The Leader Who Lost the Fire but Keeps Preaching It

When you become an actor in your own calling

The awakening that didn't know it was death

Samson opened his eyes that morning with the same confidence as always. Broad shoulders, muscles still defined, hands that held the memory of impossible victories. When he heard the shout that would change everything, his body reacted by instinct—the same sequence of movements he had repeated hundreds of times.

"I'll go out as before and shake myself free" (Judges 16:20, NIV).

It wasn't arrogance. It was spiritual muscle memory. For years he had felt that phrase resonate in his moments of danger, and every time supernatural strength had answered the call. But that morning, for the first time in his life, his muscles remained those of an ordinary man.

"But he did not know that the Lord had left him" (Judges 16:20, NIV).

Samson's tragedy wasn't the sudden loss of strength—it was the gradual, imperceptible loss of awareness. He had become so accustomed to the presence of anointing that he didn't notice its absence. He continued to live as if he still had what he had already lost.

And so it happens to many spiritual leaders today.

The echo of the original calling

Every Sunday morning, in thousands of churches across America, the same scene repeats itself. A pastor climbs the steps to the pulpit with Samson's same confidence. Hands rest on the Bible with familiar gestures. The voice rises with the authority of someone who has preached that truth for years.

But something invisible has changed.

It's not conscious hypocrisy—it's something more subtle and devastating. It's the echo of the original calling that continues to resonate even when the source has moved away. It's spiritual muscle memory that repeats the gestures of anointing even when the anointing has departed.

You still preach about the fire you no longer feel. You still speak about intimacy with God from a relationship that has become administrative routine. You still exhort others to a spiritual life that you yourself are living on autopilot, fueled more by acquired competence than present passion.

Like Samson who didn't know God had left, you might not realize that the flame that once burned in your chest has turned to lukewarm ashes that only seem warm from inertia.

The silent substitution

How does it happen? How do you go from being a person of God to being an expert on theology? How do you slip from authentic worship to spiritual performance without even noticing?

The process is as gradual as mountain erosion.

You used to pray because you thirsted for God. Now you pray because you need material for your sermon. You used to read the Bible to feed your soul. Now you study it to prepare Sunday's message. Your spiritual life used to fuel your ministry. Now your ministry has replaced your spiritual life.

It's the most dangerous substitution that can happen to a leader: when public ministry life becomes so intense that it replaces private spiritual life. Your preaching becomes your worship time. Prayer meetings become your prayer life. Ministry to others becomes your relationship with God.

You're living off spiritual dividends—consuming capital you're no longer accumulating.

It's like a banker who keeps spending from the account without ever making deposits, convinced the funds are inexhaustible. Until one day he discovers the account is empty, but he's still writing checks.

The warning signs no one wants to see

Like Samson, the warning signs were clear but systematically ignored. You pray mainly when you have to "perform" in public—before services, during meetings, in pastoral emergencies. But when you're alone, prayer has become laborious, mechanical, empty.

You read the Bible mainly to find sermons, not to meet God. When you open Scripture, your mind automatically goes to "How can I use this for Sunday?" instead of "What does God want to tell me today?"

You feel more excitement when planning ministry events than when you're alone with God. You get more energized talking about programs than talking about the Lord's presence. Your passion has shifted from the object of ministry to the activity of ministry.

Your spiritual life has become completely functional to your public role. You no longer have a private relationship with God that exists independently of your ministry work.

The most brutal test: when was the last time God surprised you? When was the last time you learned something new about Him not to prepare a sermon, but for the pure joy of knowing Him? When was the last time you prayed without a ministry agenda, simply because you loved being in His presence?

The congregation that senses the absence... and often feeds it

But here's the truth that hurts most: the congregation senses it. And often, without realizing it, they feed it.

They don't know exactly what, but they perceive the absence. They see technical competence, hear correct doctrine, recognize pastoral experience. But something indefinable is missing that can only come from someone who is truly walking with God.

It's like the difference between someone describing a country they've visited and someone describing a country they've only seen in photographs. Technically they might say the same things, but there's a quality of direct experience that cannot be simulated.

The leader is offering them a copy of something that was once original.

People still come, still listen, still nod. But deep in their spirits they sense something is missing. They don't know what to call it, but they know they're not receiving fresh bread from heaven - they're getting packaged bread, nutritious perhaps, but without that fragrance that only the divine oven can give.

But here's the paradox: often the congregation itself contributes to this dynamic. Because while the leader lives off spiritual dividends, the members live off relational dividends. They come to receive without ever giving, consume spirituality without ever producing it, criticize the lack of fire without ever lighting flames.

The vicious cycle of extinguished spirituality

When a leader loses the fire but continues to preach it, and a congregation loses passion but continues to demand it, a devastating vicious cycle is created.

The pastor, sensing that people don't respond with the enthusiasm they once did, intensifies the performance to compensate for the lack of anointing. The members, sensing that something authentic is missing, become more demanding and critical instead of more participatory and responsible.

The leader, frustrated by the congregation's lukewarmness, begins to blame the people for the lack of growth. The believers, disappointed by the leader's lukewarmness, begin to blame the pastor for the lack of inspiration.

Both are right. Both are wrong. Both are living with the same problem: they have substituted activism for intimacy with God.

The pastor is no longer drawing from the source, and the members are no longer contributing to the flow.

The hidden responsibility of church members

If you're a church member, here's the uncomfortable truth you must face: maybe you're contributing to your leader's loss of fire.

When was the last time you genuinely prayed for your pastor? Not a request prayer ("bless the pastor"), but deep intercessory prayer for his personal spiritual life?

When was the last time you shared with him a testimony of how God is speaking to you? Leaders need to be spiritually nourished just as much as everyone else. If all he receives from the congregation are service requests and sermon critiques, how do you think this affects his soul?

You criticize the lack of depth in preaching, but how deep is your personal devotional life? You complain that there's no fire in the church, but when was the last time you brought wood for the fire instead of waiting for someone else to light it?

You want the pastor to inspire you, but what do you do to inspire others? You want him to be an example of spiritual life, but what kind of example are you for those who look up to you?

The parallel diagnosis: leaders and members in the mirror

For leaders, the devastating question remains:

"If God withdrew from me today, how long would it take before I noticed?"

Would I continue preaching for weeks based only on preparation? Would I continue leading for months using only acquired skills? Could I manage ministry for years simply by repeating formulas that once worked when there was anointing behind them?

But for members, there's an equally devastating parallel question:

"If I stopped growing spiritually today, how long would it take before I noticed?"

Would I continue coming to church for months based only on habit? Would I continue calling myself a Christian for years using only acquired religious language? Could I participate in church life simply by repeating routines that once arose from authentic passion?

Both questions reveal the same crisis: substituting the authentic with the automatic.

If the answer for both is "a long time," then both leaders and members might already be in that condition without knowing it. Like Samson who woke up convinced he was still the mighty man of old.

The shared awakening of humility

But here's the difference between you and Samson: you still have the possibility to wake up before disaster strikes.

Samson didn't notice the loss until the Philistines blinded him. Both leaders and members can choose to open their eyes while they can still see. You can decide to take spiritual inventory before it's too late.

A community's spiritual crisis isn't always condemnation - it can be an invitation. An invitation to return to the source, to rediscover lost intimacy, to put your relationship with God at the center instead of the margins of life.

Leaders don't have to continue living off spiritual dividends. They can return to making deposits in the soul's account. They can stop being experts about God and return to being worshipers of God.

Members don't have to continue living off relational dividends. They can return to actively contributing to the community's spiritual life. They can stop being consumers of spirituality and return to being producers of spiritual life.

Together, they can rekindle the fire instead of continuing to complain about the pile of ashes.

The first step of shared return

The first step isn't trying to rekindle the fire. The first step is honestly admitting it has gone out - at a personal level, before the community level.

For leaders: It's not trying to revive passion for ministry. It's recognizing that passion for God has died. It's not pretending to have the anointing you don't have. It's confessing that you've lost the intimacy you once had.

For members: It's not trying to revive enthusiasm for church. It's recognizing that enthusiasm for God has been extinguished. It's not pretending to be spiritually vital. It's confessing that you've become spiritually lazy.

Ministerial pride whispers to the leader: "You can't afford to be vulnerable. People need you to be strong."

Religious pride whispers to the member: "You can't admit to being lukewarm. The leader needs you to be spiritual."

But saving truth shouts to both: "God can only use vessels that recognize they are empty."

Samson never had the courage for this honesty. Leaders and members together can choose to have it.

The hidden promise in shared crisis

There's a hidden promise in your collective spiritual crisis: God hasn't abandoned you because you've lost the fire. He has withdrawn to get your attention to the fact that you were living without Him—both from the pulpit and from the pews.

It's not punishment—it's a call back. It's not condemnation—it's correction. It's not the end of your community calling—it's an invitation to rediscover together the source of your calling.

For leaders: The God who lit the fire in you the first time can relight it. But this time it will be different. You won't be a leader who preaches about God—you'll be a leader who preaches from God.

For members: The God who lit passion in you when you first believed can relight it. But this time it will be different. You won't be a believer who consumes spirituality—you'll be a believer who contributes to the community's spirituality.

Together, you won't offer others a copy of your past experiences. You'll offer the original of your present experiences with God.

Today's questions that include everyone

If you were brutally honest with yourself, what role do you play in your community: would you say you're still walking in the fire of original anointing, or are you living in the echo of a fire that has gone out?

If you're a leader: If God withdrew from you today, how long would it take before you noticed through your ministry?

If you're a member: If God stopped working in your life today, how long would it take before someone in your church noticed through your behavior?

Are you ready to admit together that you might have lost what you once had, in order to begin the journey to find it again?

Today's truth: God's fire isn't the exclusive domain of leaders—it's everyone's responsibility. You can't give what you don't have, whether you're preaching or listening. You can't light fire in others that has gone out in you, whether you're leading or following.

But the God who called you the first time hasn't changed His phone number. He's still reachable. He's still willing to relight what compromise has extinguished - in leaders AND in members.

The first step toward community revival is admitting together that you've fallen asleep spiritually.

The first step toward church healing is honestly diagnosing the disease that affects everyone.

The first step toward collective return is recognizing together that you've gotten lost.

Today, choose brutal honesty instead of spiritual performance—both from the pulpit and from the pews. God can use a broken community that recognizes its condition more than a "strong" community living in collective illusion.