By Oyewole O. Sarumi
There was a time when the moral life of a Christian leader was not negotiable. The pulpit was never insulated from accountability, and ecclesial authority was never divorced from personal holiness. To lead the Church was to submit oneself to stricter judgment, deeper scrutiny, and higher ethical expectation. The Church knew instinctively that when its leaders fell, the faith itself staggered.
Today, that instinct appears dulled. Across many contemporary churches, particularly within segments of global Pentecostalism, accusations of sexual misconduct, infidelity, abuse of power, financial impropriety, and moral recklessness are no longer shocking interruptions. They are recurring headlines. More troubling still is not merely the frequency of such allegations, but the institutional response to them: silence, denial, intimidation, spiritual manipulation, and sometimes outright collusion.
When elders refuse to question, when councils abdicate responsibility, when senior leaders publicly align themselves with accused ministers without investigation, and when accusers themselves are allegedly arrested or silenced, one must ask a sobering question: What, precisely, is the Church becoming?
This article examines the theological, ethical, and ecclesial breakdown underlying these developments. It asks why ancient Christian standards of leadership accountability have been abandoned, how power has displaced holiness, and why “fatherhood in faith” has increasingly become a shield against discipline rather than a call to it. Above all, it asks whether the Church can reclaim its moral authority without first recovering its fear of God.
The Ancient Standard: Leadership as Moral Visibility
Christian leadership has never been morally neutral. From its earliest days, the Church understood leadership as visible discipleship. The leader did not merely teach holiness; he embodied it publicly.
The Apostle Paul’s pastoral epistles are unequivocal. Writing to Timothy, he insists that “a bishop must be blameless, the husband of one wife, sober-minded, self-controlled, respectable, hospitable, able to teach” (1 Timothy 3:2). To Titus, Paul reiterates the same standard with even sharper clarity: “An overseer, as God’s steward, must be above reproach” (Titus 1:7).
The language is not accidental. “Blameless” does not mean sinless perfection, but freedom from credible accusation. A leader whose life generates scandal forfeits moral authority, regardless of gifting, charisma, or numerical success.
The early Church Fathers took this with utmost seriousness. Clement of Rome warned that disorder among leaders brings reproach upon the entire body of Christ. Ignatius of Antioch taught that bishops must be models of moral coherence, lest the Gospel itself be mocked. Cyprian of Carthage insisted that episcopal authority flows from character, not title. Leadership, in classical Christianity, was never about platform, it was about pattern as exhibited in the Scriptures.
Discipline as Love, Not Punishment
Contrary to modern caricatures, church discipline was never intended as cruelty. It was an act of love—toward the erring leader, the wounded congregation, and the watching world.
In earlier Christian practice, when credible accusations of misconduct arose against a clergy member, several principles governed the response. First, the accused stepped aside from public ministry, not as a declaration of guilt, but to preserve the integrity of the office. Second, an independent and impartial investigation was conducted, often involving respected elders or external overseers. Third, the outcome, whether vindication or discipline, was communicated transparently to the community.
This process reflected biblical wisdom. Paul admonished Timothy not to entertain frivolous accusations against elders, but also not to ignore substantiated ones. “Those who persist in sin,” he wrote, “rebuke them in the presence of all, so that the rest may stand in fear” (1 Timothy 5:20). The goal was restoration where possible, and protection of the Church always.
Where founders were involved, the Church historically recognized an even greater danger: the temptation to confuse spiritual paternity with immunity. In such cases, neutral senior leaders, often mentors or respected external figures, were invited to steward the church temporarily. This safeguarded both justice and continuity. These practices were not signs of weakness. They were marks of spiritual maturity.
The Pentecostal Paradox: Power Without Restraint
Modern Pentecostalism has brought immense vitality to global Christianity. Its emphasis on the work of the Holy Spirit, experiential faith, evangelistic zeal, and contextual relevance has revitalized countless communities. However, alongside this vitality has emerged a dangerous paradox: power without restraint.
Charisma has increasingly eclipsed character. Anointing is invoked as a substitute for accountability. Growth metrics, attendance figures, media reach, financial inflows, are treated as evidence of divine approval, even when ethical concerns abound.
In such an ecosystem, the leader becomes indispensable. Churches are built around personalities rather than ecclesial structures. Elders become employees. Boards become ceremonial. Dissent is framed as rebellion. Questions are spiritualized into attacks on “the anointing.”
When infidelity allegations arise in such systems, the response is often predictable. The accused denies wrongdoing. Loyalists rally. Elders remain silent. External voices are dismissed as enemies of the Gospel. Meanwhile, the congregation is urged to “pray and move on.” This is not Pentecostal spirituality; it is clericalism wearing charismatic clothing.
The Failure of Eldership: When Silence Becomes Sin
Perhaps the most grievous failure in many contemporary scandals is not the misconduct itself, but the collapse of eldership who are to correction or sanction the misdemeanour of the church leaders. In my Yoruba language, there is a proverb that says “Agba kiiwa loja, k’ori omo titun wo”. This means literarily that, “where there are elders, the head of a newborn won’t bend.”
Biblically, elders exist precisely to guard doctrine and discipline leaders. They are not honorary titles or ceremonial accessories. They are shepherds of shepherds. When elders refuse to investigate allegations, or worse, publicly align themselves with accused leaders without due process, they betray their calling.
The situation becomes even more troubling when an elder actively associates with an accused leader, participating in public ceremonies, joining him in intimate family moments, or officiating weddings, while allegations remain unresolved. Such actions do not communicate grace; they communicate disregard for truth.
John Calvin warned that when church leaders protect one another at the expense of justice, they transform the Church into a “den of thieves.” Richard Baxter, the great Puritan pastor, famously admonished ministers to “take heed to yourselves,” warning that an unholy clergy would do more harm than a thousand atheists. Silence in the face of wrongdoing is not neutrality. It is complicity.
From Restoration to Reputation Management
One of the most disturbing shifts in contemporary church ethics is the replacement of restoration theology with reputation management.
Biblical restoration is slow, painful, and humbling. It involves confession, repentance, submission, time, and observable fruit. Modern church responses, however, often prioritize speed and optics. Leaders “step aside” briefly, issue carefully worded statements, rebrand their absence as “sabbatical,” and return to ministry with minimal accountability.
In some cases, the machinery of influence goes further. Accusers are discredited, intimidated, or allegedly entangled in legal trouble. Connections are activated. Power shields itself. Even when facts are unclear, the optics are devastating.
The Church, which should be a refuge for the wounded, begins to resemble the very systems of coercion and injustice it once prophetically challenged.
Early Church Fathers and the Fear of God
The early Church feared God more than it feared scandal. That fear produced integrity.
Origen warned that leaders who fall into sexual immorality drag the name of Christ through the streets. Chrysostom insisted that ministers live as though the whole city were watching them, because in truth, it was. Augustine wrote that a corrupt bishop does not merely sin personally; he wounds the body of Christ.
The Puritans echoed this severity. Thomas Brooks wrote that ministers who preach holiness without practicing it “pull down with one hand what they build with the other.” John Owen warned that unexamined sin in leaders would metastasize into institutional decay.
These voices were not obsessed with moralism. They understood something modern Christianity often forgets: the credibility of the Gospel is inseparable from the credibility of its messengers.
The Arrested Accuser: A Chilling Signal
When accusations escalate beyond internal church matters into alleged state involvement, when accusers are arrested, detained, or legally harassed, the damage extends beyond ecclesial boundaries. The Church’s witness becomes entangled with injustice.
Even if legal processes are legitimate, the perception of power being used to silence vulnerable voices is profoundly corrosive. It signals to victims that the Church is unsafe. It signals to society that Christianity protects its own at all costs. It signals to the watching world that moral authority has been traded for influence.
The Church does not need political power to be faithful. Historically, it has flourished most when it lacked it.
What Has the Church Become?
This is the haunting question underlying these developments. When leaders are unaccountable, elders are silent, accusers are marginalized, and holiness is optional, the Church risks becoming a mirror of the world rather than its conscience.
The New Testament vision of leadership is cruciform, not celebrity-driven. Jesus warned that shepherds who feed themselves rather than the flock invite divine judgment. Peter urged elders to shepherd willingly and not domineeringly. James reminded teachers that they would be judged more strictly.
When churches ignore these warnings, they may grow numerically, but they shrink morally.
Recovering the Ancient Path
Let us be clear that reforms to the Body of Christ will not come through better public relations or tighter Non Disclosure Agreements. It will come through repentance and recovery of ancient wisdom as we have it on the pages of the Holy Writ.
The Church must reclaim the courage to say that gifting does not excuse sin, that anointing does not nullify accountability, and that no leader; founder or otherwise, is above discipline. Elders must rediscover their vocation as guardians, not cheerleaders. Congregations must be taught that questioning misconduct is not rebellion, but fidelity. Above all, the Church must remember that it belongs to Christ, not to charismatic personalities.
Blameless or Meaningless
“A bishop must be blameless.” These words are not archaic relics. They are living standards.
From my perspective, the Church today stands at a crossroads. It can continue down the path of power, silence, and institutional self-protection, or it can return to the harder, holier road of truth and accountability. One path preserves reputations; the other preserves the Gospel. One is the broader way that leads to perdition, and the other is the narrow way that leads to eternal bliss with Christ. Either through inaction and action, most churches are already making a choice of where they are leading their flock to in the end.
If the Church loses its moral nerve, it will retain buildings, platforms, and crowds, but lose its soul. And history is unforgiving to institutions that abandon their founding convictions.
The world is watching. The faithful are grieving. And Christ, the true Head of the Church, still walks among the lampstands. The question is whether His Church still trembles at His presence.
Prof. Sarumi, a Bible Scholar and pastor, writes from Lagos
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