Steven J. Lawson, a name synonymous with doctrinal precision, rock-solid Reformed theology, and more respect in the conference circuit than most people can imagine, has fallen. The man many considered an indomitable force of gospel preaching has become the latest headline in a growing list of scandals that illuminate modern evangelicalism’s unhealthy relationship with celebrity culture.

The details are as tragic as they are disappointing, an esteemed 73-year-old pastor entangled in a five-year romantic relationship with a woman in her twenties—a student from The Master’s University, no less, where sound theology is supposed to be part of the curriculum.

And this wasn’t merely a fleeting stumble nor was it a momentary lapse in judgment. It wasn’t an errant step off the straight path of uprightness, either. It was a long and winding emotional escapade—an entanglement that proved, with the eloquence of a moral wrecking ball, that sin, when given room to fester, can rot away even the stoutest pillars of our Christian fortresses.

It’s a grim testament to the sobering reality that no man, no matter how armored in doctrine or wrapped in the regalia of theological might, is immune to the creeping, destructive power of unchecked corruption.

This “inappropriate relationship,” as it was originally titled, reportedly had its inception through the young woman’s family’s connections. Her parents were donors to the school, the church, the ministry, and personal friends of Lawson, and the young woman herself had crossed paths with the preacher through these associations. But as their connection deepened into “inappropriate” territory, their covert affair became an open wound on the Church’s reputation.

When the woman’s father confronted Lawson, the weight of Lawson’s sin crashed down. And while the specifics of physical contact remain murky, the very fact that this kind of behavior persisted for half a decade is a devastating indictment of both personal moral failure and collective negligence.

The aftermath was swift and unrelenting, with friends, former colleagues, and his congregation raining down their personal wrath upon his head. Lawson found himself unceremoniously stripped of his leadership roles, expelled from OnePassion Ministries, The Master’s Seminary, and Ligonier Ministries. After all, they had an image to protect.

But while the evangelical world collectively gasped and shook its self-righteously noble head, one must pause and ponder a question that cuts deeper than our wounded pride:

why, in heaven’s name, does this wound ache so terribly?

It’s not merely that Steven Lawson failed, and failed miserably—it’s that we, the Church, possess an almost comically unquenchable thirst for heroes. We crave Christian celebrities with the desperation of teenage girls clamoring for knights in shining armor while playing dress-up with their mom’s wedding gown.

We long for men we can flaunt as symbols of our supposed righteousness and theological prowess. But there lies the real folly, when we elevate these men to heights that should be reserved for Christ alone, it isn’t a question of if they will fall, but when.
And fall they do, with the deafening crash of shattered pedestals and wounded pride, leaving us shocked and horrified in its wake.

It brings to mind the words of Robert Robinson, the great hymn-writer and Baptist minister (it seems we can only trust the dead guys):

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love.
Here’s my heart, Lord, take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

Yet, in all this, we seem to thumb our noses at the sovereignty of God Himself, lamenting not so much the sin as the blow it deals to our public image. We wail and gnash our teeth over how this makes the Church look, clutching our pearls over the “damage” to the mission, evangelism, as if the omnipotent hand of God could somehow be thwarted by man’s indiscretion.

The humor—if it weren’t so tragic—is in our hand-wringing over optics, as if the divine plan for salvation ever rested on a spotless resume rather than the incomprehensible grace of the only Holy, sinless Lamb of God.The truth is that this scandal might be one of the most merciful thunderbolts God has hurled at the Church in quite some time.

And why, you may ask, would God’s mercy wear such a scandalous cloak? Because it compels us to confront our own laughably misplaced trust.

It smashes the delusion that any pastor, no matter how eloquent or theologically airtight, is some indispensable cog in the divine machinery. God didn’t need Steven Lawson. In fact, He doesn’t need a single one of our revered “heroes” to fulfill His purposes. He is sovereign, and not for one flickering instant has the triumph of the gospel hung upon the moral fiber of celebrity preachers.

Remember Mark Driscoll, Carl Lentz, Perry Noble? Those weren’t merely deficient men, they were frauds—charlatans of the highest order, whose spectacular collapses revealed a gangrenous corruption that God, in His perplexing yet perfect mercy, brought to light.

True, Steven Lawson stood in a different category, a man who preached solid, gospel-soaked truths. But the central paradox remains unchanged in that God’s glory does not hinge on any of these men. The Creator of the Universe needs no endorsements from even the most formidable of theological luminaries to showcase His eternal splendor.

Indeed, if God’s grand sovereign design rested on our moral consistency or the polished sheen of our public image, the entire mission of the Church would have sunk faster than millstone tossed into the sea.

God’s grace is no clean marketing campaign, no polished exercise in reputation management. It is an unspeakable gift, an act of divine grace, carried out with the precision of a cosmic symphony composed by the Sovereign King Himself.

And though we, as the Church, have been tasked with the ministry of reconciliation, our evangelistic efforts have never depended on the Church’s ability to masquerade in spotless garments. Rather, they rest on the unshakeable will of God, who draws sinners with the irresistible cords of His love.

Romans 8:28 assures us that all things—even the shameful collapse of a man like Steven Lawson—are woven together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose.

All things.

If this scandal serves any higher purpose, it should be to tear down our idolatry of Christian celebrities and compel us to grasp Christ all the more firmly. He alone is the one figure who will never falter, never stumble, and never fail us.

In the grand theater of God’s redemptive drama, it is Christ—and Christ alone—who takes center stage. Leaving our pedestals and broken idols behind, we must cling to the only One who deserves our boundless devotion.

The familiar lament is that scandals like this drive people further from God, and to some extent, that’s true. Outsiders do seem to revel in these moments, pointing at the Church like a child who’s triumphantly caught the emperor without his clothes.

“Aha!” they cry, “You’re all hypocrites! Why should we believe in your God?”

But let’s pull back the curtian and reveal the motive behind this refrain. Anyone clinging to Steven Lawson’s—or any other Christian’s—fall as a convenient excuse for their own rebellion wasn’t standing on the brink of a spiritual awakening. They weren’t poised at the edge of faith, ready to fall into grace, only to be shoved back by one man’s disgrace.

Such people have never truly come face to face with the sheer goodness of God. They’ve never been undone by the wonder of His grace—a grace so dazzling that it makes human sin appear all the more hideous, and yet, in the same breath, magnifies God’s mercy into something unimaginably beautiful.

As Paul so bluntly reminds us in 2 Corinthians 4:3-5, if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing. It’s God alone, not the spotless record of Steven Lawson or any other preacher, who opens the eyes of the blind.

When God calls a lost soul, no scandal, no moral failing, no heap of ecclesiastical dirt will stand in the way. That person will see their own sin as vividly—if not more so—than the sins of any disgraced Christian leader.

God’s grace has never been contingent on our ability to keep our noses clean or our reputations sparkling. God’s grace shines defiantly, gloriously, in spite of us, casting its light upon those whom He has called to Himself, and does so irresistibly through the cracks of our brokenness, proving that the only truly spotless one is Christ Himself.

Here’s the objective truth, and brace yourself for the sting … our obsession with Christian celebrities is not evidence of a vibrant faith but a symptom of spiritual indolence. We’d much rather sit comfortably in the pews, having doctrine ladled into our mouths by a well-polished celebrity, than roll up our sleeves and wrestle with Scripture ourselves.

So, when our idols inevitably topple—and mark my words, they will topple—we feel as though we’ve been personally betrayed. But perhaps that’s precisely the point. Maybe, just maybe, God permits these scandals to shatter our dependence on mere men, to pry our clinging fingers away from human heroes and point us back to the only One deserving of our abiding trust.

We ought to grasp this paradox, our tarnished image as Christians doesn’t tarnish the gospel—it showcases the incredible splendor of God’s mercy. It was never our pristine record that made the gospel captivating, it’s the spectacular truth that a holy God, in His incomprehensible grace, chooses to love and redeem a band of gloriously ruined people.

So let this scandal run its course, bitter and disheartening though it may be. Let it slice through the pretensions of those who have anchored their faith in the fleeting workings of our own hands. It should leave us writhing with discomfort, exposing the idols we’ve stashed away in the hidden corners of our hearts.

If we have sought affirmation in the applause of celebrities rather than the embrace of the Son of the Living God, then it is time we fall to our knees in repentance.

God’s glory will not be diminished by our moral train wrecks. His grace often shines brightest against the grim canvas of our utter depravity. And in that paradox lies the heart of the gospel, a sinless Savior redeeming a disastrously inadequate Church, a holy God stooping to rescue hopelessly unholy people.

We don’t need heroes draped in theological laurels or pulpit prestige. We need Jesus—plain and simple, majestic and unchanging.