The Courage to Admit "Maybe I'm Not the Solution"

When humility requires considering succession

The man who chose the people's good over ego

Moses had dedicated forty years of his life to leading Israel. He was the deliverer, the lawgiver, the intercessor. He had spoken with God face to face, parted seas, brought water from rocks. No one knew that people better than he did.

But when God told him he wouldn't enter the Promised Land, instead of rebelling or despairing, his first concern was: "Who will lead the people after me?"

He didn't say "But Lord, I know this people better than anyone else" or "No one can replace me." He asked God to establish a successor because the people's good was more important than his ego.

Moses had reached the highest level of maturity in leadership: being willing to be replaced for the good of those you serve.

But how many leaders today have this courage? And how many members are willing to accept that maybe their beloved leader is no longer the right person for that season?

The most terrifying decision for a leader

The most courageous decision a leader can make is also the most terrifying: recognizing that maybe he's not the right person to lead that church in that season.

Not because he's failed morally or doctrinally. Not because he doesn't love God or the people. But because he's reached the limit of his ability to grow that community.

Every leader has a "ceiling" of competence and anointing. You can take a church to a certain point, but beyond that point your presence becomes a limitation instead of a resource.

The problem is that recognizing this limit requires humility that goes against every human instinct of self-preservation and pride.

And members? Often they're complicit in the problem. You've become so attached to "your" pastor that you can't imagine the church without him. Even when it's evident the community isn't growing anymore, that the anointing has weakened, that results have stagnated for years.

You cling to the familiar instead of seeking God's will for the present season.

The signs no one wants to see

The signs are painful but clear, like they were for Moses when he realized he wouldn't complete the journey:

Despite all your sincere efforts as a leader, the church hasn't grown in years. People don't respond to your preaching like they once did. You feel you've given everything you had to give, but it wasn't enough.

Other leaders in the area see growth, transformations, revival. You seem to be managing decline in the most honorable way possible.

You've prayed, fasted, sought God with all your heart. But the persistent feeling is that something fundamental has been extinguished and you can't relight it.

But here's the trap of spiritual ego: you often interpret stagnation as a "faithfulness test" instead of considering it might be a "transition signal."

You convince yourself God wants you to persevere, when maybe God wants you to pass the baton. You call "faithfulness" what might be attachment to power.

And members? Often you see the signs but deny them for fear of change.

You prefer familiar decline to unknown growth. You tell yourself "at least with this pastor you know what to expect," even if what you expect is spiritual mediocrity.

Moses and Joshua: succession that honors

Moses faced this moment when he understood he wouldn't enter the Promised Land. He had to grow in humility to prepare a successor who would complete what he had begun.

It wasn't failure—it was an act of mature leadership that put the people's good above his own ego.

Joshua wasn't a copy of Moses. He didn't speak with God face to face. He hadn't parted seas or brought water from rocks. But he had something Moses recognized as more important than equality: faithfulness that had transformed into competence.

"A man in whom is the spirit," God had said (Numbers 27:18, NIV). Not "a man who has Moses' spirit," but "a man in whom is the spirit" - the same Spirit, but manifested through a different personality, for a different season.

Moses was learning the most difficult art of leadership: preparing someone different from you but faithful to the same mission.

And the people? They had to learn to love Joshua not as Moses' substitute, but as God's gift for the new season.

The impossible mathematics of humility

In God's Kingdom an impossible mathematics operates: when you accept not being indispensable, you often become more influential.

Moses who accepted preparing Joshua didn't become less important—he became immortal.

He wasn't remembered as the leader who clung to power until the end, but as the wise one who had humility to prepare the future.

His greatness wasn't measured by how much he managed to hold onto, but by how much he managed to transmit.

But this mathematics only works if both parties—leader and community—choose the work's good over relationship comfort.

The leader must die to the ego that whispers "without me they can't make it." Members must die to the attachment that whispers "without him we won't be the same anymore."

When courage requires goodbye

But there's a moment—maybe this is the moment—when you must reckon with a truth that changes everything:

Maybe your church's stagnation isn't a faithfulness test to overcome.

Maybe it's a transition signal to recognize.

Maybe the reason you pray and pray but see no breakthrough isn't that God doesn't want to bless.

Maybe it's that God wants to bless through someone else.

Maybe the reason others see growth while you see decline isn't that God loves them more.

Maybe it's that God has different seasons for different leaders.

And you, as a member, maybe you need to admit that:

Maybe the reason you don't grow spiritually anymore in this church isn't that you've become lazy.

Maybe it's that you need a different voice, a different approach, a different season.

Maybe your attachment to the current pastor is preventing you from receiving what God wants to give you through the future pastor.

Elijah preparing Elisha: the model of multiplication

Even Elijah reached this point when God told him to anoint Elisha as his successor. Not because Elijah had failed, but because God had plans requiring different leadership.

Elijah had maturity to prepare Elisha instead of resisting him.

And what happened? Elisha received "double portion" of Elijah's spirit. The successor surpassed the predecessor, as should always happen in a God-blessed succession.

Elijah wasn't diminished by Elisha's greatness—he was multiplied through him.

But this required Elijah to die to the ego that wanted to remain indispensable.

And it required Elisha to die to the insecurity that made him feel inadequate.

Both had to choose God's plan over their human fears.

The fear that paralyzes both

But why is it so difficult for leaders to consider succession and for members to accept it?

For the leader, it's fear of becoming irrelevant. "If I'm no longer the pastor, who am I? If I no longer lead this church, what's my value?"

For members, it's fear of losing identity. "This church with this pastor is 'my' church. If it changes, I won't be home anymore."

But both fears reveal the same problem: you're measuring value by positions instead of faithfulness to God.

You're finding identity in roles instead of in Christ.

You're choosing the security of the familiar instead of the courage of obedience.

But God didn't call you to be safe. He called you to be faithful.

And sometimes faithfulness requires letting go of what you love to embrace what God has prepared.

The final test of love

Here's the final test to distinguish authentic love from selfish attachment:

If you're a leader: Can you genuinely rejoice at the thought that someone else might lead this church better than you? Can you honestly pray "Lord, if there's someone who can serve this people better than me, show him"?

Can you sincerely say "I prefer the church to prosper without me rather than stagnate with me"?

If you're a member: Can you put the community's spiritual growth above your emotional comfort? Can you say "if God wants to bless this church through a different pastor, I support His will"?

Can you love the church more than you love the pastor?

If the answer is no, then both leader and members are serving themselves, not the Kingdom.

The liberation that comes from surrender

But here's the truth that liberates both:

When a leader has courage to consider that maybe he's not the solution, often he discovers a peace he didn't know.

The weight of having to "save" everything all the time is lightened. The pressure of having to always be the answer diminishes.

He can return to being simply God's servant instead of being the situation's savior.

And when a community has courage to put God's will above their own preferences, often they discover a vitality they had lost.

They no longer have to pretend everything's fine when it's not fine.

They no longer have to support decline out of human loyalty.

They can return to seeking what God wants instead of protecting what man has built.

The last possibility of greatness

But attention: this isn't a decision to make in depression or after a conflict. It's a decision to make in deep prayer, with wise counsel, and with peace in your heart.

And if you make it, it must be for love of the church, not escape from responsibilities.

Moses' greatest moment wasn't when he parted the Red Sea. It was when he had humility to say: "May the Lord... appoint someone over this community" (Numbers 27:16, NIV).

A community's most beautiful moment isn't when it defends its pastor at all costs.

It's when it chooses what's best for the Kingdom, even if it costs emotionally.

Because only then—when both leader and members put God above themselves—can God write the next chapter of the story.

A chapter that might be more glorious than all the previous ones.

The questions you can't avoid

Leaders: If you had to be completely honest with God about your current effectiveness as leader of this church, what would you say? Are you still adding value or just maintaining the status quo?

Members: If you had to put the church's spiritual growth above your emotional comfort, what would you choose? Are you willing to support a leadership change if it means growth for the community?

Everyone together: Do you love the church more or do you love the current situation more? Because you can't have both if God is calling for a new season.

Because in the end, this is the only question that matters:

Are you serving God's work or protecting your comfort zone?

Everything else is noise. Everything else is justification. Everything else is ego disguised as spirituality.

But when you have courage to answer this question honestly—when you stop protecting your preferences and start seeking God's will—then you'll discover something wonderful:

God hadn't finished writing your church's story.

He had just waited for you to be humble enough to let Him write the next chapter.

A chapter that requires your courage, but not necessarily your presence in the front row.

A chapter where your greatness is measured by your willingness to be replaced if it serves the Kingdom.

A chapter where you love God enough to trust His timing, His methods, His chosen ones.

Even when those chosen ones aren't you.

The final question is brutal but necessary:

Do you love God's work enough to let it continue without you?

Or does your ego need to be at the center even if it means keeping God's work on the margins?

You can't have both.

The choice is yours.

But God is writing the story with you or without you.

And that story will be glorious regardless of your decision.

The question is whether you want to be part of it as a humble protagonist or remain outside as a proud spectator.