Professors everywhere noticed the surge in urgent requests for mercy, for extensions, commonly presented days after an assignment was due or graded. For several seasons, faculty showed great patience and compassion. At length we realized that the virtue of compassion had become the vice of indulgence. Instead of showing patience, we were enabling irresponsibility. Further, when a student claims he can’t turn in a paper due to anxiety, we feel compassion, but we also know that we don’t relieve anxiety by permitting late work, we increase it, as the burden of unfinished tasks lingers and lingers.

Last January, a new professor wrote with a little conundrum. A student scored a 27% on his final, realized that he might fail the course as a result, and called the professor three weeks later to plead for mercy – a second chance – so he could pass the course. The student explained that he had been sick, his dog had been sick, his aunt had been sick, and he thought it would be enough to write a good term paper, so he didn’t really study for the final.[1] Would the professor let him study more thoroughly for the exam, take it again, and let that result stand? What, the compassionate new professor asked, should I do?
Give him the F he earned, I replied.
I wasn’t quite that blunt. I commended his compassion. I told him it’s his call, since he is the professor of record. But still, if the student earned an F, let his grade show it. There are practical reasons for this, but the theological basis is simple. God is both compassionate and just. He is merciful, but he does not leave the guilty unpunished (Ex. 34:6-7). For the Christian parent and leader, discipline is essential. We love people too much to let them think that irresponsibility is “no problem,” that every error will be forgiven and the consequences erased.
Actually, consequences rarely disappear; they simply shift to other people. In this case, student irresponsibility transfers to the professor. The second chance requires the professor to write a new test, arrange for the student to take it, then grade it, and take the necessary steps to change his final grade. The professor will be fortunate indeed if the process is completed within three hours and with fewer than ten emails.
But there are other considerations. The consequences of Covid and online education continue to rattle through the academic ecosystem. The greatest issue is the shift to an asynchronous education.
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Pastors, in particular, need courage and fearlessness to endure disapproval, opposition, foot-dragging, sabotage, and whisper campaigns. If confidence is an aspect of “healthy narcissism,” preachers need it, lest they falter due to criticism.
Why has the church witnessed the moral failure of so many leaders in recent years? While there are many reasons for the recent rash of failures, surely the most cited reason now is narcissism. 
In When Narcissism Comes to Church, Chuck DeGroat states narcissism is especially common among pastors because they often enjoy a high profile. Narcissists crave power, admiration, and a stage, and DeGroat says, churches choose narcissistic celebrity leaders because they appear in “glittering” packages, full of “confidence, strong leadership, clear vision” (see chaps. 1 and 4).
Lacking empathy, narcissists can exploit and discourage others. They charm colaborers, then dismiss them when they serve no purpose. Narcissists also think they do no wrong.
Therefore, when anyone calls a narcissistic pastor to repent, this registers as a gratuitous attack, and rage follows. Meanwhile, the church that has profited from the charm and skill of the narcissist is prone to defend him.
Has DeGroat found the culprit behind pastoral failures? Given that all men are flawed and sinful, it’s certainly true that the church attracts flawed leaders. But does the church especially attract the power-hungry and the narcissistic?
Ego Is a Problem 
Scripture decries egoists who love themselves most. Jesus recognized religious leaders often seek status and power. In Matthew 23:1–15, he says men seek the status, authority, and titles (like “rabbi” and “father”) that spiritual leadership confers.
Also, in Paul’s list of vices in 2 Timothy 3:2–4, self-love is at the top: “For people will be lovers of self, lovers of money, proud, arrogant, abusive, disobedient to their parents…lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God.” Notice that the list begins and ends with false loves. People love themselves, money, and pleasure rather than God. Donald Guthrie rightly said, “Moral corruption follows from love falsely directed.” Even if you think today’s emphasis on narcissistic pastors is trendy and exaggerated, Paul does decry egoists who put themselves first because they love themselves most. The vices Paul names—pride and abusive speech—certainly sound like the fruit of egotism.
Is It Narcissistic to Speak for God? 
Narcissism is surely a vice and pastors, like everyone, can succumb to it. But does the church especially attract the narcissist? And if so, why?
DeGroat asserts that “the vast majority of ministerial candidates” test on a spectrum of “personality disorders which feature narcissistic traits most prominently.” He adds that rates of narcissism are “even higher among church planters” (19). Why is this the case? DeGroat quotes an unnamed colleague who says, “Ministry is a magnet for a narcissistic personality—who else would want to speak on behalf of God every week? While the vast majority of people struggle with public speaking…pastors do it regularly [and] with ‘divine authority’” (19).

When Jesus judges the fig tree, he foretells judgment not on all Israelites but on those who, like the luxuriantly leafy but fruitless tree, appear to be alive but are barren (Matt. 13:22). Jesus has just inspected the temple and found it wanting. The spectacle of worship—the priests, the music, the sacrifices, the gleaming buildings—is grand but fruitless. Its leaders bar Gentiles from worship and plot the murder of their king. Truly, it has become a cave of rebels against God, their show of religion notwithstanding.

18In the morning, as he was returning to the city, he became hungry. 19And seeing a fig tree by the wayside, he went to it and found nothing on it but only leaves. And he said to it, “May no fruit ever come from you again!” And the fig tree withered at once. 20When the disciples saw it, they marveled, saying, “How did the fig tree wither at once?” 21And Jesus answered them, “Truly, I say to you, if you have faith and do not doubt, you will not only do what has been done to the fig tree, but even if you say to this mountain, ‘Be taken up and thrown into the sea,’ it will happen. 22And whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith.” Matthew 21:18–22
Jesus as Lord and Judge
Passover is days away, and pilgrims stream into Jerusalem. Many have traveled from Galilee; they spontaneously hail Jesus as prophet and Son of David as they enter Jerusalem with him. After entering, Jesus visits the temple. As so often, Mark offers details that Matthew omits. Mark 11:11 notes how Jesus “looked around at everything” and then left the city with the Twelve, “as it was already late.” Whether “looking around” signifies a quick look or a thorough examination, Mark gives Jesus an evening to meditate before he purges the temple. If Mark suggests contemplation, Matthew describes direct action: Jesus enters, drives out the merchants, overturns their tables, and then explains himself: they have made God’s house into a “den of robbers” or, it could be translated, a “cave of insurrectionists” (Matt. 21:12–13).
Explanations are in order. First, currency exchange is not immoral. Travelers would seek to purchase animals for their sacrifices and feasts, and they had to convert their currency into the temple’s. The problem is not commerce per se but commerce in the temple precincts, as Jesus explains by quoting Isaiah and Jeremiah: “It is written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer,’ but you make it a den of robbers.”
“Prayer” is synecdoche for public worship: the prayers, songs, teachings, and offerings of the temple. It is possible that the merchants overcharge, but Jesus drives out buyers and sellers, so malfeasance cannot be the sole issue. The problem is corruption of the temple’s purpose: the noise of commerce and animals prevents the silence that is the context for prayer, worship, and instruction. If rabbinic comments are accurate, Caiaphas the high priest had recently moved the sale of sacrificial animals from the valley near Jerusalem into the temple court reserved for Gentiles. This might account for the additional phrase in Mark 11:17: the temple is to be a “house of prayer for all the nations.”
The context of Jesus’ OT citations is essential. Isaiah 56 declares that no one— neither eunuch nor Gentile—should say, “The Lord will surely separate me from his people” (Isa. 56:3). No, to those who hold to the covenant, the Lord says, “I will . . . make them joyful in my house of prayer; . . . for my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples” (Isa. 56:7). Whatever the logic of the temple commerce, it makes worship difficult for Gentiles and neglects Isaiah’s word. By citing Isaiah, Jesus implicitly claims that his action brings the messianic blessing predicted by the prophet. Further, Jesus’ “disruptive action” is necessary if the temple is to regain “its God-ordained purpose.”1
While the temple has ceased to be a house of prayer for the nations, it has become a “den of robbers” (Matt. 21:13). Scholars doubt that the problem is corruption among the money-changers, since (again) Jesus opposes both selling and buying, and there is no record of complaints against them.2 The merchants, with the priests’ approval, are certainly depriving Gentiles of their right to worship God. The phrase “den of robbers,” from Jeremiah 7, is instructive too.
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Sadly, certain Christian leaders accept every gift, however misguided, They also summon loyalty and extravagant or sinful “favors” from fawning but naïve devotees And it is the worst sort of devotion to assist a man who seeks power to build his name or brand, while calling his fiefdom “God’s work.” We may know this without the account of David’s mighty men and their misguided gift. Yet when David disallowed a hyper-personalized form of devotion, it deepens our conviction that distinctions are necessary: It is beautiful to assist a man of God as he does the Father’s work, but foolish serve a mere man and his ordinary human desires. May we have the wisdom to see the difference and to act on it.

Recently, Christians have agonized over accounts of false devotion to talented but corrupt church leaders. In outwardly successful churches and ministries, leaders have covered up sin, blamed victims, and blocked investigations to protect gifted but fatally flawed pastors and their ministries. To correct our mistakes and restore our integrity, we need the whole of Scripture, including a minor but revealing episode in the life of David that can help us distinguish between wise service to God from foolish service to men.
As the author wraps up his life of David, 2 Samuel 23:13-17 recounts an episode of courageous but misdirected devotion. David’s strength, faith, and skill led hundreds of men to attach themselves to him. Among them, Samuel extols thirty “mighty men” and singles out three, Josheb, Eleazar, and Shammah for a grand but misguided venture.
At the time, Saul was king. David had served Saul in battle and at court, but as Saul fell away, he decided that David was a threat and must be destroyed. Saul’s hunt for David forced him to flee to remote desert strongholds. As Saul focused on slaying David, he neglected his kingly tasks and left Israel weak as Philistines pressed deep into Israel. At one point, Philistine soldiers reached the Valley of Rephaim and Bethlehem, David’s hometown, half-way across Israel. This is like Canada invading America and reaching Denver, St. Louis and Washington, D.C. David, perhaps speaking poetically, lamented her plight with a graphic statement of longing “Oh, that someone would give me water to drink from the well of Bethlehem that is by the gate!” (23:15).
Perhaps that well had sweet water; perhaps it meant “home” for David, but the Philistines, taking land with impunity, now held his hometown. The end of the story shows that David wanted more than water. He wanted to stop hiding and wanted his nation to become strong enough to rout the Philistines from his home.
In their devotion to David, his mighty men, Josheb, Eleazar, and Shammah, took his desire for that water literally. They left camp, probably by the caves of Adullam, crossed ten miles of rugged terrain, risked encounters with armed foes, and then slipped into the city to draw water from the well and bring it to David.
What a gift, purchased with two days’ labor, at the risk of their lives! But when they brought it to David, he refused to drink it.
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Because Jesus bore that great bruising, the bruising of God’s children may be chastisement and correction, but it is not punishment. The Lord bruises us for our good. He teaches us to return to him and find healing. So he is patient with bruised reeds “until he leads justice to victory” (Matt 12:20), when he fulfills his plans. So let us remember that we are bruised reeds and that Jesus is gentle with us.

Among the early English Puritans, none has greater pastoral insight and enduring readability than Richard Sibbes. This blog hopes to honor his classic work, The Bruised Reed. First published in 1630, it opens with Matthew 12:18-21, which cites Isaiah 42.
Behold, my servant whom I have chosen… a bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not quench, until he brings justice to victory; and in his name the Gentiles will hope.”
Reeds grew by the millions in marshes and river banks in Israel, so they had scant value. One could cut and shape a reed to serve as a measure, flute, or writing implement. But a bruised reed was worthless. If a perfect reed is fragile and a bruised one is useless, why will Jesus not break a bruised reed and why does it matter?
It matters because we are bruised reeds. Notice, Sibbes said, that Jesus compares us to a weak thing, as Scripture often does. Among the birds, we are doves; among the beasts, we are sheep.[1]
In the eyes of Jesus, everyone – everyone – is a bruised reed. Some can go thirty years without a serious bruising. Some have a sunny disposition even when storms descend. Others thrive on crises. Still others grow up in Christian homes, with wise and loving parents, and then they married well. Nonetheless, all are bruised reeds.
Everyone is wounded. If we cannot see this, the Lord may intervene so that we do. We cannot rise to maturity unless we see our immaturity, cannot rest in his grace until we see our need for grace. Therefore the Lord may bruise us and humble us, so he can reestablish us on a better foundation. To be bruised is to see our sin and its consequences, to see our weakness. It is to see that we have weaknesses, quite apart from sin, areas of inability, even incompetence, so that we need others. The bruised reed is weak at best, and then it is wounded. A bruised reed cannot heal itself and the wise man despairs of healing himself. Yet the hope of healing remains, for the bruised reed looks beyond itself, to Christ.
There are two kinds of bruised reed: the rebel and the believer. The rebel, together with skeptics and spiritual sluggards, have no interest in spiritual things. God may use pain, a bruising, to pierce and waken a slumbering heart. That bruising may lead him to faith. The gospel may cease to be a rumor and become life-giving narrative of God’s work. That bruising may enable him to treasure Christ.
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