Death of Celebrity(ism)
Sadly, there is a scandal unfolding in what many would consider a stronghold of the conservative Baptist resurgence—G3 Ministries. Its president, Josh Buice, has stepped down. Not for adultery. Not for embezzlement. Not for drunkenness or dereliction of pastoral duty.
According to early reports, it was for operating multiple anonymous social media accounts used to slander fellow Christians, damage reputations, and stoke division—all while preaching unity, accountability, and truth from the public stage.
When questioned, he denied it. When pressed, he lied. When the truth came to light, he confessed and stepped down.
Now, let me be clear: we should pray for Josh Buice. We hope and trust that repentance is happening. We pray for healing—for his heart, his family, and his local church. And we don’t stand above him. Any of us, placed on the same pedestal, could collapse in the same way.
But what we must say—what we must not ignore—is that this is not just a personal failure. It is a symptom of a diseased system.
This is what happens when we build an ecclesial culture where pastors are elevated into celebrity status. Where platforms matter more than people. Where “reach” is confused with righteousness. Where giftedness is confused with godliness. Where men are applauded, branded, and idolized—treated more like apostles of a movement than shepherds of a flock. The weight of that platform eventually crushes them, warps them, or isolates them to the point of compromise.
That’s the danger of celebrity Christianity. It doesn't just tempt pastors to sin—it engineers a context where sin festers in the dark while applause thunders in the light.
And if the church doesn't repent of this culture—if we keep building stages instead of pulpits, fan bases instead of congregations, ministries instead of churches—we will continue to watch talented men disqualify themselves in slow motion. We will keep burying shepherds under the very platforms we built for them.
This is not a tabloid moment.
This is a theological tragedy.
And it should sound like a funeral bell tolling over the bloated corpse of celebrity Christianity.
THE STAGE WAS NEVER THE SANCTUARY
Let’s be honest. Josh Buice is not alone. The graveyard of “celebrity pastors” is filling at an alarming rate—men with towering intellects, stirring rhetoric, and dazzling charisma, brought low by pride, lust, greed, control, or cowardice. Why? Because God never intended His shepherds to become stars. Instead we are called to be the lowliest slaves (Luke 17:10; 2 Corinthians 4:5)
The modern church has cultivated an ecosystem where giftedness is confused with godliness, and a man’s platform is measured not by the souls he shepherds but by the views, followers, conference invites, and retweets he garners. These pastors don’t serve local flocks. They command digital armies. They don’t shepherd sheep. They mobilize movements.
And we—yes, we—are complicit in this.
We have created an entire industrial complex of celebrity preachers who don’t know our names, won’t preach our funerals, and will never sit beside us in suffering. We binge their content, buy their books, and elevate them as if they were the voice of God Himself. We’ve exchanged the slow work of discipleship for the thrill of doctrinal fandom. We’ve stopped following the Good Shepherd and started building fan clubs for His under-shepherds.
This is not reformation. This is idolatry.
CELEBRITY CULTURE IS SPIRITUALLY UNSUSTAINABLE
When a man is consistently treated like a prophet, praised like a savior, and followed like a king, he begins to believe it. He cannot help it. His flesh will feast on the flattery. Even if he preaches humility, the ecosystem around him will erode it. It is only a matter of time before he falls—or worse, before his soul calcifies into something cold, performative, and dead.
God gave the church pastors not to be adored but to be among the people (1 Pet. 5:2). Pastors are not called to be influencers, thought leaders, or platform builders, but shepherds who feed the sheep, guard the fold, and lay down their lives in hidden service. Our favorite pastor should not be the one who gets millions of views online. It should be the man who holds the cup and the bread and says, “This is Christ’s body, broken for you.” It should be the man who prays over your sick child in the ER. It should be the man who buries your grandmother and stands beside you in your grief.
Let me say this clearly: pastors belong in the pulpit, not on pedestals.
A PERSONAL WORD
I say all of this not as a critic lobbing grenades from the outside, but as a man in the same trench. I pastor a local church. I preach sermons. I have a YouTube channel. I host a podcast. I write online. I know the gravitational pull of platform-building. I know how the dopamine rush of likes and shares can masquerade as fruitfulness. And I know how thin the line can become between serving Christ and serving self under the guise of ministry.
That’s why I’m making changes.
In the next episode of my podcast, I will be announcing adjustments to how I engage online. Not because I think I am about to fall—but because I know I am made of the same stuff as every fallen man. And if I’m not vigilant, the same story could be written about me.
We don’t need more content creators. We need more cross-bearers.
THE PATH FORWARD IS LOCAL
It’s time we renounce the lie that the best pastor is the most popular one. It’s time to return to local churches, with faithful elders, unknown names, and unimpressive production quality—but filled with the Holy Spirit, Word of God, and steadfast love.
It’s time to honor the men who show up week after week, labor in obscurity, disciple with patience, and carry the burdens of people they actually know.
And it’s time to bury celebrity Christianity once and for all. Let the downfall of Josh Buice not just be a tragic headline—but a providential warning to us all.
“Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment” (Romans 12:3).
“Let another praise you, and not your own mouth; a stranger, and not your own lips” (Proverbs 27:2).
“He must increase, but I must decrease.” (John 3:30)
