When Christ Leaves the Pulpit

Over the past several years, something has become increasingly difficult to ignore within the global Church, and particularly within the evangelical charismatic world. We are not simply witnessing a wave of deconstruction, disillusionment, or cultural pressure. We are witnessing the fruit of a deeper theological and pastoral failure.

In many places, Christ has quietly left the pulpit.

Not in name, of course. His name is still spoken. His image is still invoked. His authority is still claimed. But the actual person of Jesus Christ, who He is, how He lives, how He loves, how He leads, has been displaced by something far less demanding and far more useful.

Scripture warns us that it is possible to “hold to a form of godliness while denying its power” (2 Timothy 3:5). When this happens, Christ remains present in language, but absent in substance.

We have allowed charisma to replace formation.

We have allowed gifting to outrun character.

We have allowed influence to eclipse intimacy.

Jesus never entrusted Himself to crowds impressed by His power, because He knew what was in man (John 2:24–25). He consistently chose the slow work of formation over the quick reward of acclaim.

Over the last two decades, the Church has increasingly elevated leaders with extraordinary gifting but little grounding, little theological depth, and little apprenticeship in the ways of Christ. Platforms were built quickly. Ministries scaled rapidly. Conferences filled rooms. Churches grew numerically. And in the process, we often bypassed the hidden life with God.

But Scripture never separates authority from likeness. Elders are called first to be gentle, self-controlled, and above reproach before they are ever called to lead (1 Timothy 3:1–7). Jesus Himself defined leadership not by command, but by costly service: “The Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45).

Kindness does not build empires.

Meekness does not scale quickly.

Humility does not draw applause.

Shepherding requires presence.

So these things were quietly displaced.

When Christ leaves the pulpit, control rushes in to fill the vacuum.

And control always demands victims.

We are now witnessing the fallout. Thousands are leaving the Church, not because they hate Jesus, but because they were harmed by leaders who spoke in His name while living contrary to His ways. Ezekiel warned of shepherds who feed themselves rather than the flock, who rule with harshness and force, and scatter the sheep (Ezekiel 34:1–6). Jesus later stood in direct opposition to this kind of leadership, describing Himself as the Good Shepherd who lays down His life for the sheep (John 10:11).

At the heart of this crisis is not merely moral failure. It is Christological confusion.

When we lose clarity about who Jesus is, fully God and fully man (John 1:14, Colossians 2:9), our theology becomes unstable. And when theology becomes unstable, practice follows.

On one side, we reduce Jesus into a therapeutic guide, affirming but powerless, gentle but not holy. On the other side, we weaponize His authority while ignoring His humanity, His tears (John 11:35), His refusal to coerce, His submission to the Father even unto death (Philippians 2:5–8).

In both cases, we end up with a Jesus who cannot save.

The beauty of Christ is that He holds together what we keep tearing apart. He is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact imprint of His nature (Hebrews 1:3). He welcomes children, forgives sinners, touches lepers, and yet still commands storms, casts out demons, and rises from the dead.

Jesus did not change the world through power, armies, or control. He changed the world through death and resurrection. The cross was not a detour, it was the method. “I, when I am lifted up, will draw all people to Myself” (John 12:32).

When the Church forgets this, we begin to mirror the kingdoms of this world. We confuse growth with faithfulness, influence with authority, success with fruit. And in doing so, we lose the way of Christ.

The crisis today is not that people are asking hard questions. That is often the beginning of faith. The crisis is that many may have never been formed around the historic, orthodox Jesus in the first place.

If we do not know Jesus rightly, we will not follow Him faithfully.

If we do not preach Christ clearly, we will replace Him quietly.

The way forward is not reactionary reform, but a return to the center. A recovery of Christ Himself. Only when Christ returns to the pulpit in substance, not just in name, will love displace control, healing replace harm, and the Church become again what she was always meant to be.