A Note on the Irony of This Title
There’s an obvious irony in keeping this page titled “Philosophy of Ministry” when I resigned from active ministry in 2023 and now work full-time as a software engineer.
I remain technically an ordained priest in Christ’s one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church. I did not renounce my Holy Orders. But I am not licensed to serve anywhere, and I have no current plans to return to professional ministry. The institutional church and I, particularly the conservative evangelical world I grew up in, have gone our separate ways.
And yet, I’m keeping this page and its title for two reasons:
First, as an artifact. The ordination vows below represent promises I made in good faith and commitments I tried to honor. They’re part of my story, and I won’t pretend they didn’t happen or didn’t matter deeply to me.
Second, because I’m still figuring out what Christian vocation looks like for me outside the structures I once thought were essential. I’m not ready to articulate a complete “philosophy” of that yet. But I can at least name some commitments that guide me now—commitments that, in their own way, still have something to do with “ministry,” even if not in any official capacity.
So what follows is both/and: what I once vowed, and what I’m trying to live now.
What I Once Vowed: Ministry of Word and Sacrament
Every Christian is a theologian.
I once considered it my life’s work to help “everyday Christians” grow in their knowledge and love of God so that we all could put our gifts to good use by joining with God’s redemptive work in the world. In biblical terms, I was called to “equip the saints for the work of ministry” and to “build up the body of Christ” (Eph. 4:12).
Now, on the one hand, this meant that I wasn’t supposed to do all the work of ministry myself! I was not an expert who asks the non-specialists to step aside so that the real work can be done by a professional. No! The “ministry” is done by all the saints, not just the ordained clergy.
And yet, on the other hand, I was called to set the saints a good example in my life and work. I was called to constantly grow in the knowledge and love of God as “a messenger, watchman, and steward of the Lord” who could “teach, to warn, to feed, and to provide for the Lord’s family” (2019 BCP, p. 489).
Pastoral ministry requires a lifelong devotion to the Word of God. As my bishop put it when I was ordained to the priesthood, “the demands of this holy Office are so great” that I must “lay aside all worldly distractions and take care to direct all that [I] do to this purpose: read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest the Scriptures” (2019 BCP, p. 489).
Put simply: Bible study—and not just for sermon preparation—is essential for pastoral ministry. I would not be able to “frame [my] conduct, and that of my household and those committed to [my] care, according to the doctrine and discipline of Christ” (2019 BCP, p. 489) unless I said “no” to enough other things to protect the time and space I needed to digest the Scriptures.
But, of course, I couldn’t accomplish any of this on my own. I needed to “pray earnestly” for the “Holy Spirit to enlighten [my] mind and strengthen [my] resolve” (2019 BCP, p. 489). To equip the saints for the work of ministry, I needed to saturate my life with Scripture and prayer. This was the two-stroke engine, as it were, that drives a genuinely successful ministry of Word and Sacrament. It was the part of my ordination vows that enabled me to do the other things I vowed to do:
- “to minister the doctrine, sacraments, and discipline of Christ, as the Lord has commanded and this Church has received them, according to the commandments of God, so that [I] may teach the people committed to [my] charge with all diligence to keep and observe them”
- “to banish and drive away from the Body of Christ all erroneous and strange doctrines contrary to God’s Word”
- “to use both public and private admonitions and exhortations, to the weak as well as the strong within [my] charge, as need shall require and occasion be given”
- “to frame and fashion my own life and the life of my family, according to the doctrine of Christ, and to make myself and them, as much as I am able, a wholesome example and pattern to the flock of Christ”
- “to maintain and set forward, as much as I am able, quietness, peace, and love among all Christian people, and especially among those who are or shall be committed to my charge”
- “to obey my Bishop and other chief Ministers who, according to the Canons of this Church, may have charge and authority over [me], following with a glad mind and a good will their godly admonitions, and submitting [myself] to their godly judgments” (2019 BCP, pp. 490–91).
Such was the ministry of Word and Sacrament to which I was called and ordained within Christ’s Church.
At the end of the day, as a pastor, I was not meant to be a CEO, guru, or celebrity speaker. Instead, I was an under-shepherd, with delegated authority from the Good Shepherd to feed and equip his flock to do the work he has called us all to do.
What I’m Trying to Live Now: Following Jesus Outside the Institution
I left professional ministry, but I haven’t left Jesus. I can’t. There’s something about him, the Jesus of the Gospels, who proclaimed good news to the poor, who welcomed outcasts, who had harsh words for religious leaders who placed heavy burdens on others’ shoulders, that I cannot walk away from.
So what does faithful Christian witness look like for me now, outside the structures of ordained ministry? I’m still working that out. But here are some commitments that guide me:
Following Jesus means centering the poor, the powerless, and the marginalized. The Gospels are relentlessly clear about this. Jesus’s first sermon announced good news to the poor and freedom for the oppressed (Luke 4:18). He said the kingdom of God belongs to the poor (Luke 6:20). He identified himself with “the least of these” (Matthew 25:40). If my faith doesn’t shape how I think about immigrants, refugees, the unhoused, the incarcerated, and others pushed to the margins, then I’m not following the Jesus I meet in Scripture.
Following Jesus means opposing the fusion of Christianity with nationalism and political power. Jesus rejected the way of empire. He refused to lead a political uprising against Rome. He told Pilate his kingdom was “not of this world.” The American church’s embrace of Christian nationalism, the belief that America is God’s chosen nation and that Christian faith requires a particular political allegiance, is a betrayal of the gospel. When the church becomes a chaplain to state power rather than a prophetic voice for the powerless, it loses its soul. I want no part in that.
Following Jesus means I don’t have all the answers, and that’s okay. I spent years believing I needed to project certainty, to have the right theological position on every issue, to defend God’s reputation. I’ve learned that intellectual honesty and faith are not enemies. I can admit I’m “still working through” questions about sexuality, about the nature of Scripture, about how God acts in the world, and that doesn’t make me less faithful. It makes me more honest.
Following Jesus means staying committed to the local church, even when it’s imperfect. I’ve been hurt by the institutional church. Deeply. But I haven’t given up on the gathered body of believers. My wife and I still show up on Sunday mornings. We still serve on the worship team. We still try to raise our children in a community of faith. The church is a mess, it always has been, if you read Paul’s letters, but it’s also where we encounter Christ in Word and Sacrament, where we practice loving people we didn’t choose, where we learn what it means to be the body of Christ together.
Following Jesus means caring more about faithfulness than success. Ministry taught me to measure the wrong things: attendance numbers, budget growth, programs launched. But Jesus’s life ended in crucifixion, not in metrics of institutional success. I’m trying to learn what it means to simply be faithful, to love my family well, to show up for my neighbors, to speak truth even when it costs me something, to keep following Jesus even when the institutional rewards are gone.
I don’t know if any of this counts as “ministry” in the official sense. I’m not ordained to serve anywhere. I don’t preach from a pulpit or celebrate the Eucharist. But I’m still trying to follow Jesus, to live out something that looks like what he taught and embodied, even if it doesn’t fit within the structures that once defined my calling.
Maybe that’s enough.