Few go into the ministry with zero ambition. Most who enter ministry don’t do so to be inconsequential. They want to make a difference. They have a message to preach, and the more ears to hear that message, the better. That’s not a wrong desire to have. In fact, it mirrors the zeal of the Apostle Paul, who travelled roughly 16,000 kilometres during his missionary journeys—equivalent to walking from Sydney to Perth and back, twice.

Paul was clearly driven—but no one could mistake that drive for ego. His ministry was marked by sacrifice, not self-promotion. He endured beatings, imprisonments, riots, sleepless nights, hunger, slander, and public shame (2 Cor. 6:4ff). He wasn’t concerned with preserving a respectable reputation in the eyes of the world. He wasn’t marketing himself, he was preaching Christ—and he did that, regardless of what it cost him personally. And it did cost him.

He was willing to be misunderstood, maligned, and mistreated if it meant the Gospel would advance. “We are fools for Christ’s sake,” he told the Corinthians. Weak, despised, reviled, homeless—“the scum of the world, the refuse of all things” (1 Cor. 4:9-13). 

Today, there’s plenty of ambition about, but not so much the willingness to suffer the loss of reputation, as Paul did. In fact, many tether their effectiveness in ministry to their public reputations. As such, there is a tendency among some clergy to measure the value of their ministry by their impact, and their impact, by their celebrity. That’s the crucial distinction here: Paul sought to reach every person he could, but his aim wasn’t “fame for Christ’s sake.” It was faithfulness to God.

“Am I now seeking the approval of man, or God?” he wrote. “If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ” (Gal. 1:10).

Consequently, Paul suffered more than most could imagine: five times whipped, three times beaten with rods, once stoned, three times shipwrecked, adrift at sea, in danger on every side—from rivers, robbers, his own people, and false brothers (2 Cor. 11:23-27). If he had ever wanted celebrity, he had it in his former life. But he considered all of it loss—rubbish—compared to the surpassing worth of knowing Christ (Phil. 3:7-8).

Clearly, Paul was not in pursuit of fame, but he was in pursuit of ears. Pastors should have a message to preach, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting as many people as possible to hear that message. However, the danger lies in thinking that we earn a hearing through our own brand, charisma, or celebrity. That the more famous we are, the more fruitful our ministry will be.

This was not Paul’s mindset. His effectiveness was not rooted in how well he was liked or admired by the world, or the church, for that matter. In fact, he often preached truths that ruined his “reputation.” He did this, time and again, because he wasn’t driven by the applause of men, which is necessary for celebrity-based ministry, but by the approval of God.

In contrast, the temptation toward celebrity in ministry is not only about pursuing the path of least resistance, but it is often about ego. It subtly shifts Christ from being the end of one’s ministry to being the means. Ministry then becomes a vehicle for personal relevance, status, and respect.

This is not the example that Paul set for us to follow. Yes, we should all want as many ears as possible to hear the truth, but we shouldn’t fall into the snare of thinking our effectiveness is proportionate to how many people know our name. We must reject the notion that our impact is a product of our celebrity. Paul didn’t pursue fame, but faithfulness—even if it cost him his reputation.

In the age of cheap fame, social media, and online celebrity pastors, let’s be driven by the same sentiments of George Whitfield, whose memory Christ has honoured, not because he sought recognition, but because he echoed the sentiments of the Apostle Paul in saying: “Let me die, and let my name die with me, if only Christ is glorified.”

It’s been said before, you won’t remember 99% of the meals you’ve eaten, but every one has kept you alive. In much the same way, for more than two thousand years, God has used countless faithful, but forgettable sermons, preached by pastors whose names we may never know, to beautify his bride. This is because God has called us to be faithful, not famous. So, let’s be faithful, and let God take care of the results—even if it threatens our reputation.