Another Christian Leader Fallen

(5-minute read)

Amid a dozen head-spinning news items involving the killing of another U.S. citizen, loss of trust on the global stage (Davos), and others, you may have missed this gut-wrenching story. One of my favorite Christian authors, Philip Yancey, has disclosed an eight-year affair. His books, The Jesus I Never Knew and What’s So Amazing About Grace, were a great help to me during some very challenging times in my life—and in the life of my family.

I have read some raw social-media posts in the last week regarding Yancey. To be clear: what he did was sinful, wrong, and indefensible. His story adds to the long and painful list of Christian leaders—always men—who have abused trust while holding positions of power that leave deep wounds and a lasting stain on the Christian church. I also understand why many women, especially those who have been harmed by men or dismissed by churches when they spoke up, are not simply angry, they are rightly exhausted and retraumatized by this Groundhogs Day story.

Some of my friends’ social-media posts, however, struck me as losing sight of a difficult but crucial tension within the Gospel itself: how to hold accountability and grace together without sacrificing truth, justice, or the dignity of the women who are harmed.

A little context… I have a friend who served in significant leadership roles in Christian organizations for thirty years and then decided to attend seminary. Just a few months before finishing his degree, he disclosed an emotional affair. It was devastating for his wife, adult children, and church community. He was not allowed to complete his degree and resigned from his leadership position. He later worked in secular settings before retiring.

The “grace” part of their story involved honest confession, humility, counseling, countless painful conversations, a near-divorce, and long, patient work toward forgiveness and reconciliation. Years later, they are doing remarkably well, and those of us who love them are grateful. Their healing did not erase the scars, but it testified to what can happen when accountability, time, and deep care are taken seriously. I see the “cloud of witnesses” at work here as I did in my own family’s story.

Their witness now—to the church and to the world—could be powerful for those who are hurting. Their message about the healing work of the Holy Spirit, counseling, patience, prayer, and a community willing to stay present through tears has been meaningful to their inner circle.

Yet it is the church’s loss—and perhaps the world’s—that their story, and others like it, remain largely hidden, limited by a fear of restoring any voice rather than discerning which voices are appropriate, and when.

For clarity: forgiveness does not obligate the church to restore public platforms or positions of authority—especially where gender-based power imbalances are involved. Grace is not a shortcut back to influence.

The story I told in Tender Lions is similar. My wife and I traveled a painful road after my moral collapse over twenty years ago. Since then, I have had the privilege of sitting with many men in marital crisis—listening, crying, praying, and advising when invited to do so. My wife has done the same with women in despair… offering presence, empathy, perspective, and hope. We have learned firsthand that healing is slow, uneven, and often out of our control.

Not all marriages should survive. But when both partners freely choose to seek help, do the hard work, and allow time and the Holy Spirit to move, remarkable healing can occur.

Back to Yancey. My mind goes to the biblical “heroes of faith”—David, Moses, Abraham, Jacob, Paul—and also Rahab, Tamar, Jael, and the Samaritan woman. These “heroes” make up a dream team of deeply flawed people whose stories include murder, deception, cowardice, betrayal, and sexual sin abounds. And… their lives testify to God’s redemptive power—often in the wake of their sin.

Again, what Yancey did was horrible. But not unforgivable. If I say it is unforgiveable, then I make myself God and deny the power of the cross. You may disagree. Over the past decade, some of the authors who most helped me during difficult seasons—all men, and all operating within systems that often protected them while marginalizing women’s voices—have fallen. Hybels (Willow Creek), Lentz (Hillsong), and others have helped millions through preaching and writing.

Philip Yancey does not need my advice or condemnation right now. And whatever redemption may or may not come for him, the church’s first moral obligation is to protect and care for the woman most harmed by him. Still, I pray for the possibility that someday—somewhere in the future and without entitlement to a platform—there may also be a story of healing that bears witness to the redemptive power of Christ amid this mess.

There are no excuses for their failures or mine. It is complicated and can be confusing. If I’ve learned anything about the Gospel, it is not to go easier on sin, but to be fierce in our showing grace and concern for those who’ve been harmed the most. I hope in the future I will be more cautious and caring… not more cruel.

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