Felled or Fallen

Pastoral Crisis in the Church Today

Creak. Creak. Crack. Snap. Whooshhhhh—thud. And a tall, stately prince of the forest lies sprawled. Did it fall? Or was it felled? There is a difference.

A longleaf pine, struck down by lightning, lies felled on the forest floor. Nearby, a white oak has fallen, weakened by a hidden infection—a fungal rot eating away at its roots. While my interest in botany and dendrology is genuine, I bring up these cases of trees brought low for an illustrative purpose. The distinction between “felled” and “fallen” introduces my subject: “Felled or Fallen: Pastoral Crisis in the Church Today.” That is what I feel compelled to address.

When A Great Oak Has Been Felled

Dr. James Dobson (b. 1936), noted Christian psychologist, author, and evangelical elder statesman, once likened this man to “a great and mighty oak.” Yet the figure on the forest floor of time was not among those diseased trees who recently forfeited ministry to scandal. Dobson’s eulogy spoke about someone different—a shepherd who finished the race, not through disgrace, but because of death. This Christian leader, who had once stood as a mighty oak, did not topple from lapses in sobriety or faith, like others who, across denominations, have withered under scandal.

Dr. D. James Kennedy (1930-2007) departed not by moral failing, but by an illness that ravaged his nervous system, stealing his breath and, ultimately, his life. His was not a sudden scandal (following a longer internal rotting of the roots), but a gradual decline of physical strength common to us all in our post-Edenic world. In my tradition, Dr. James Montgomery Boice (1938-2000) was similarly felled, as was Dr. Ben Haden (1925-2013). Recently, within hours of each other, Drs. Harry Reeder (1948-2023) and Tim Keller (1950-2023) were felled, their departures causing tears for one to mingle with tears for the other. We could name many other faithful shepherds, some widely known, others known only to their flocks, felled by the inevitable forces of a fallen world.

To Fall or to Be Felled

To fall or to be felled—that is the question. To bear the scars of life—the wounds of betrayal, the sting of slander—and lay down the mantle in faithful death, or to collapse under the weight of pride, brought low by scandal. In the latter case, the fall is not one of age or illness, but of moral collapse, and the repercussions are devastating. A carefully crafted, legally vetted, and spiritually sanitized letter reaches parishioners’ inboxes. A special committee prepares to meet the press. Elders and deacons—vestries and councils—gather, their shoulders heavy with decisions no one wanted to make, as the congregation grieves a loss too deep for words. The more perceptive lay leader goes home, embraces his wife, and counts the near-misses of his own ministry. Quietly, in gratitude, he might whisper, “But for the grace of God . . .” And Christians from every corner of the community will try not to cringe as they pass the skeptic on the street who can’t help but sneer.

Removing the rotting carcass of a morally fallen preacher is messy, painful work. The moral stench of death by dishonor becomes evident quickly, permeating everything. The Christian community reeks of the foul odor. Sometimes a church must be closed because of the lingering scent of the corpse.

Endemic, Not Epidemic

The moral collapse in the Western pastorate is not an epidemic. It is endemic. Epidemics leap borders and disregard boundaries. This crisis, however, has been forming within the Church itself, festering in stagnant pools of spiritual neglect—endemic. It thrives in the unchecked pride and self-deception of a bloated institution or coddled clergy, hidden until exposed—often through scandal, less frequently through confession. Occasionally, a miracle catches the diseased host in time; prayerful discipline revives the soul. But when unchecked, the outcome is tragic. The Church, from Rome to every Protestant tributary, and from the highest church service to the most casual, suffers under a crisis born of reckless statements, theological compromise, and eroding holiness. I have to confess: I started writing out the litany of clerical abuses in the Church today and I literally could not stand anymore. The list is far longer, more far-reaching, and entrenched than I originally thought. So, I just don’t want to rehearse the grievances. But a divine pruning is both inevitable and necessary.

History Repeats Itself?

History does not repeat, but human nature certainly does. Circumstances change; characters remain. Ours is not the first generation to witness clerical decay. Before the First Great Awakening (1730s-1740s), Britain and the American colonies faced pastoral laxity—marked by laziness, intellectual coldness, and theological novelty. Into that moral quagmire stepped George Whitefield (1714-1770), Jonathan Edwards (1703-1758), and the Wesleys, igniting a revival that rallied the Church in time for the American Revolution (1775-1783). Their Gospel, untethered from the trends of the age, drew countless souls, and the Church grew stronger.

In the same vein, John Milton (1608-1674), during the tumultuous years before England’s Civil War, condemned the clergy’s negligence. In Lycidas, he wrote, “The hungry Sheep look up, and are not fed . . .” lamenting a clergy that starved rather than nurtured its flock. Milton’s “grim Woolf” was William Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury, whom he accused of papal tendencies. Like a tragic deuteragonist (the cunning Machiavellian figure) , Laud manipulated the weak and paranoid Charles I, exacerbating the crises of his real. Weak leaders create hard times, but hard times can forge strong leaders. English Puritans like Thomas Watson, Richard Baxter, William Gurnall, and Christopher Love (representing many branches of the Church), along with Scottish divines such as Samuel Rutherford, rose to feed Milton’s “hungry sheep.”

So, perhaps history, in its way, will echo once more. The failures of (some of) our clergy may yet prelude another great move of God. Hard times are here, yet in hardship lies the potential for strength, for renewal. God has not abandoned His Church. Today’s failures might be clearing the ground for something new and strong.

Unexpected Sources of Light

We should also prepare for light to arise from unexpected places. In the past few years, I have met and become friends with remarkable clergy who are gifted, hard working, and faithful. Indeed, I consider some to be among the most faithful I have known (I pray for a portion of their fidelity). They are from all traditions of the Body of Christ which is thrilling to me. God often stirs courage in the timid, transforming hesitant hearts into bold witnesses. In these days, faithfulness may come from shepherds and flocks we had written off. Consider Jonathan Edwards. Though he is now a revered figure of the Great Awakening, Edwards was once mired in controversy and voted out by his own congregation. Yet through him, God sparked one of history’s greatest revivals. These surprising moments remind us that the Holy Spirit moves as He wills, raising up unlikely leaders for His Church’s renewal.

Faithful to the End

The winnowing of the Church will continue, and it will not be easy. There will be casualties—perhaps more than we wish to bear. But the remnant that remains must return to God, confessing sins that left us vulnerable: our dalliance with the world, neglect of prayer, and failure to trust in the divinely appointed means of evangelism and discipleship. As the wild saplings are uprooted and the weeds trampled, the Church is not dying; it is preparing for a time when the strength of the godly will be needed.

In that day, we will remember the great oaks—the Kennedys, Boices, Reeders, Edwardses, Whitefields, Wesleys, Spurgeons, Lloyd-Jones, Samuel Shoemakers—felled by death but faithful to the end. Their roots still enrich the Church’s soil, nurturing the growth of current and new shepherds (like Pastor Bob, Father Robert, Pastor Rusty, Pastor Adam, Pastor Ron, Pastor Steve, Chaplain Pete, Chaplain Doug, Rev. Castell, and many others I am honored to know). The Lord is faithful, and will not leave His flock without shepherds.

And So

Some ministers will fall in judgment, their failures a somber warning. Others will be felled by age or disease, leaving us with a renewed sense of our dependence on Christ. The greatest leaders are those set ablaze by grace, led by an encounter with the living Christ, and sustained by faith that strengthens the Body precisely when needed most.

“Lord, send us servants who may be felled but who will not fall. Lord, make us People who encourage them to faithfulness with our prayers, our love, our obedience in Christ, and our demonstrated gratitude. For Jesus Christ’s sake and in His name we pray. Amen.”