The hidden cost of turning pastors into brands—and people into props
We don’t set out to worship people. But in the Church, we’ve found a thousand holy-sounding ways to do it. We quote them.
We share their sermons like Scripture.
We follow their leadership like gospel.
We are impressed by their numbers of followers, members, baptisms.
And when they fall—because they’re human—we’re devastated. Not because they were our friend. But because they were our hope.
This is the part nobody likes to admit:
We say we follow Jesus,
But sometimes we’ve followed someone else’s charisma.
We’ve built our faith on their confidence.
We’ve let their brand become our theology. And when a leader falls, it doesn’t just shatter our trust in them.
It exposes the shaky scaffolding of our own faith—
Faith that wasn’t built on the character of Christ,
but on the image of someone who reminded us of Him.
This isn’t just a leadership problem. It’s a worship problem.
In 1 Samuel 8, the people of Israel begged God for a king.
They weren’t content with His presence. They wanted someone they could see.
Someone who looked the part.
Someone who could go to battle for them.
Someone impressive. And God gave them Saul.The tall one. The strong one. The “obvious” choice.
And it didn’t take long before it all unraveled.
We still ask for kings today.
We just call them pastors.
Or authors.
Or influencers. We say we want leaders who point us to Jesus.
But often, we gravitate toward the ones who sound most sure of themselves.
The ones who preach boldly about what’s “right” and “wrong.”
The ones who make us feel safe—not because they invite us into transformation, but because they offer a mold we can fit into if we just try hard enough. Because if we live in fear of messing up, we’re easier to keep in line. Fear disguised as faith can feel like control.
And control feels safer than mystery.
Erica and I have visited a lot of churches. And I can tell you this: Within one or two sermons, I can usually tell which theology matters most to the big donors and powerful families in the room.
Not because the gospel is front and center.
But because the pastor made sure to preach what would be applauded. I've sat in services where the sermons were more about making a statement than making space.
Where certainty was the goal, and nuance was seen as weakness.
Where the point wasn’t to draw us into wonder, but to reinforce who’s in and who’s out. And I walk away thinking, This isn’t about being led by the Spirit. This is about being safe from criticism.
Here’s what breaks my heart: Sometimes the very things we think God wants to fix in us aren’t the things He’s most concerned with at all.
Maybe the work God is doing starts deeper.
In the roots, not just the fruit. But if we worship the platform, we’ll always be chasing behavior change instead of heart transformation.
We’ll mistake control for maturity.
And we’ll keep hiding the parts of ourselves that don’t fit the formula.
Here’s what also gets lost in all this: The platform doesn’t just distort our view of the leader.
It distorts the leader’s view of themselves. When everything is measured in influence…
When your worth is tied to applause…
When your theology is curated to protect the tithe and not offend the elders…You stop asking, “What is God doing in me?”
And you start asking, “What will people think?”
That’s when integrity collapses.
That’s when burnout becomes inevitable.
That’s when the mask starts to fit a little too well.
So here’s my plea to the Church:
Stop putting people on pedestals they can’t breathe on.
Stop expecting pastors to trade their humanity for your comfort.
Stop confusing being “right” with being led by the Spirit.
And start asking:
Because real transformation never starts with a spotlight.
It starts with surrender.
With a whisper.
With grace showing up in the places we didn’t think were part of the plan.
To the leaders reading this: God’s not asking you to be the brand.
He’s asking you to be the beloved. You are not the mold.
You are the clay.
And the One shaping you is more interested in your heart than your highlight reel. Step down from the platform if it’s crushing you.
Step back into the presence of the One who sees all of you—and still says, You are mine.