When describing qualities those being considered for leadership within the church should possess, St. Paul tells us they must be “above reproach”:

Therefore an overseer must be above reproach, the husband of one wife, sober-minded, self-controlled, respectable, hospitable, able to teach …

1 Timothy 3:2 ESV

if anyone is above reproach … For an overseer, as God’s steward, must be above reproach. He must not be arrogant or quick-tempered or a drunkard or violent or greedy for gain

Titus 1:6, 7 ESV

So what exactly does it mean to be above reproach?

One of my favorite ways to figure these things out is to look at scripture and learn first what a thing cannot mean.

You’d be amazed how often I find out that what a thing cannot possibly mean—given the whole counsel of God—is precisely what many, including those in the pulpits, teach that it absolutely does mean.

This is the tragic result that arises when we want so desperately to be practical, relevant, and pragmatic that we rush ahead to find an application or a moral, instead of letting the text tell us a rather mundane truth.

As H.L. Mencken warned us: There is always a well-known solution to every human problem—neat, plausible, and wrong.

The meaning of above reproach according to much popular Christian sentiment is one of those well-known, plausible—and wrong—solutions that Mencken warned about.

Let me explain. I’ve often heard above reproach summed up along these lines: It means that they’re a cut-above, not prone to be as sinful as the average members of the flock.

Above reproach is thus defined in terms of superior rectitude. Among a ragtag flock of morally piebald sheep, these fellows have exceeded all the rest, and stand out as blameless by comparison.

Above reproach would mean, first of all, that elders and other church leaders must be the best-behaved sheep in their sheepfold.

It’s completely understandable why you would come to this conclusion. We want to be led by men who are better than us.

But in the economy of human fallenness and God’s grace, better is simply not a category that exists: None is righteous, no, not one … no one does good, not even one (Romans 3:10, 12 ESV).

That’s a very sensible reason why above reproach cannot possibly mean that church leaders are like Mary Poppins—practically perfect in every way.

But another good reason is that scripture doesn’t reserve above reproach for an elite class of elders and ministers. Colossians 1:22 tells us:

[Christ] has now reconciled [you] in his body of flesh by his death, in order to present you holy and blameless and above reproach before him

Colossians 1:22 ESV

Notice, it doesn’t say that only elders are above reproach in Christ, does it? God would have every believer be above reproach in Christ.

Now there’s a lot of theological water that needs to go under the bridge of all believers being above reproach—in terms of both a believer’s justification and sanctification. But unpacking all of that isn’t our purpose here. It is simply sufficient to observe that, while it’s necessary for church leaders to be above reproach, that’s not a special quality that makes them less sinful than other Christians. It doesn’t mean that they’re almost perfect and only prone to the blander varieties of sin or foolishness.

Elders and preachers are simul justus et peccator—at once righteous and a sinner—just like the rest of the sheep.

After all, what did St. Paul—the bold apostle and the most brilliant theological mind of his day—say about himself? Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief (1 Timothy‬ ‭1:15‬ ‭KJV‬‬).

Notice he didn’t say: I used to be a great sinner, but I’m pretty much over it now. He said: I am chief sinner. In other words: I am the worst sinner I know.

And that’s not an isolated event. St. Paul was candid about his ongoing, daily struggle with sin in his fallen flesh—even as a mature believer, an accomplished church planter, and a sharp theologian. These words are hardly the testimony of a victorious life in Christ—at least not the way popular Christianity tends to define it:

For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate … For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing.
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Romans 7:15, 18-19 ESV

If St. Paul were to be so candid in many churches today, somebody would probably pull him aside and say: Chill out, dude. You’re bumming us out with all this talking about how you still struggle with sin. That’s dark, brother. How do you expect people to see you as a good example to follow, if you’re being so open about your weakness and shortcomings?

I know they would, because it’s happened to me. That’s some of the bitter fruit that grows when you misunderstand what it means to be above reproach.

I’ll come back to that problem shortly—because it’s a mighty big problem that leads to a lot of unhealthy leadership and even abusive culture in churches.

But for now, it’s worth noting that this apostle who called himself the chief of sinners; and who lamented that he—on the regular—found himself not doing the good he wanted to do, but the evil he didn’t want to do; that great sinner, St. Paul, was also bold enough to tell his fellow Christians to: Be ye followers of me, even as I also am of Christ. (1 Corinthians‬ ‭11:1‬ ‭KJV‬‬)

I know of diabolically too many influencers in popular Christianity today who, if they ever did figure out to connect the dots the way I just have, would tell Paul: Why would anyone want to follow you or Christ, if that’s what they’re getting into? You struggle for thirty years and at the end of your life, you still call yourself the chief sinner? Have you considered another line of work, Paul?

But those who reason like that understand nothing of the Gospel. The truth sets us free to confess the truth about ourselves, to struggle, and yet to go on—with our eyes fixed on Christ. It’s such brazen honesty that’s a massive ingredient in being above reproach.

This is the point in most conversations where people get impatient with me: Please, just tell us what above reproach means.

Well, we’re going to get there. But I’m taking you through the scenic route, because there’s something I need to show you. And that’s the dark side of supposing that above reproach means something along the lines of near perfect, sins less, doesn’t struggle so much.

See, that’s a completely unrealistic standard to put on any fallen, fallible human. That’s precisely why I pointed out how even the great St. Paul was a struggling sinner and he knew it, clap your hands.

Church leaders would do well to follow his example. We who have been called to tend, nurture, and feed Christ’s sheep should be the first in line to join the Apostle in proclaiming: Who is weak, and I am not weak? … If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness (2 Corinthians‬ ‭11:29, 30 ESV).

Many in the church—both sheep and shepherds—would be horrified by the thought of their leaders and mentors in the faith speaking candidly about their sins and struggles and failures. After all—they’re supposed to be above reproach.

That’s the problem, don’t you see? We’ve defined above reproach as infallible—or nearly so.

Do you know what kind of pressure this puts on a man? His family? His colleagues in ministry?

Do you understand what this leads to? This makes for an incredibly unhealthy and dishonest dynamic among church leaders—because they’re laboring now under the impression that they must be infallible. And whether spoken or unspoken, this is exactly what many church members expect of them as well—after all, they’re supposed to be above reproach.

Here’s what ends up happening all too often. You end up with preachers and elders who are hiding their sins and struggles and shortcomings. I’m not supposed to have those. I’m supposed to be the model Christian. I must be above reproach.

Now those sins are not dealt with, those struggles are never unburdened. And inevitably this inflammation of the soul that’s never been lanced by confession or had the healing salve of the gospel applied to it ruptures and gunk goes flying. It stinks, it’s nasty, people get hurt. The leader is finally confronted by someone. He denies it: I’m fine. You’re the one that’s the problem. I’m above reproach, don’t you know?

Now here’s where things get really nasty. Depending on how essential this particular ministry leader is deemed by their colleagues to the success of the church’s mission, a codependent relationship may form between that minister, his elders, and other ministry staff.

They may begin to enable him under the guise of “protecting” him. Dissent is punished with banishment. Victims of his sin are silenced or smeared. More and more the minister is surrounded by yes-men and a brigade of flying monkeys.

All of this in an attempt to maintain the appearance that the minister is above reproach. It’s the victims and dissenters who are the problem. They’re trying to bring down this impeccable man of God and his accomplished ministry that’s doing so much good for the Lord.

It’s a cycle that we’ve seen repeated, over. And over. And over.

And that is hardly above reproach: Whoever conceals his transgressions will not prosper. On the other hand, he who confesses and forsakes them will obtain mercy (Proverbs‬ ‭28:13‬ ‭ESV‬‬).

The leader who is able to speak openly of his sins and shortcomings, and who brings them in repentance to Christ—that leader is above reproach.

Charles Spurgeon, “The Prince of Preachers,” once said: You cannot slander human nature; it is worse than words can paint it. He also said: If any man thinks ill of you, do not be angry with him; for you are worse than he thinks you to be.

This is just as true for preachers and elders as it is for the next person in the pew. Here’s the good news: You can be a fallen sinner, with all the shortcomings, faults, flaws, and weaknesses that entails—and still be “above reproach.”

Now we’ve come to the part where I explain what above reproach actually means.

It doesn’t mean practically perfect, near infallible, or dwelling in the vicinity of impeccability. It’s not a claim or moral superiority.

It’s a legal term—in Greek, anégklētos—and it means blameless, that cannot be called to account, irreproachable. In short, it means someone might accuse you, but the accusation won’t stand up in court.

Now, at the most fundamental level, no human can truly be anégklētos—at least not in God’s courtroom. That’s why the psalmist prays: Enter not into judgment with your servant, for no one living is righteous before you (Psalm‬ ‭143:2‬ ‭ESV‬‬).

In the only court that matters, no one is above reproach. For again it says: Surely there is not a righteous man on earth who does good and never sins (Ecclesiastes‬ ‭7:20‬ ‭ESV‬‬).

But allow me to show you another passage where this word anégklētos is found. You probably would never notice it, because it’s not translated as above reproach here. Rather, it’s usually rendered guiltless or blameless.

… as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ, who will sustain you to the end, guiltless [anégklētos] in the day of our Lord Jesus Christ.

1 Corinthians 1:7b-8 ESV

Christians are anégklētos—guiltless, blameless or above reproach—before God only because of the grace of God and the blood of Christ.

We are all still fallen sinners, struggling and suffering in a fallen world. But in Christ, God considers us guiltless. Satan may still accuse us, but the accusations don’t stick. Not because we’re above reproach of ourselves, but because we’re in Christ, and He is.

So this is where we need to anchor our understanding of what it means to be above reproach: Not that such a person is an impressive moral specimen, but that they are honest about their weaknesses, and willing to humbly model confession and repentance when they (inevitably) screw up.

Being above reproach in this sense doesn’t mean that we don’t sin, or we sin less often than the average person, or that our sins are little Mickey Mouse trifles. Rather, it means that we’re honest about our human frailties; that we confess when we are wrong; and that we repent—including acknowledgment and amends where necessary.

After all, who can reproach you for shortcomings you’re honest about, wrongs you’ve confessed, or sins for which you’ve been forgiven?

Thus, it is written:

Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man against whom the Lord counts no iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no deceit. For when I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not cover my iniquity; I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,” and you forgave the iniquity of my sin.
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Psalm 32:1-3, 5 ESV

Humble confession and repentance is an essential aspect of being anégklētos before God and other people. But trying to maintain an appearance of being above reproach via a careful public image campaign is deceitful. You will waste away. The strength of your ministry will wither up and die. And may the Lord hasten its death!

When we shepherd Christ’s flock from a position of honesty about our own deep sinfulness and shortcomings, we rely more and more upon Christ for grace and mercy and wisdom. And resting in and relying upon Christ, we are much more likely to shepherd the flock with grace and mercy.

St. Peter paints a picture for us about what this kind of ministry looks like:

So I exhort the elders among you, as a fellow elder and a witness of the sufferings of Christ, as well as a partaker in the glory that is going to be revealed: shepherd the flock of God that is among you, exercising oversight, not under compulsion, but willingly, as God would have you; not for shameful gain, but eagerly; not domineering over those in your charge, but being examples to the flock. And when the chief Shepherd appears, you will receive the unfading crown of glory.

1 Peter 5:1-4 ESV

This is shepherding that is above reproach: that you are not caring for Christ’s flock as mere duty, with sighs or gritted teeth; and you are not domineering, abusive, or oppressive. Rather, that you serve them eagerly, and you are an example to them. Not an example of moral superiority. But of humble, gentle, and lowly service—chastened by the acknowledgment of your own inadequacy; not carrying yourself pridefully, but always being willing to say: I was wrong, please forgive me.

That’s above reproach. And that’s exactly the kind of shepherd who will embody the kind of qualities St. Paul instructed (1 Timothy 3:2-4).

He will be the husband of one wife—literally, a one-woman man. Faithful to his wife and respectful of the boundaries of others.

He will be sober-minded, self-controlled, and respectable. He will not be prone to outbursts. He won’t be a loose cannon.

Instead, he will be hospitable—open and welcoming to others with their faults and flaws, gracious and patient with their shortcomings—because he is deeply aware of his own.

He will be able to teach, not simply to impress with superior knowledge and learning, not puffed up with pride—but always bringing Jesus to those whom he instructs. His teaching will be overflowing with the Gospel.

Finally, he will not be a drunkard, not violent but gentle, not quarrelsome, not a lover of money. In other words—he will not be manipulative or abusive, but gentle with the flock.

You don’t have to be practically perfect, near infallible, or smarter than the average bear to be above reproach. You only need to be humble, teachable, and honest.