Stop Playing Church

“So I exhort the elders among you, as a fellow elder and a witness of the sufferings of Christ, as well as a partaker in the glory that is going to be revealed: shepherd the flock of God that is among you, exercising oversight, not under compulsion, but willingly, as God would have you; not for shameful gain, but eagerly; not domineering over those in your charge, but being examples to the flock. And when the chief Shepherd appears, you will receive the unfading crown of glory. Likewise, you who are younger, be subject to the elders. Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another, for ‘God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.’” 1 Peter 5:1–5

Peter does not hand the elders a secret strategy. He does not offer a church-growth method, a leadership formula, or a plan for platform expansion. He simply exhorts them to do the very thing they were called to do: shepherd the flock of God that is among you.

At first glance the command feels almost too obvious. Why does a veteran apostle need to remind pastors to pastor? Is this not like telling a sworn officer to enforce the law, or a chef to cook? Yet Peter knows how easily the calling can be displaced. The pressures of ministry, the competing voices of the age, and the persistent pull of selfish ambition can slowly redefine success until the shepherd no longer recognizes the sheep. What begins as a desire to care for souls can quietly become a drive to be seen, applauded, and followed.

Peter speaks from hard-won experience. He once possessed his own misguided motivations and a self-reliance that had to be put to death. Jesus allowed him to be sifted so that his faith could be refined, his pride humbled, and his dependence transferred from himself to the Chief Shepherd. After his denial and restoration, the risen Lord met him on the shore and pressed the same charge three times: “Feed my lambs… Tend my sheep… Feed my sheep” (John 21:15–17). The man who once swung a sword and promised unfailing loyalty is now the man who gently but firmly calls other shepherds back to the same simple, costly work.

But Peter does not stop with the elders. He turns immediately to the rest of the church: “Likewise, you who are younger, be subject to the elders. Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another.”

The warning cuts both ways. The crisis of celebrity pastors is not created by leaders alone. It is sustained by a generation of Christians who have become consumers—shopping for the best preacher, the best worship, the best conference, the best podcast—rather than committing to a body where they are known, loved, shepherded, held accountable, and released to serve.

James Bell names the modern form of this drift with painful clarity. The deeper crisis in American Christianity is not merely that another well-known pastor has fallen. It is that we have built a church culture that elevates, celebrates, and depends on celebrity pastors.

When growth becomes the highest priority, the church begins to mirror the surrounding consumer culture rather than resist it. Sermons tilt toward what draws a crowd. Platforms become measures of relevance. Charisma is rewarded over character, visibility over long-term faithfulness. Consumers look for someone to inspire or entertain them; churches adapt by feeding that appetite. The predictable result is a cycle of rise and collapse that wounds the flock and confuses the watching world about the power of the gospel.

This is not merely a leadership problem. It is a discipleship problem. As long as Christians keep treating the local church like a spiritual marketplace—sampling, comparing, and leaving when something “better” appears—we will keep producing the very celebrity culture we claim to hate. We train ourselves to ask, “Who is the most gifted?” instead of, “Where can I be known, corrected, and formed?” We prefer the safety of distance over the vulnerability of real accountability. We want the inspiration of a platform without the inconvenience of being shepherded by an ordinary man who actually knows our name, our struggles, and our blind spots.

Peter’s antidote is deliberately ordinary and deliberately mutual.


The way forward is not found in reaching more people through personality, but in becoming more deeply rooted among the people already entrusted to our care. Ordinary shepherds, faithfully tending ordinary people. Ordinary Christians, planting themselves in one local church and refusing to leave when something shinier comes along. That is how disciples are made. That is how the reputation of Christ is protected. That is how the cycle of rise and collapse is broken.

The gospel does not need more celebrities. It needs shepherds who have been sifted and restored. And it needs sheep who stop shopping and start belonging.