The Paradox of Christian Titles: A Call for Humility in Modern Faith

It was a refreshingly cool afternoon, and I was enjoying a moment of quiet reflection on my porch when my phone rang. A male voice greeted me from the other end, his tone polite but unfamiliar.

“Am I speaking to Mrs. N?” he inquired.

The question struck me as odd. For years, in every sphere of my life – on the phone, at the market, among friends – I had always been known simply as “Precious.” Who was this person, calling me “Mrs. N” on such a serene afternoon? I confirmed my identity, and the caller, who had not introduced himself, asked me to hold. Moments later, a different voice, unmistakably female, came on the line.

“Hello, Mrs. N, this is Pastor Mrs. X speaking.”

I must have stared at my phone in utter disbelief. The voice belonged to a very close friend, whom I’ll refer to here as Y. Yet, she addressed me with a formality I hadn’t heard before, and, more astonishingly, introduced herself as “Pastor Mrs. X” – adopting a title linked to her husband’s initial, not her own name. This opening line was one of the most peculiar things I had encountered in my rather unconventional life.

The Shifting Sands of Friendship and Status

How could someone with whom I had shared so many intimate moments – chatting, cooking, laughing, and even the occasional unguarded human act – suddenly adopt such a formal persona, referring to herself as a “Pastor Mrs.”? And, as if to underscore the newly erected barrier, she couldn’t even call me directly; she had to route the call through a “Personal Assistant.” What had become of Y, my dear friend?

My mind drifted back several weeks to an encounter with her husband at a church event in another town. When I casually asked about Y, his response was delivered with puffed-up shoulders and a lifted chin: “Oh, she’s a big pastor now. You’ll need to pay money to see her.” At the time, I dismissed it as a strange boast, but this phone call brought the full weight of his statement into sharp, perplexing focus.

This wasn’t an isolated incident. I recalled another acquaintance from church, J, with whom I had also shared a similar easy camaraderie. After attending Bible school in Nigeria, she returned for a visit to Cameroon and introduced herself to me over the phone as “Evangelist J.” It seemed a subtle, yet unmistakable, declaration that “levels had changed,” and our former closeness was now overshadowed by newly acquired spiritual designations.

From Best Friends to Formal Acquaintances

Y and I were inseparable during our undergraduate years, more like sisters than friends. After graduation, I pursued graduate studies in Nigeria while she remained in Cameroon, married, and began assisting her husband with his nascent church ministry. Upon my return and subsequent marriage, our geographical distance naturally created some separation. However, with both of us eventually relocating to the same city, we were eagerly anticipating a reunion and a rekindling of our bond. That was until the “Pastor Mrs.” call came, signaling an irreversible shift in our dynamic.

From that day forward, the easy flow of our friendship was replaced by an awkward formality. My “common Christian” self struggled to connect with the “Pastor’s wife” persona. Y even updated her social media profile to proudly include “Pastor” in her name, a public affirmation of her new identity.

Months later, I visited her, and we finally discussed the matter in her living room. She explained that after her ordination as a pastor in her husband’s church (where he served as prophet and chief Bible school teacher), she had decided to adopt the title. She insisted that everyone “MUST” call her “Pastor” or “Madame.” When I questioned if this was a biblical stipulation, she cited the verse about giving honor where honor is due. Pressing further, I asked if I, her long-time friend, could still call her by her first name. Her answer was a firm “no”; I was to use “Madame” if “Pastor” felt too formal for me. She then recounted how a former senior in secondary school, a “very fat girl” (a detail whose relevance escaped me), now revered her because of her pastoral position. She emphasized how this lady respected her, seemingly validating her stance.

Later, I conveyed to Y my belief that respect is earned through character and conduct, not demanded by a title. When someone insists on respect and takes offense at its absence, it often points to an underlying insecurity or misunderstanding of true leadership. It is paramount that people engage with us as individuals, as genuine human beings, rather than as mere extensions of a position.

During our conversation, Y struggled to maintain her self-imposed “civility,” consistently referring to me as “Mrs. N.” It was a strange and somewhat disheartening exchange. The situation became even more surreal when her husband entered the room, prompting Y to exclaim with exaggerated reverence, “The prophet himself! You’re welcome, sah!” His response was a self-satisfied smile, basking in the effusive praise. This episode crystallized for me how deeply ingrained this imposition of titles had become, representing one of the most un-Christian phenomena I had witnessed in my spiritual journey.

Jesus: The Ultimate Example of Humility Over Titles

Consider the greatest figure to ever walk the earth: Jesus Christ. He is the Creator, the Master of the universe, the most celebrated personality in all of history. Thousands followed Him wherever He went, captivated by His words and miracles. He is the ultimate teacher, the King of all kings, the unparalleled miracle worker. Yet, He was simply called “Jesus.” No elaborate titles, no prefixes or suffixes demanding recognition. Just Jesus.

Being called by His name did not diminish His authority in the slightest. He didn’t feel the need to insist on being addressed as “Master Prophetic Jesus” to validate His divine identity. He embodied all these roles and infinitely more, without ever needing human affirmation through a title. His humility was profound, extending even to the point of death on a cross. He never alienated Himself from people because they failed to recognize or appreciate His kingship. He didn’t declare, “Look here, I am God, and you better address me as such!” Yet, He is indeed God, the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

In a telling moment during our discussion, Y, despite her efforts to maintain formality, eventually slipped into calling me “Pre!” as our conversation deepened and truly engaging topics emerged. It was a fleeting glimpse of our authentic friendship, momentarily breaking through the barrier of her self-imposed title. Later, Y confessed that she had distanced herself from many friends and acquaintances because they failed to show her the “respect” she felt was due to her title. I remained one of the few who stayed close, primarily because she was navigating a difficult period, and I wanted to offer genuine support.

During these moments, I sensed her profound longing for true connection and friendship, a void created by the massive barrier she had constructed: “I am a pastor. You better respect me!” This extended even to her own family, whom she had instructed to abandon the affectionate pet names they had used since her childhood. Similarly, her husband rigidly referred to himself as a prophet, insisting everyone address him as such.

The Dangerous Trend of Title Obsession in Modern Christianity

This phenomenon of so-called pastors, prophets, and “men of God” (who often become “gods of men” through their actions) demanding specific titles is disturbingly prevalent today. Beyond Y and her husband, I have witnessed this trend repeatedly. It often stems from selfish motives, a hunger for recognition and power that stands in stark contrast to biblical principles. Scripture reminds us, “By their fruits you will know them” (Matthew 7:16). A desperate clinging to a title, as if one’s spiritual validity depends on it, hardly qualifies as good fruit.

In contemporary Christianity, the desire for impressive titles has escalated. “Pastor” sometimes seems almost understated; many now gravitate towards more elaborate appellations like “Apostle,” “Bishop,” or “Prophet.” It’s not uncommon to see someone rent a hall, acquire some sound equipment, and then bestow upon themselves one of these grand titles. What’s even more concerning is the fluidity of these self-appointed designations, which often change as individuals progress in what one might term “madnesstry” – a ministry fueled by ego rather than genuine spiritual calling.

For instance, an individual might begin by calling himself “Apostle.” After a period, perhaps sensing a lack of impact, he might switch to “Prophet.” Later, he might decide “Evangelist” sounds more charismatic and adopt that. This constant shifting creates a confusing and often comical “APE” (Apostle-Prophet-Evangelist) of self-exaltation. Some even take profound offense if they are not addressed by their chosen title, considering it a grave disrespect.

A Clear Biblical Warning Against Seeking Titles

It is profoundly ironic that Jesus Himself addressed this very issue with unmistakable clarity in Matthew 23:8-12:

“But you are not to be called ‘Rabbi,’ for you have one Teacher, and you are all brothers. And do not call anyone on earth ‘father,’ for you have one Father, who is in heaven. Nor are you to be called ‘teacher,’ for you have one Teacher, the Messiah. The greatest among you will be your servant. For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” (NLT)

These words are incredibly potent and direct. It is deeply saddening that many Christian leaders today appear to bypass this crucial segment of scripture. They yearn to be called “Father,” often colloquially rendered as “Papa,” yet they readily criticize Catholics for having a Pope. One must then ask: “Papa,” what substantive difference exists between your demand for the title and the role of the Pope, especially when both insist on a designation of spiritual fatherhood?

Many contemporary Christian leaders exhibit the same self-aggrandizement as the Pharisees and scribes whom Jesus condemned in this passage. They are driven by a craving for fame, power, and human recognition. This behavior has become so normalized within certain Christian circles that it risks being accepted as standard. However, the Bible warns us that “narrow is the road that leads to life, and broad is the road that leads to destruction” (Matthew 7:13). The pursuit of self-exaltation clearly falls on the broader, more perilous path.

Focus on the Work, Not the Designation

Pastor, if your name is Ezekiel, and I address you as “Ezekiel,” where lies the offense? Your primary focus should be on diligently fulfilling the divine calling God has placed upon your life, not on how people address you. There is no scriptural passage that prohibits individuals from using the name given to them at birth. The obsession with specific designations subtly undermines the very essence of Christianity.

What carries more weight: the title or the work itself? If you are a pastor named Reuben, does being called “Reuben” in any way diminish your pastoral responsibilities or God’s anointing upon your life? Absolutely not. This intense craving for specific titles among some Christian leaders dilutes the authentic message and spirit of Christianity. Such discussions shouldn’t even be relevant within a faith that champions humility and servanthood.

If congregants, out of genuine reverence and respect for a pastor’s ministry, choose to address them as “Pastor,” that is their prerogative. However, for a pastor to actively impose or “shove” this title down the throats of others, demanding its use, borders on the pathological. It speaks to a deep-seated need for external validation rather than an inner conviction of divine calling.

My name is Precious. Should I earn a Ph.D. tomorrow, I would still be Precious. If I become a renowned speaker or an acclaimed author, I would still remain Precious to those who know and love me. My friends will always be my friends; when we gather, we will converse, share laughter, and exchange high-fives as equals. My fellow Christians will forever be my brothers and sisters in Christ. Should I ever begin to elevate myself above them, I would be betraying the very essence of Christ-likeness, which calls for humility and mutual love.

As Christians, we are called to be the light of the world, ambassadors of the Gospel. Our primary mission is to spread this message with profound humility, just as Jesus did. The most impactful sermon we preach is not with our words alone, but through the consistent example of our lives. Let us not push people away, creating unnecessary barriers through an irrelevant obsession with titles. It is the work, the genuine labor of love and service, that truly matters. Regardless of our roles or designations, we are all fundamentally one in Christ.

“For you are all one in Christ Jesus.” Galatians 3:28b