Dear Reader,
There’s a myth that floats around Christian leadership an unspoken belief that if you’re called, it will be easy. That you’ll move from success to success, gaining favor like Joseph did in Potiphar’s house. That your calling will be so clear, and your gifts so evident, that people will follow without question.
That’s not how it went for me.
After seminary, I started serving churches, small at first, then medium-sized, and eventually larger congregations. I did what I knew: I preached with passion, visited hospitals, mentored young leaders, wrote articles, led Bible studies, and poured myself into the people God gave me.
And there were beautiful results, baptisms, conversions, healing moments, marriages restored. It was the real thing. But under the surface, something began to erode.
I didn’t notice it at first. But looking back, I can see it so clearly now: I was building a version of myself that looked like “Pastor James” but didn’t fully reflect the James God had called and loved.
There’s a weight to leadership that doesn’t show up in the job description.
You’re not just preaching a sermon, you’re being watched at the grocery store. You’re not just visiting a sick member, you’rerepresenting “the church” to the entire family. You’re not just leading staff meetings, you’re bearing the hopes, expectations, disappointments, and unhealed wounds of hundreds people who assume you’ll never crack.
Somewhere along the way, I let those expectations shape me more than God’s calling did.
I still prayed. Still read Scripture. Still loved Jesus. But I started performing.
I became the kind of pastor who stayed up all night tweaking sermon slides, not because they needed tweaking, but because I couldn’t handle disappointing the one person who might email the next day with a critique. I became the kind of pastor who smiled through grief, nodded through exhaustion, and preached sermons that lit others on fire while I quietly burned out inside.
I loved the people, but I feared losing their approval. That was my wilderness.
It’s in moments like these that I think about Caleb.
Caleb was a spy sent into the Promised Land with Joshua. The other spies came back afraid, but Caleb stood firm. “We should go up and take possession of the land,” he said, “for we can certainly do it.” (Numbers 13:30)
What set Caleb apart wasn’t strategy or charisma. It was his spirit. Scripture says he “had a different spirit” and “followed the Lord wholeheartedly” (Numbers 14:24). Caleb’s strength wasn’t in his muscles, it was in his devotion.
I think we need more Calebs in ministry. People who aren’t shaped by fear, comparison, or applause, but by wholehearted obedience to God. I long to be that kind of pastor.
One of the most transformative moments in my journey came during a staff meeting.
It wasn’t dramatic. No one yelled. No one walked out. But a trusted staff member pulled me aside afterward and asked, “Do you know how exhausting it is to work for someone who never seems tired?”
At first, I bristled. And honestly at the same time, I took pride in it. I thought I was being strong for the team.
But what they saw was performance. And it made them feel like they couldn’t be human either.
That conversation changed me. I started being honest about my fatigue. I admitted when I didn’t have the answers. I started scheduling rest, not just time off, but soul-restoring moments with God. I invited others to do the same.
And you know what happened?
Nothing fell apart. In fact, we grew closer. Ministry got richer. Trust deepened. People leaned in more, not less.
Biblical leadership isn’t about image management, it’s about surrender.
Jesus didn’t come to be served, but to serve. (Matthew 20:28) And He didn’t build His ministry on control, charisma, or credentials. He built it on intimacy with the Father.
He slipped away to pray. He wept at Lazarus’ tomb. He cooked breakfast for His disciples after they abandoned Him. He didn’t lead from a stage, He led from His heart.
Whether you’re a pastor or parishioner we all deal with call, image and performance issues. I’ve had great experiences, I’ve been tired and I’ve been betrayed. My mentor since I was 26 years old has been Bishop Al Gwinn. He told me something in my younger years I’ve never forgotten. “James, you be a pastor other pastors can trust.” He said people will abandon you sometimes but you be the one that never abandons. Wow. I’ve tried and for the most part did that, but I wasn’t as good at it until I finally accepted that I was made in the image of God, not Western culture. I’m still walking it out but people are my goal, not accolades. For a time I chased that and it never sufficed.
The Lord said something to the Apostle Paul centuries ago that now get me through my days and helps me to be someone others can trust. I say it to myself at least once a day, sometimes more, depending on on the day! It’s from his second letter to the Corinthian church: Jesus said, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” Real power is not in stamina. It comes on your knees. That’s true Christianity. That’s real ministry.
In Christ,
James
Rev. James A. Williams
Senior Pastor
Grace Resurrection Methodist Church
There’s a myth that floats around Christian leadership an unspoken belief that if you’re called, it will be easy. That you’ll move from success to success, gaining favor like Joseph did in Potiphar’s house. That your calling will be so clear, and your gifts so evident, that people will follow without question.
That’s not how it went for me.
After seminary, I started serving churches, small at first, then medium-sized, and eventually larger congregations. I did what I knew: I preached with passion, visited hospitals, mentored young leaders, wrote articles, led Bible studies, and poured myself into the people God gave me.
And there were beautiful results, baptisms, conversions, healing moments, marriages restored. It was the real thing. But under the surface, something began to erode.
I didn’t notice it at first. But looking back, I can see it so clearly now: I was building a version of myself that looked like “Pastor James” but didn’t fully reflect the James God had called and loved.
There’s a weight to leadership that doesn’t show up in the job description.
You’re not just preaching a sermon, you’re being watched at the grocery store. You’re not just visiting a sick member, you’rerepresenting “the church” to the entire family. You’re not just leading staff meetings, you’re bearing the hopes, expectations, disappointments, and unhealed wounds of hundreds people who assume you’ll never crack.
Somewhere along the way, I let those expectations shape me more than God’s calling did.
I still prayed. Still read Scripture. Still loved Jesus. But I started performing.
I became the kind of pastor who stayed up all night tweaking sermon slides, not because they needed tweaking, but because I couldn’t handle disappointing the one person who might email the next day with a critique. I became the kind of pastor who smiled through grief, nodded through exhaustion, and preached sermons that lit others on fire while I quietly burned out inside.
I loved the people, but I feared losing their approval. That was my wilderness.
It’s in moments like these that I think about Caleb.
Caleb was a spy sent into the Promised Land with Joshua. The other spies came back afraid, but Caleb stood firm. “We should go up and take possession of the land,” he said, “for we can certainly do it.” (Numbers 13:30)
What set Caleb apart wasn’t strategy or charisma. It was his spirit. Scripture says he “had a different spirit” and “followed the Lord wholeheartedly” (Numbers 14:24). Caleb’s strength wasn’t in his muscles, it was in his devotion.
I think we need more Calebs in ministry. People who aren’t shaped by fear, comparison, or applause, but by wholehearted obedience to God. I long to be that kind of pastor.
One of the most transformative moments in my journey came during a staff meeting.
It wasn’t dramatic. No one yelled. No one walked out. But a trusted staff member pulled me aside afterward and asked, “Do you know how exhausting it is to work for someone who never seems tired?”
At first, I bristled. And honestly at the same time, I took pride in it. I thought I was being strong for the team.
But what they saw was performance. And it made them feel like they couldn’t be human either.
That conversation changed me. I started being honest about my fatigue. I admitted when I didn’t have the answers. I started scheduling rest, not just time off, but soul-restoring moments with God. I invited others to do the same.
And you know what happened?
Nothing fell apart. In fact, we grew closer. Ministry got richer. Trust deepened. People leaned in more, not less.
Biblical leadership isn’t about image management, it’s about surrender.
Jesus didn’t come to be served, but to serve. (Matthew 20:28) And He didn’t build His ministry on control, charisma, or credentials. He built it on intimacy with the Father.
He slipped away to pray. He wept at Lazarus’ tomb. He cooked breakfast for His disciples after they abandoned Him. He didn’t lead from a stage, He led from His heart.
Whether you’re a pastor or parishioner we all deal with call, image and performance issues. I’ve had great experiences, I’ve been tired and I’ve been betrayed. My mentor since I was 26 years old has been Bishop Al Gwinn. He told me something in my younger years I’ve never forgotten. “James, you be a pastor other pastors can trust.” He said people will abandon you sometimes but you be the one that never abandons. Wow. I’ve tried and for the most part did that, but I wasn’t as good at it until I finally accepted that I was made in the image of God, not Western culture. I’m still walking it out but people are my goal, not accolades. For a time I chased that and it never sufficed.
The Lord said something to the Apostle Paul centuries ago that now get me through my days and helps me to be someone others can trust. I say it to myself at least once a day, sometimes more, depending on on the day! It’s from his second letter to the Corinthian church: Jesus said, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” Real power is not in stamina. It comes on your knees. That’s true Christianity. That’s real ministry.
In Christ,
James
Rev. James A. Williams
Senior Pastor
Grace Resurrection Methodist Church
Posted in Rev. James Williams Weekly Blog
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