There is a subtle danger that shadows pastoral ministry from the beginning. It does not arrive loudly. It grows quietly. Over time, without noticing, you can begin to believe that you are your ministry.

When the church is thriving, you feel steady. When attendance dips, you feel diminished. When a sermon seems to land well, you walk a little taller. When it falls flat, you question your calling. The line between who you are and what you do begins to blur.

This lesson was not learned in a single moment. It was learned across years, through encouragement that inflated the heart and criticism that exposed it. Slowly, the Lord had to teach me something simple and freeing. I am not my ministry.

The Subtle Exchange

Jesus sends out the seventy in Luke 10. They return rejoicing. “Lord, even the demons are subject to us in your name” (Luke 10:17). It is hard not to feel the energy of that moment. They have tasted visible success.

But Christ gently redirects them. “Do not rejoice in this, that the spirits are subject to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven” (Luke 10:20).

He does not rebuke their joy. He recalibrates it. Their deepest security must not rest in what happens through them, but in what God has done for them.

That correction is as necessary for pastors today as it was for those early disciples. It is possible to rejoice more in ministry fruit than in salvation grace. It is possible to anchor identity in usefulness rather than in union with Christ.

When Fruit Becomes Identity

Ministry is visible. It is measurable. Sermons can be evaluated. Churches can grow or shrink. Opinions can be voiced freely. Over time, these realities press upon the heart.

Paul warns the Corinthians against comparing themselves with one another. “Not that we dare to classify or compare ourselves with some of those who are commending themselves” (2 Cor. 10:12). Comparison quietly reshapes identity. We begin to measure our worth by visible outcomes.

But Scripture refuses to let fruit define the servant. In 1 Corinthians 3, Paul reminds the church that one plants, another waters, but “God gave the growth” (v.6). The servant is real. The labour is real. Yet the outcome belongs to God.

If growth belongs to Him, then decline does not invalidate you. If fruit is His gift, then apparent barrenness does not erase you. You are not the Saviour of the church. You are a steward.

Union With Christ Is Deeper Than Role

Paul’s words in Galatians 2:20 have steadied me more than once. “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.” Notice what he does not say. He does not anchor himself in apostleship, gifting, or influence. He anchors himself in Christ.

Your truest identity is not pastor, preacher, leader, or theologian. It is this. You are in Christ. Chosen in Him, redeemed in Him, loved in Him. Ephesians 1 piles phrase upon phrase to make that clear. Before you ever stood in a pulpit, you were blessed “in Christ with every spiritual blessing” (Eph. 1:3).

Ministry may change. Roles may shift. Titles may fade. But union with Christ does not fluctuate with church dynamics. It does not rise with attendance or fall with criticism.

“For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God” (Col. 3:3).

Hidden. Secure. Guarded in Him.

Why This Lesson Is Learned the Hard Way

Very few pastors set out to build their identity on ministry. It happens slowly. It often grows out of sincere desire to serve well. We care about the church. We long to see people mature. We want Christ honoured.

But when care drifts into control, and longing drifts into self measurement, the heart begins to attach itself to outcomes. When things go well, you feel affirmed not only as a servant, but as a person. When things go poorly, it feels like a verdict on who you are.

The Lord often loosens that grip through disappointment. A season of stagnation. A decision that is misunderstood. A criticism that cuts. In those moments, the question surfaces quietly. If this ministry were taken from you, who would you be?

The answer must be this. I would still be a sinner saved by grace. Still a son. Still hidden in Christ.

The Freedom of Not Being the Christ

There is immense freedom in recognising that you are not indispensable. Christ loves His church more than you do. He purchased her with His own blood (Acts 20:28). He builds His church (Matt. 16:18). He walks among the lampstands (Rev. 1:13).

You are not the foundation. “For no one can lay a foundation other than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ” (1 Cor. 3:11).

This is not an excuse for laziness. It is protection against self importance. When you understand that the church rests on Christ, not on you, you can labour faithfully without carrying a weight that was never yours to bear.

Guarding Your Heart Practically

These are not techniques. They are reminders that identity is received, not achieved.

When the Sermon Falls Flat

Every preacher knows the feeling. You leave the pulpit unsettled. Words did not flow. Illustrations misfired. Application felt thin. The temptation is immediate. You begin to question yourself at a deeper level than necessary.

In those moments, preach the gospel to yourself. You are not justified by clarity. You are justified by faith in Christ. “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Rom. 8:1).

Your standing before God did not rise with last Sunday’s sermon. It does not fall with this one.

A Settled Identity Produces Steady Ministry

When identity rests in Christ rather than in ministry, something changes. You can celebrate fruit without being inflated by it. You can endure criticism without being crushed by it. You can labour quietly without craving visibility.

Peter exhorts elders to shepherd “not under compulsion, but willingly, as God would have you” (1 Pet. 5:2). That willingness flows from security. When you are secure in Christ, you are free to serve without constantly measuring yourself.

This lesson does not remove pressure overnight. It is one you must revisit again and again. But each time you return to it, the grip of performance loosens slightly.

Rejoice That Your Name Is Written in Heaven

If I could speak to a younger version of myself at the beginning of ministry, I would not give strategic advice. I would say this. Guard your heart against becoming your ministry.

Rejoice first in Christ. Root identity in grace. Labour faithfully, preach earnestly, love the church deeply, but remember who you are when the pulpit is empty and the phone is silent.

You are not your ministry. You are His. And that is safer, steadier, and more liberating than any measure of visible success could ever be.