I love being a Christian.

I mean, I love Jesus, but I love all the rest of it too: brunch after church with friends and hylomorphism and late-night Eucharist on Christmas Eve and C.S. Lewis and John Donne and Charles De Koninck. I love Durham Cathedral and the Aksum Empire and Neoplatonism and canon law and candles and martyrs who chose death over denial and countless little communes of monks and Anabaptists and Puritans and Methodists and charismatics who read Acts 2 and 4 and decided to just go ahead and do it.

I love knowing that nothing good will be lost and there are no ordinary people and death has been killed. I love sacred Scripture mysteriously breathed by God through the words of men and that our God and King gave us his body to eat and his blood to drink.

And I also think it’s true, so there’s that.

But there have been times I have found belief to be almost unbearable. And I’ve met enough people who have shared this particular difficulty that my story might be worth sharing.

Walk Away, or Pray for Faith

I was baptized at 16, but didn’t become serious about following Jesus until grad school. And then for the next decade or so, I went through . . . call them “crises.” Times I couldn’t stop thinking, obsessively ruminating on certain things — two in particular.

First: If Calvinism was right, as I then understood it, how could I understand that God is good? Second: How can I live in a world where people I love may be going to hell?

These circling thoughts left me exhausted over my own attempts to make sense of everything, and with a grief-fueled nostalgia for the time when, as a secular person, I didn’t worry about any of this stuff. I felt alienated from non-Christians and even from Christians who didn’t share my intensity and anguish.

During some of my worst moments, I felt like I was presented with a choice: you can cease believing, or you can pray for faith. Ceasing to believe didn’t feel like a choice that would change reality. It felt like choosing to somehow sit on the sidelines, to become a non-player character. Yet apostasy did seem to offer me the psychological comfort of escape.

I prayed for faith.

Obsessive Moral Threats

I’m not sure when I first heard the word scrupulosity. At some point, I probably googled “religious OCD,” which is more or less what it is. And I was very familiar with OCD.

Around age 12, I was diagnosed with “obsessive-compulsive disorder.” If you’re unfamiliar with OCD, it makes threats that feel moral. You feel like you’re both morally wrong and physically unsafe, and what will put you morally and physically right again is obsessively performing various rituals (you’ve heard them: handwashing, not stepping on cracks, etc.). Often, what you care about most is what the disorder “chooses” to threaten you about: “wash your hands just right or your child will die, and it will be your fault.” That kind of thing.

Most people with this disorder are not delusional. They know the threat isn’t real, that it’s irrational, which often makes the disorder profoundly embarrassing. “Don’t mind me, just going to, um . . . wash my hands seven times and then turn off the tap with the backs of my hands, because . . . well, you go ahead and start dinner.”

I ended up receiving various kinds of treatments (medication, cognitive behavioral therapy), which helped enormously. And by the time I was out of high school, my OCD was pretty much dealt with. It proved to be a weird blessing in my life to have experienced this before my adult conversion, unrelated to Christianity.

After college, I started spending time with people who actually believed that Jesus was not at all dead. And then I found that I actually believed that too. And the stakes in life suddenly became much higher.

Enter Scrupulosity

Conversion is always disorienting. But God gave me time to work through the normal confusions of new Christianity: the sense that there is nothing one can hold back; the realization that God makes no guarantees that you won’t, for example, eventually be martyred; all the normal pricks of an awakened conscience; all the joy and amazement that first Christmas when the carols you’ve sung your whole life suddenly come alive and blaze with glory.

Then, sometime within the first two years, I had my first major bout of scrupulosity.

Like OCD, scrupulosity produces an irrational sense that one is in profound danger and has a bad conscience. It’s confusing because it can overlap with one’s “real conscience” and real fear of hell, but it’s distinct enough to recognize once you get to know it. I could discern something “off” about it. It wasn’t “what reality is like,” “what being a sinner and having a bad conscience is like,” or “what Christianity is like.”

Being curious by nature, and also a nerd when it comes to history and historical theology, I started digging and discovered that scrupulosity is a spiritual malady that has caused pastors to say, “Oy, not this again,” for about two thousand years. It’s also a neurological, OCD-related condition that can be treated on that basis. In fact, confessors, spiritual directors, and pastors have been using tools similar to cognitive behavioral therapy for a good portion of church history — long before medications provided additional treatment options.

Christians’ Doubting Disease

There are two pretty distinct versions of scrupulosity. There’s the one that resembles “classic” OCD, which leads sufferers to obsessively perform rituals, like prayer (“If I don’t say these exact words with exactly the right feelings, they won’t count”) or confession (Luther’s poor confessor!) in order to feel like they’ve gotten it “right.” And then there’s the delightful experience of repetitive, racing thoughts, obsessively ruminating over theological questions, which one feels like one must resolve in order to be at peace. Neither makes for a particularly good time. But in my experience, the ruminations are the real bear.

OCD has been called the “doubting disease.” Did I really lock the door? I think I did. I remember doing it. But if I did, why do I doubt so profoundly that I did? Why do I feel in danger? Better check. In other words, subjective uncertainty presents itself as something to pay attention to, something that gives good information.

Now imagine how difficult it might be for those dealing with this disorder to evaluate their subjective assurance of salvation, which in some Christian traditions has been viewed as a necessary mark of true salvation. If one must sit on the “anxious bench” until one receives assurance, a person with an unaddressed scrupulosity disorder can sit there for a long, long time.

As I said earlier, questions I found myself obsessively ruminating over included “Does God want everyone to be saved?” “How can I trust that he wants me to be saved?” The questions can get very refined indeed: “If Calvinistic monergism is true, is God good? Is ‘good’ meant equivocally or analogically when we predicate it of God? Are you sure? But are you sure? How about ‘love’? Better think about this for five hours in the middle of the night to try to solve it.” My scrupulosity demanded that I give attention to these subjective uncertainties until I had subjective certainty, the kind that doesn’t come like that. And during the darkest seasons of such ruminating, I was tempted with apostasy as a palliative for my psychological pain.

But I prayed for faith.

Living with a Trustworthy God

I know this might sound simplistic at first, but one of the most helpful things for me has been simply learning to trust God more. I don’t mean “trusting God” as some immediate mental choice in moments of struggle, though it is that too. Rather, I just mean living with him as my King for longer, and learning that he is trustworthy and that I don’t need to get answers to all my theological questions before I am able to rest in that.

“God’s character is one thing we do not need to doubt.”

In non-religious OCD, one learns to talk back to one’s mind: “Yes, I know you are subjectively uncertain, but that has nothing to do with reality.” As a Christian with religious scrupulosity, I do the same. And more, I’ve learned to get out of my own head. I have a kind of mental box, Susannah’s Big Box of Unanswered Theological Questions. I’ve found it incredibly helpful to realize it’s okay to have such a box, and that there will be items in it until I see God face to face, and probably afterward. The fact that we don’t see how all the data points of Scripture and experience and tradition fit rationally together should not for a moment cause us to discount the data points we do have about God’s character. His character is one thing we do not need to doubt.

In my worst episodes, I didn’t really doubt the truth of the Scriptures. In a sense, that was part of the problem: scary passages felt like chains binding me, guns pointed at my head. But it also meant I could hang on to the passages of God’s unequivocal grace. “God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). “The Lord is good to all; he has compassion on all he has made” (Psalm 145:9). There is nothing original that I can offer here: these are uncompromising promises about God’s character and his love of each of us, and of those we love. I held on to these white-knuckled. And then, gradually, I realized that I didn’t need to hold on that tightly, because I was being held.

Out of the Pit

If you’re wondering whether you or someone you know might be suffering with scrupulosity, it can really help, first, to know that it is a thing. It’s a real neurological disorder, and there are many online resources available from credible medical and Christian ministry sources to begin understanding how it works and how to pursue diagnosis and treatment. It’s also an old thing. I found help reading memoirs and anecdotes of saints from the past who have suffered very similar experiences, like St. Therese of Lisieux, St. Ignatius, or John Bunyan.

“When your own thoughts are a trap, you cannot just think your way out of it. You need the help of others.”

It’s also important that you don’t attempt to figure it out alone. Doubt, anxiety, and fear are common human maladies (Philippians 4:6–7; Hebrews 13:6; James 1:5–8). And of course, some anxiety is good (2 Corinthians 11:28), and some fears are real (Luke 12:5). We all fall somewhere on a spectrum with many kinds of mental distress, so discerning what’s “normal” and “abnormal” can be tricky. A good place to start is talking with your pastor, if possible, and/or trusted, wise counselors (particularly those with some familiarity with scrupulosity). When your own thoughts are a trap, you cannot just think your way out of it. You need the help of others, ideally professionals.

And if you feel tormented by scrupulosity’s obsessive ruminations, and tempted by the psychological comfort that apostasy seems to offer: take the leap. In the face of that choice, pray for the grace of faith to be given to you in abundance. And then throw the whole kit and caboodle, every means of grace, at this thing: prayer, Scripture, saints around you, ancient saints, SSRIs, cognitive behavioral therapy, all of it.

I also say this: dare to hope that you will be okay again one day, that you will again find “joy and peace in believing” (Romans 15:13). God, as it happens, is patient. He is also analogically, though not univocally, good and loving. And the ways in which his patience and goodness and love are not univocally identical to ours, his are more so. Always more, not less.

Audio Transcript

In the last year, global tensions have risen to a boil. It’s hard to believe how often “World War III” has been a top trend on Twitter in the past couple of years. (Too often, to be honest.) And this leads to today’s question from Malcolm, who lives in Fishers, Indiana. His email resonates with a lot of other emails in the inbox in the past year.

Malcolm writes, “Pastor John, hello to you. I’m a 22-year-old and often anxious about the state of the world. For several years, we enjoyed relative peace, and things were looking calm. But now there are wars in Ukraine and in Palestine, and a threat of war looms over Taiwan. All the world’s major armies seem to be awakening from a long slumber. NATO is growing. Enemies of the West are uniting. The weapons manufacturers are in overdrive.

“As we step into this new age of global tension, and as you see the news — the wars and rumors of wars — what are your spiritual reflections about global conflicts? The Bible seems to say a lot about warfare between nations. How do you comfort yourself with biblical truth, and with God’s sovereignty, when it seems that the world is growing more hostile, and World War III is talked about more and more openly as a real possibility in the near future?”

Well, I could, I suppose, answer Malcolm’s question with a very general biblical observation about the absolute sovereignty of God over nations and over the church and over my life, and then combine that sovereignty with the sweet, precious promise that he works everything together for the good of those who love him (Romans 8:28). I could do that, and it would be wonderful. It would be glorious.

However, I want to answer his question with something much more specific, just because I saw it while preparing a message on missions last October. And it did for me just what Malcolm is asking: “How do you comfort yourself, Pastor John, in light of these kinds of upheavals in the world?”

And so, that’s what I want to do. I want to address one specific worry that rises in this setting that we’re in right now, wars and rumors of wars and social upheavals — namely, what happens to the global missionary enterprise in times of wars and rumors of wars? That’s the specific thing that creeps into my heart with anxious thoughts.

Missions in Wartime

I think many of us feel, from time to time, the anxiety arising that social upheaval and political and military disruption will so distract the church, and so intimidate the church, that we forsake or neglect or minimize the command of Jesus to make disciples among all the peoples of the world.

We just feel like, “Well, that’s got to be put on hold because the world’s about to blow up and go to hell in a handbasket. What good does it do to send the missionaries to so-and-so when the place is about to explode in war?” I think that’s the kind of feeling that rises in our hearts with regard to world missions in wartime.

So, I’m reframing Malcolm’s question to be more specific: Not just “How do I comfort myself in a world about to be engulfed in war?” but “How do I steady my hand and keep my focus and press on in the cause of world evangelization even while the world’s moving toward annihilation?” That’s the question I’m trying to face.

White-Hot Christians Will Go

And what I saw last October when I was preparing for my global-focus sermon at Bethlehem was from Matthew 24:5–14 and the connection between war and missions. I had never made this connection before. So, here’s what Jesus says about the times we live in — and I think these words from Matthew 24:5–14 are intended by Jesus, in every generation where these things show up, to make us lift our eyes and pray that our redemption is drawing near. Here’s what he says:

Many will come in my name, saying, “I am the Christ,” and they will lead many astray. And you will hear of wars and rumors of wars. See that you are not alarmed, for this must take place, but the end is not yet. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom [these are the international upheavals, and now come the natural upheavals, the disasters], and there will be famines and earthquakes in various places. All these are but the beginning of the birth pains. (Matthew 24:4–8)

So, Jesus is picturing the coming of the kingdom of God that he will bring as a kind of new birth for the cosmos, and natural disasters are like labor pains. He goes on:

Then they will deliver you up to tribulation and put you to death, and you will be hated by all nations for my name’s sake. And then many will fall away and betray one another and hate one another. And many false prophets will arise and lead many astray. And because lawlessness will be increased, the love of many will grow cold. But the one who endures to the end will be saved. And this gospel of the kingdom will be proclaimed throughout the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come. (Matthew 24:9–14)

Now, I have said in lots of missions conferences over the decades that even though in the very last days of history the love of many in the visible church will grow cold (verse 12), this promise that the gospel will be preached to all the peoples of the world — even while we are being hated, he says, by all these peoples — this promise is going to come true.

But the Christians who take the gospel to the nations during this time of great trouble will not be among those whose love has grown cold, right? They will be the people who have white-hot, not cold, love for Jesus in the face of persecution and killing. Not everybody’s love is going to grow cold in the last days, in other words. The Great Commission will be completed by faithful Christians, while millions are leaving the church like lukewarm coals rolling away from the fire.

All that I had seen before, but this time, while I was meditating on this passage, I saw the connection between war and missions — not just the de-churching of cold love and missions, but the connection between military upheavals and missions.

Far from Stopping the Advance

So, verses 6–7 and 14: “You will hear of wars and rumors of wars. . . . Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. . . . And this gospel of the kingdom will be proclaimed throughout the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come.” This connection makes plain that “wars and rumors of wars” will not stop God’s mission. That’s the lesson that I saw fresh in this text. The mission will be completed in spite of, sometimes because of, nation rising against nation.

Now, even as I say it, I know there could be an objection, even a biblical objection, because peacetime is good for the church. We’re not naive. We know that, historically, wars and social upheavals have hindered missions. Yes, they have. That’s true. But how many of those setbacks proved to be advances in disguise?

For example, the removal of missionaries from China, which felt like such a setback, between 1949–1953 — was it a setback? Thirty years later, it appeared that the church had grown by tenfold in China without the missionaries.

So, who knows what are advances and what are setbacks in God’s strange ways? Whatever disruptions in missions are caused by wars and rumors of wars, the words of Jesus stand firm. Wars and rumors of wars will not stop world evangelization. In the midst of hatred, coldness, and wars, this gospel will be preached to all the peoples, and then the end will come.

What History Has to Say

To test my new insight against historical experience, I did a little research, and here’s what I found. What has God done in missions during wartime?

During the American Civil War (1860–1865), Sarah Doremus founded the Woman’s Union Missionary Society for sending single women to Asia. The Episcopal Church opened work in Haiti. The Paris Evangelical Missionary Society opened work in Senegal. The London Missionary Society published the first dictionary of the Samoan language. The China Inland Mission (today OMF) was founded by James Hudson Taylor, which has sent — what? — thousands of missionaries to Asia. All of that while Americans are consumed with the Civil War.

What about World War I (1914–1918)? C.T. Studd was glorying in a great revival movement in the Congo during the First World War. The Interdenominational Foreign Mission Association, IFMA, was founded during World War I.

What about World War II (1939–1945)? William Cameron Townsend founded Wycliffe Bible Translators. New Tribes Mission was founded with a vision to reach the tribal peoples of Bolivia. The Conservative Baptist Foreign Mission Society was founded, now named WorldVenture. The Baptist General Conference started its own missionary-sending agency, which is the denomination that our church belongs to, during the Second World War. Mission Aviation Fellowship was started, Far East Broadcasting Company was founded, Evangelical Foreign Missions Association was formed — all during that horrific Second World War.

What about the Korean War (1950–1953)? The World Evangelical Alliance was organized. Bill and Vonette Bright created Campus Crusade for Christ. Trans World Radio was founded.

You get the picture. This is just a tiny taste of the truth that wars and rumors of wars are not going to stop God’s promise to complete the task of world missions. So, Malcolm, this is what the Lord has been using recently in my life to strengthen my heart, and encourage me to press on in this great work.

As you grow older, you increasingly find yourself at milestones that feel a bit surreal. For instance, this July, John Piper and I will mark three full and wonderful decades of ministry partnership that, by God’s grace, resulted in the birth of the mission we call Desiring God.

Why does the milestone feel surreal? Well, for starters, it’s strange to think that John and I have now been working together for the majority of my life. It’s also strange to realize that I’m entering the fourth quarter of my vocational career (should the Lord sustain my life and abilities). And a strange dimension of seeing the end of my vocational ministry on the horizon has been preparing for and experiencing the natural, necessary series of ministry disappointments.

What I mean by disappointments is not what you probably think of as disappointments. What I mean are the times when the Lord “dis-appoints” us from roles and responsibilities to which he had once “appointed” us. For every appointment, there will be a corresponding disappointment; for every calling we embrace, there will eventually be a corresponding calling to release.

Preparing for our eventual disappointment is a crucial aspect of faithful Christian stewardship. But in my observations over the years, it’s also often a neglected aspect. We find plenty of resources aimed at helping Christian leaders enter their leadership seasons, but it’s surprising how comparatively few there are to help leaders exit those seasons — despite the fact that how we end often says more than how we begin (Ecclesiastes 7:8; 2 Timothy 4:10).

“For every calling we embrace, there will eventually be a corresponding calling to release.”

I don’t claim to be an expert in leadership disappointments, but I can share with you some core values I gleaned from Scripture that helped prepare me for the disappointments I’ve experienced. And to do that, I need to provide you with a little historical context.

Appointed and Disappointed

In 1993, when John Piper graciously extended me the offer to become his first full-time administrative assistant, he didn’t know he was hiring Desiring God’s first CEO — because Desiring God (DG) didn’t exist yet (we launched it together the next year). This was fortunate for me because I likely wouldn’t have gotten the CEO job. I didn’t have a degree in theology or business. I was an anthropology major with no experience leading an organization. God does like to choose unlikely people.

What I did have, when John and I decided to start this ministry, was his trust. He knew that we shared the same theological vision and passion for spreading it. And despite my deficiencies, God had equipped me with enough leadership ability, creativity, risk tolerance, and resourcefulness to be an effective catalyst — to get things up and going and recruit other gifted people to join us as the ministry rapidly grew.

I realized in those first years, however, that if God granted DG growth and longevity, I would need to hold my leadership role with open hands. God had appointed me to steward it for a season, but sooner or later seasons change. The ministry could outgrow my ability to lead it effectively, or God could choose to redeploy me somewhere else. At some point, God would disappoint me from my leadership role and appoint someone else to lead. So, all along I asked our board to watch me carefully and help me discern when a change needed to be made.

Though I served as the founding CEO for about twenty years, much of my tenure was comprised of a series of delegated disappointments, of handing off responsibilities and initiatives I started or conceived to others more gifted than I was. Eventually, this included handing the role of CEO to someone who could fill it more effectively than I could. Looking back, these disappointing decisions were among the most consequential I ever made as a leader. And the most consequential of those tended to sting, since they required me to assess and discuss my deficits honestly with colleagues and board members. This forced me, though, through repeated practice, to internalize and be guided by the following four core values.

1. Love Jesus’s increase supremely.

Over the years, John the Baptist became one of my biblical-leadership mentors, mainly because of the way he responded to his disciples who were concerned that the crowds were leaving him to follow Jesus.

You yourselves bear me witness, that I said, “I am not the Christ, but I have been sent before him.” The one who has the bride is the bridegroom. The friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom’s voice. Therefore this joy of mine is now complete. He must increase, but I must decrease. (John 3:28–30)

I love this man. John was more in love with the God of his calling than his calling from God. What gave him joy was seeing the bride increasingly drawn to the bridegroom. And when his role in helping make that happen began to diminish, it didn’t diminish his joy. He quietly and happily began to step aside.

“John the Baptist taught me to love the increase of Jesus’s glory more than my role in that increase.”

John the Baptist taught me to love the increase of Jesus’s glory more than my role in that increase. And he taught me that the way a leader relinquishes his role for Jesus’s sake might just speak loudest of his love for Jesus.

2. View yourself as a steward.

The apostle Paul also became a leadership mentor for numerous reasons, but I’ll focus here on one. When it came to the ministry he received from the Lord Jesus, Paul viewed himself primarily as a servant of Christ and a steward of the gospel entrusted to him (1 Corinthians 4:1). And since “it is required of stewards that they be found faithful,” the way he carried out his ministry was shaped by his constant awareness that someday he would “give an account of himself to God” (1 Corinthians 4:2; Romans 14:12).

Consequently, Paul’s example profoundly shaped how I came to view myself and my role. I am a servant-steward tasked with laboring for the joy of others (2 Corinthians 1:24), and I must labor in such ways as to avoid giving unnecessary offense to my Christian brothers and sisters as well as to unbelievers (1 Corinthians 10:32).

3. Watch for and support your successor.

Leaders often keep their eyes peeled for possible successors — and often for the wrong reasons: to eliminate the competition. Which is what Saul tried to do when he saw David’s star begin to rise in Israel (1 Samuel 18:9–11).

But Saul’s son, Jonathan, the heir apparent to Saul’s throne, saw something very different in David: a kindred God-entranced soul (1 Samuel 18:1). Eventually, Jonathan discerned that God had chosen David, and not himself, to be the next king. And the way he responded is why he became another mentor for me:

Jonathan, Saul’s son, rose and went to David at Horesh, and strengthened his hand in God. And he said to him, “Do not fear, for the hand of Saul my father shall not find you. You shall be king over Israel, and I shall be next to you. Saul my father also knows this.” And the two of them made a covenant before the Lord. (1 Samuel 23:16–18)

Jonathan’s humility and faith is stunning, and so rare in this world. He didn’t merely step aside for David, but he loved, comforted, defended, and encouraged him in God’s calling on his life.

If, out of “bitter jealousy [or] selfish ambition,” we feel threatened by a potential successor, it’s crucial that we recognize this Saul-like response as “earthly, unspiritual, demonic” (James 3:14–15) and repent of it. Because it poses a clear and present danger to whatever mission we serve.

I learned from Jonathan that, when circumstances allow it, a Christian leader can and should befriend his successor and do everything within his power to help him launch well into his season of leadership.

4. Love them to the end.

Jesus is, of course, the perfect model of leadership, but we never see him disappointed from his role because he is the Lord himself. However, this description of the way Jesus loved his disciples made a huge impact on me as a leader: “He loved them to the end” (John 13:1). Whatever circumstance resulted in the end of my leadership season, I wanted the same to be said of me. A faithful Christian leader loves those he leads to the end.

In 2010, I knew that DG had outgrown my abilities to lead it effectively. And to put simply what wasn’t simple in experience, the Lord made it clear that my colleague, Scott Anderson, was the leader he was raising up for the next season. So, we worked with our board to create a transition process that culminated in Scott being installed as our CEO in 2015. And I officially took a role as a member of DG’s teaching team.

Due to Scott’s leadership, as well as the remarkable team he has assembled, the ministry is more fruitful, more focused on our mission, more efficient, and healthier than it’s ever been. And my profile within the ministry is as small as it’s ever been. The next generation has taken over, and they are doing everything better than I ever could.

Humble Joy of Heaven

How do I, as the founding leader, feel about all this? Honestly, it’s hard to imagine being happier. This is what I had prayed for in the early days. I think it’s a taste of the humble joy of heaven, where every saint overflows with joy as they see Jesus increase and remember how God so graciously gave them each a small, temporary role in that increase.

I wish I could say I embodied these values perfectly through my disappointments. I didn’t. But they nonetheless shaped and guided me. And I believe the Lord honored my imperfect striving and blessed my friendships with the men who were appointed to take over after me.