do you rob temples? [23] You who boast in the law dishonor God by breaking the law. [24] For, as it is written, “The name of God is blasphemed among the Gentiles because of you.” (Rom 2:19–24)
That final clause is crucial, and devastating. Evoking a long scriptural heritage from Ezekiel 36:20–23 but with many echoes throughout the entire Old Testament, Paul discerns a direct connection between personal conduct and the renown of God’s name among the nations. Our holiness, or lack thereof, provides an icon to the nations of our God. Only the crucified and resurrected Messiah is the true icon of the invisible God (Col 1:15; 2 Cor 4:4, 6; Jn 1:18). Our great hope is to see him face to face on the last day; in this age we see through a mirror dimly, and we are always limited and imperfect images of him to the world (2 Cor 13:12). But where we willfully distort that image we become a menace to ourselves, to others, and perhaps even to the name of God.
Throughout the church’s history, Christians have perceived this connection between the church’s conduct and the fame of God’s name, that God summons his people “you are to be holy as I am holy” (See Lev 19:2; 20:7; 20:26; 21:8; Ex 19:6; 1 Pet 1:16; 1 Thess 4:7). In the 4th century the church entered a starkly new phase of relationship to the non-Christian world after the conversion of the Roman emperor Constantine. After the rise of widespread nominal Christianity, or even the possibility of accruing social capital through involvement in the church, the rise of monasticism represented a serious pursuit of a holy and contemplative life, reminding the church that its risen Lord is nonetheless cruciform. In the late 4th century, Gregory of Nyssa was writing works such as “On Perfection,” and especially “On What it Means to Call Oneself a Christian,” where Gregory boldly declares that anyone who:
…puts on the name of Christ, but does not exhibit in his life what is indicated by the term, such a person belies the term and puts on a lifeless mask. For it is not possible for Christ not to be justice and purity and truth and estrangement from all evil, nor is it possible to be a Christian (that is, truly a Christian) without displaying in oneself a participation in these virtues. If one can give a definition of Christianity, we shall define it as follows: Christianity is an imitation of the divine nature.
This participatory imitation of God does not confuse the Creator-creature distinction; Gregory encourages readers to imitate God’s communicable perfections of God (such as righteousness, love, and wisdom) and worship with reverence before the incommunicable perfections of God (such as infinity, eternity), since ‘the gospel does not order nature to be compounded with nature, I mean the human with the divine, but it does order the good actions to be imitated in our life as much as possible.’ But Gregory also warns about a false kind of imitation of God which is only an expedient semblance that betrays the actual substance; we must not ‘through pretense and imitation, play the role of a Christian and then remove the mask of moderation or meekness or some other virtue in a moment of personal crisis.’
Hence, the nature of our imitation of divine virtue in Christ as either true or false imitation is especially proved during times of trial, revealing whether we are deceiving ourselves and others by claiming the name of Christian when convenient, or truly becoming like God and making his invisible perfections visible to the world by word and deed. Gregory’s imagination was gripped by Paul’s words in Philippians 3:12–14; in Christ we have come to the goal and culmination of our every desire, the fulfillment of God’s promises, but also we have not yet arrived. As finite creatures, we never cease stretching out towards the beauty of God’s infinite perfection; the mark of maturity is a continual pursuit of perfection, rather than resigned defeat or a false sense of arrival. That perfection is a continual pursuit is not an excuse for continued moral laxity, but rather a summons towards continual repentance.
Therefore, while all who are in Christ participate in Christ’s priestly, prophetic, and royal vocation, those who are set apart to officially represent the church in their own persons as deacons, priests, bishops, or otherwise serve as clergy or church staff in some capacity, have an even greater responsibility to live a holy life because they have been called to a publicly visible position of service. The New Testament speaks in unsparing words that should strike terror into the hearts of every pastor. The laity is indeed exhorted in Hebrews, “obey your leaders and submit to them,” but that exhortation is only given in the following context “…for they are keeping watch over your souls, as those who will have to give an account” (Heb 13:17).
The church’s shepherds will personally give an account of themselves. James speaks with a brutal but helpful candor: “not many of you should become teachers, my brothers, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness” (Jms 3:1). Why is the personal conduct of the church’s leaders so important? Paul offers not a meek suggestion but a life-or-death demand of presbyters. They must “keep a close watch on yourself and on the teaching…” because, for better or worse, those two things are invariably linked; thus they are to “…persist in this, for by so doing you will save both yourself and your hearers” (1 Tim 4:16).
Informed by these and other passages of Holy Scripture, in all editions of the Anglican Book of Common Prayer, bishops have given a stern exhortation at the ordination of priests, warning them to consider how their conduct will directly affect the Body and Bride of Christ, but also giving a reminder to hope in God’s grace:
Remember how great is this treasure committed to your charge. They are the sheep of Christ for whom he shed his blood. The Church and Congregation whom you will serve is his bride, his body. If the Church, or any of her members, is hurt or hindered by your negligence, you must know both the gravity of your fault, and the grievous judgment that will result. Therefore, consider the purpose of your ministry to the children of God. Work diligently, with your whole heart, to bring those in your care into the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of God, and to maturity in Christ, that there may be among you neither error in religion nor immorality in life.
Finally, equip and lead your Congregation to proclaim tirelessly the Gospel of Jesus Christ. And seeing that the demands of this holy Office are so great, lay aside all worldly distractions and take care to direct all that you do to this purpose: read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest the Scriptures, that you may show yourself both dutiful and thankful to the Lord; and frame your conduct, and that of your household and those committed to your care, according to the doctrine and discipline of Christ. Know, however, that you cannot accomplish this of yourself; for the will and the ability needed are given by God alone. (The 2019 Book of Common Prayer, pg. 489)
Prior to the resurrection, no church will have perfect clergy or staff. We are not merely mistaken, but perhaps veering into idolatry if we imagine that the church’s leaders are merely former sinners, and not those who still desperately need the grace of Jesus Christ every single day. Simultaneously, every church deserves clergy and staff who are honestly and consistently pursuing a life of repentance. It is better to not serve in pastoral ministry than to do so while harboring and nursing secret, willful, unrepentant sin that inevitably will cause public scandal. That is not to say discretion is not needed; not everything needs to be shared everywhere, all the time.
But where we cover up sin, try to ignore it, or willfully give ourselves over to its power without telling anyone, ever, that power those habits will gain over our minds, bodies, and souls ensure havoc for ourselves and the church. It can feel like dying a horrible death to bring the things we do in the dark into the purifying light, but if so, then it is better to crucify the old self so that the Spirit might more and more manifest the risen and ascended Lord who becomes present in us. It is the only path to health and freedom both for ourselves, for the church’s well being, and even for the sake of God’s reputation among the nations.
One helpful practice might be for clergy to have a regular, formal arrangement to go to Confession. When his friends and disciples asked him how to pray, the incarnate Word said to ask for forgiveness (Lk 11:4). That should be the daily and weekly dynamic in every Christian life, both for the recent convert and the most mature saint alike. But the church has additionally, from its earliest days (Jms 5:16), practiced the rite of reconciliation, confessing our sins especially to a priest as a representative of the church, who pronounces in the name of Christ God’s absolution over the penitent. Probably due to its routine neglect, it is often thought that Protestants whole cloth did away with this practice—but that is only partly true. In the opening words of his 95 Theses in 1517 that sought to reform indulgences, Martin Luther declared that: “When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, ‘Repent’ (Mt 4:17), he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.” But amidst seeking to reform the medieval sacramental system of penance, for Luther a key part of this ongoing life of continual repentance was the regular practice of both public and private confession, that troubled souls seeking freedom in Christ could again and again hear the good news of the gospel declared over them personally.
I am under no illusions that regular attendance at Confession is a panacea for public scandal; the sexual abuse crises in the Roman Catholic Church should put such naivety to rest. Even so, regular personal examination and truth-telling is nonetheless a powerful resource for killing sin and clothing ourselves with the virtues of Christ (Col 3:5–14). It is certainly better than trying to hide, like Adam.
Dallas, Texas doesn’t need perfect pastors; its churches, with the on-looking world, need leaders who are pursuing a holy life of continual repentance, who take active measures to mortify sin and live openly before others who have real authority to call us to account. Those called to pronounce absolution of God’s grace upon others surely can only do so if they themselves tell the truth in regular confession and subsequently are comforted by the promises of the gospel; what kind of persons ought we to become, if we are to invite others to confess their sins and sincerely pray “grant, O most merciful Father, for [Christ’s] sake; that we may hereafter live a godly, righteous, and sober life, to the glory of thy holy Name. Amen” (BCP 2019, pg. 12)?
Many of us aspire to do something grand for the kingdom of God in our lifetime—something of lasting significance that will outlast us. Especially if we are conscious of how individualistic contemporary society is, and we aspire to work on some collective or systemic project of change that transcends individualism, then we can easily conclude that devoting time, energy, and attention to personal piety is not only a low priority, but perhaps even a distraction or obstacle. Often, what little attention we give to the cultivation of our interior life is functionally more determined by the language and categories of therapeutic self-care or secular self-help coaches — some of which can be helpful, but none of which is apprenticeship for participation in Christ’s virtues. Yet, in our pride and profound capacity for self-deception, we can easily forget that simply living a holy life might be enough. If, indeed, we are part of an inescapable network of mutuality, then few things are more important than living a holy life, even if it comes with more of a cross than accolades and applause. What does the church, and the world, most need from us? Godliness.