When a Believer Falls

For eleven months, an anonymous page on social media had been poisoning a church in Surulere.

It began with small things: a blurred photograph of the senior pastor’s wife at a supermarket, with a caption asking whose money she was spending. Then came hints about the welfare fund. Then, worst of all, a post suggesting that a young woman in the choir was “too close” to one of the married deacons. None of it was true. But the young woman’s fiancé saw the post, and for three terrible weeks their engagement hung by a thread. The deacon’s wife stopped coming to church. People who had sat together for years began to look at each other sideways.

The page was eventually traced by a member who worked in IT. Several of the photographs had been taken from angles that only someone in the media gallery could have used. The account belonged to Sani, the head of the church’s media unit, a gifted, quiet man in his thirties who had been passed over for a role in the church office the year before and had never got over it.

When the elders met him in the vestry, Sani broke down. He wept for a long time. He admitted everything. And then he said something that I have heard, in one form or another, from many believers who have fallen. “I have repented. I prayed all night. I know God has forgiven me. So why does anyone else need to know? Why do I have to step down? If God has forgiven me, why can’t we just move on?”

It is an honest question, and it deserves an honest answer. God may well have forgiven him. Restoration, though, is larger than a single night of tears. It begins with the truth about the wrong and confidence in Christ’s mercy, and it goes on to a changed direction, real care for the people who were hurt, and a slow rebuilding of trust. This article is about that journey.

Restoration begins with the truth

Punchline

The first step back for any fallen believer is to tell the truth about what he has done. Scripture is very plain about this: “He that covereth his sins shall not prosper: but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy” (Proverbs 28:13).

The clearest picture of honest confession in the Old Testament is the prayer David prayed after Nathan confronted him over Bathsheba and Uriah:

Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions. Wash me throughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me. Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight: that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest.

Look at how David names what he did. He uses three different words: transgressions, crossing a line he knew was there; iniquity, the twistedness of his heart; and sin, missing the mark. He does not soften any of them. “I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me.” There is no “mistakes were made,” no “if anyone was offended,” no explaining that the pressures of kingship had worn him down.

That kind of honesty is harder than it sounds. In the first days after he was exposed, Sani kept describing what he had done as “my posts” or “the page.” It took a long conversation before he could say, “I wrote lies about people. I damaged their names because I was bitter.” Until he could say that, his repentance was still partly a performance. Confession means saying the same thing about your sin that God says.

Some readers stumble over David’s words, “Against thee, thee only, have I sinned.” Had he not sinned against Uriah, whom he had killed, and against Bathsheba, and against the nation? He had, terribly. David is not denying that people were harmed. He is recognising that every wrong done to a person made in God’s image is, at its root, an offence against God Himself. That recognition does not reduce our obligation to those we have hurt. It deepens it.

Notice also that David’s confession begins with mercy. “Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies.” He knows what he deserves, and he appeals to what God is like. That is the second foundation of restoration.

Confidence in Christ’s mercy

A believer who has fallen badly faces two dangers. The first is to minimise the sin. The second is to be overwhelmed by it, to conclude that this time he has gone too far, that God’s patience is used up, and that there is no way back. John writes to believers with both dangers in mind:

If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say that we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us. My little children, these things write I unto you, that ye sin not. And if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous: And he is the propitiation for our sins: and not for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole world.

“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” Notice the two words that describe God. Faithful, because He has promised to forgive and He keeps His promises. Just, because the penalty for that sin has already been paid. When God forgives a confessing believer, He is not overlooking justice. He is honouring it, because Christ is “the propitiation for our sins,” the sacrifice that fully satisfied God’s righteous judgement.

And He cleanses us “from all unrighteousness.” Sani’s sin had been carried out over eleven months, with planning and persistence. It was not a moment of weakness. Yet there is no category of sin that John excludes. The blood that cleanses one sin cleanses all. John even adds that Christ’s propitiation reaches “also for the sins of the whole world.” If His sacrifice is large enough for the whole world, it is large enough for you.

“My little children, these things write I unto you, that ye sin not. And if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father.” John is not casual about sin. His first aim is that believers do not sin. But he refuses to leave the fallen without hope. The believer who has sinned still has a Father, and still has an Advocate standing beside him, Jesus Christ the righteous.

This confidence rests entirely on Christ. It is no reward for being sorry enough. Many fallen believers try to earn their way back by the depth of their grief, as though God will forgive them once they have suffered enough. That turns repentance into penance. You do not need to punish yourself before God will receive you. You need to tell Him the truth and trust what Jesus has done.

So when Sani said, “I know God has forgiven me,” he was right, if his confession was genuine. The elders did not question that. What they questioned was the conclusion he drew from it.

God’s forgiveness is complete the moment we confess. The repair of what our sin has broken among people often takes much longer, and real repentance welcomes that work.

Sorrow that changes direction

Paul wrote to the Corinthians about a painful episode in their church. He had sent them a severe letter, calling them to deal with a serious wrong. Now he had heard how they responded, and he was overjoyed:

For godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation not to be repented of: but the sorrow of the world worketh death. For behold this selfsame thing, that ye sorrowed after a godly sort, what carefulness it wrought in you, yea, what clearing of yourselves, yea, what indignation, yea, what fear, yea, what vehement desire, yea, what zeal, yea, what revenge! In all things ye have approved yourselves to be clear in this matter.

Nugget

Paul distinguishes two kinds of sorrow. “Godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation not to be repented of: but the sorrow of the world worketh death.”

Worldly sorrow is grief at being caught. It is sorry about the consequences: the exposure, the embarrassment, the lost position. It may involve a great many tears. But it is fundamentally about oneself, and it does not change direction. Matthew tells us that after Judas saw that Jesus was condemned, he “repented himself” (Matthew 27:3). The word there means regret. Judas was filled with remorse, but he did not turn to the One he had betrayed. His sorrow ended in despair.

Godly sorrow is grief over the sin itself, because it has grieved God and harmed people. It produces repentance, the Greek metanoia, a change of mind that leads to a change of direction. And it is “not to be repented of.” Nobody ever looks back on real repentance and wishes they had not done it.

Then Paul describes what godly sorrow had produced in the Corinthians, and the list is worth reading slowly. Carefulness: an earnest concern to deal with the matter properly. Clearing of yourselves: an eagerness to put things right. Indignation: anger at the sin. Fear: a sober awareness of how serious it was. Vehement desire: a longing for restoration. Zeal: energy to act. Revenge: in the old English sense of seeing that justice was done.

That is what repentance looks like when it is real. It is active. Its question is, “What must I do to make this right?” and never, “What is the least I must do to make this go away?”

Sani’s question in the vestry, “Why can’t we just move on?”, was still the voice of a man who wanted the pain to stop. That is completely human. But it showed that his repentance had not yet reached the people his sin had touched.

The people on the other side of the wrong

In the same chapter Paul mentions, almost in passing, that there were two people at the centre of that painful affair: “his cause that had done the wrong” and “his cause that suffered wrong” (2 Corinthians 7:12). There was a victim in Corinth, and Paul had not forgotten him.

Much talk about restoring fallen believers forgets the people they hurt. The offender weeps, the church comforts him, and the harmed are quietly expected to get over it. That is a second injury dressed up as restoration.

Jesus said that if you bring your gift to the altar and remember that your brother has something against you, you should “first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift” (Matthew 5:24). Worship does not bypass wronged people. When Zacchaeus met Jesus, his repentance immediately reached the people he had cheated: “if I have taken any thing from any man by false accusation, I restore him fourfold” (Luke 19:8).

For Sani, this meant several costly things. He had to write to the pastor’s wife, the deacon and his wife, and the young woman and her fiancé, naming exactly what he had done and asking their forgiveness without demanding it. He had to post a clear retraction on the page itself, under his own name, before it was taken down, so that the lies were corrected in the place where they had spread. And he had to accept that some of the people he had hurt would need time.

That last point needs care. Those who have been harmed must never be pressured to forgive quickly, to meet the offender, or to pretend that nothing happened. “A brother offended is harder to be won than a strong city” (Proverbs 18:19). Forgiveness is theirs to give, often slowly, as God works in them. Reconciliation may take years, and in some cases it may never be fully safe or wise. Real repentance accepts that.

And where a wrong involves abuse, violence, exploitation of the vulnerable or a crime, it must never be handled quietly inside the church to protect a reputation. The proper authorities must be informed, those at risk must be made safe, and the harmed must be offered qualified help. Repentance before God does not cancel accountability before the law. A truly repentant person will not ask it to.

Restore such an one

Once the truth is told, mercy is received and the harmed are cared for, the church has a responsibility toward the one who fell. Paul tells the Galatians how to carry it out:

Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual, restore such an one in the spirit of meekness; considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted. Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.

“Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault.” The phrase suggests someone caught, seized by sin before he saw it coming, though it applies to deliberate sin too. Paul’s instruction is: “ye which are spiritual, restore such an one.”

The word restore is katartizo. It was used for mending fishing nets, and in medical writing for setting a broken bone. Both pictures are instructive. Mending a net takes patience; you work knot by knot. Setting a bone is painful, but the pain serves healing, and done carelessly it causes more damage. Restoration is skilled, gentle and purposeful work.

It is to be done “in the spirit of meekness; considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted.” The restorer is not superior. He knows he could fall too. A church that handles a fallen member with contempt, gossip or relish has forgotten that.

“Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.” The fallen believer is carrying a heavy load: shame, consequences, broken relationships, and often a deeper problem that led to the fall. The church helps to carry it.

Paul gave the same counsel about the offender in Corinth. Once the church had disciplined him and he had repented, Paul wrote that they “ought rather to forgive him, and comfort him, lest perhaps such a one should be swallowed up with overmuch sorrow,” and he urged them to “confirm your love toward him” (2 Corinthians 2:7-8). A church can sin by being too lax. It can also sin by being too harsh, and leave a repentant brother drowning in a sorrow he cannot climb out of.

Restored fellowship and public responsibility

This brings us to the heart of Sani’s question. If he was forgiven, why did he have to step down?

Because restored fellowship and restored responsibility are two different things. Paul makes this plain when he instructs Timothy about leaders in the church:

Against an elder receive not an accusation, but before two or three witnesses. Them that sin rebuke before all, that others also may fear. I charge thee before God, and the Lord Jesus Christ, and the elect angels, that thou observe these things without preferring one before another, doing nothing by partiality. Lay hands suddenly on no man, neither be partaker of other men’s sins: keep thyself pure.

Paul protects leaders from careless accusation, requiring two or three witnesses. But when sin is established, he does not hide it: “Them that sin rebuke before all.” And he warns Timothy, “Lay hands suddenly on no man.” The laying on of hands set people apart for ministry. Paul is saying: do not rush anyone into a position of trust.

The same principle appears in Paul’s qualifications for leaders. An overseer “must be blameless” (1 Timothy 3:2). Deacons must “first be proved; then let them use the office of a deacon, being found blameless” (1 Timothy 3:10). Leadership in the church rests on proven character, observed over time. That is why it cannot simply be restored by a night of prayer.

So the elders told Sani three things, and I believe they were right on each.

First, his fellowship was restored. He was a brother. That Sunday he received communion with the congregation, and nobody was permitted to treat him as an outcast.

Second, he would step down from leading the media unit and from any public role for a season. The purpose was protection: for the people he had hurt, who should not have to watch him on the platform the following week; for the church, which needed to see that sin among leaders is taken seriously; and for Sani himself, who needed time to deal with the bitterness that had driven him.

Punchline

Third, any future responsibility would come gradually, as trust was rebuilt and as the people he had hurt were heard.

Sincere believers differ on whether some failures permanently disqualify a person from particular offices, especially from pastoral leadership. Some point to the requirement of being “blameless” and believe certain sins, such as sexual misconduct by a pastor or the abuse of those in one’s care, should close that door for good. Others believe that, after long and proven repentance, a return to some form of leadership may be possible. Wise churches think carefully about the nature of the sin, whether it abused a position of trust, and the welfare of those harmed. What nearly all agree on is that immediate return is unwise. Where a leader’s sin involved exploiting people in his care, the bar for any future trust must be very high indeed.

There is hope in the New Testament for those who lose a role. John Mark abandoned Paul on his first missionary journey, and Paul refused to take him on the next one (Acts 15:37-39). Years later, Paul wrote from prison, “Take Mark, and bring him with thee: for he is profitable to me for the ministry” (2 Timothy 4:11). Trust can be rebuilt. It simply takes time, and faithfulness rebuilds it where insistence never could.

How Jesus restored Peter

No account of restoration would be complete without the morning on the shore of Galilee. On the night of Jesus’ arrest, Peter had denied Him three times while warming himself at “a fire of coals” (John 18:18). After the third denial, Luke tells us, “the Lord turned, and looked upon Peter,” and Peter “went out, and wept bitterly” (Luke 22:61-62).

After the resurrection, the angel’s message to the women included two small words that must have meant everything to Peter: “tell his disciples and Peter” (Mark 16:7). Jesus had not written him off.

Then, one morning by the lake, Peter came ashore to find Jesus standing beside “a fire of coals” (John 21:9). John uses the same rare word for that fire as he used in the courtyard. The smell of the smoke would have taken Peter straight back to his worst night. After breakfast, Jesus spoke to him:

So when they had dined, Jesus saith to Simon Peter, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me more than these? He saith unto him, Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee. He saith unto him, Feed my lambs. He saith to him again the second time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? He saith unto him, Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee. He saith unto him, Feed my sheep. He saith unto him the third time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? Peter was grieved because he said unto him the third time, Lovest thou me? And he said unto him, Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee. Jesus saith unto him, Feed my sheep.

Three denials, three questions. Jesus did not avoid the subject. He brought Peter back to the place of his failure, gently, and allowed him to answer each denial with a declaration of love. “Peter was grieved because he said unto him the third time, Lovest thou me?” It hurt. Setting a bone always hurts. But it healed.

And with each answer, Jesus gave him a charge: “Feed my lambs.” “Feed my sheep.” Peter’s restoration was personal before it was public, and it came from Jesus Himself.

Some might ask why Peter was restored to leadership so quickly, when the elders asked Sani to wait. The answer lies partly in the nature of the failure. Peter’s sin was a collapse of courage under pressure. It was grievous, but it did not involve exploiting or deceiving the people in his care. It also lies in who restored him. The Lord who knew Peter’s heart perfectly could commission him directly. We do not see hearts as Jesus does, which is why the church must rely on proven character over time. And even Peter’s restoration came after he had been through the fire. Jesus had told him beforehand, “when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren” (Luke 22:32). His fall became part of his ministry.

Growing after a fall

Restoration also means growing into someone who will not fall the same way again. David prayed, after his confession, “Then will I teach transgressors thy ways; and sinners shall be converted unto thee” (Psalm 51:13). Fallen and restored believers often become the most tender and wise helpers of others.

That growth usually involves going to the root. Sani’s lies were the fruit, and bitterness was the root. He had nursed a grievance over being passed over until it became contempt for those he blamed. Over the following year, with the help of a mature counsellor in the church, he faced that bitterness honestly, took it to God, and began to learn the habit of bringing disappointments into the light before they festered.

It also involves practical accountability. Sani gave a trusted elder access to his social media accounts for a season and met him every fortnight. He came to see it as the scaffolding a building needs while it is being repaired.

And it involves humility. A believer who has fallen and been restored knows something about himself that he did not know before. He no longer trusts in his own strength. He walks more carefully, judges others less quickly, and leans more heavily on grace.

Three years after that meeting in the vestry, the church held a thanksgiving service for the wedding of the young woman whose name Sani had damaged. She and her fiancé had come through. By then Sani had been serving quietly for over a year as an usher, standing at the door each Sunday, greeting people as they came in. The elders had offered to discuss his return to the media unit. He had asked them to wait. “I want to stand at the door a while longer,” he said.

At the reception the bride came over to his table. She had written to him, months earlier, to say that she forgave him. But this was the first time they had spoken face to face. She did not say much. She simply thanked him for the retraction he had posted, under his own name, which her fiancé’s family had seen. “It made it easier for them to believe me,” she said.

A few weeks later, a young man in the church was caught in a serious wrong of his own. The elders asked Sani whether he would sit with him. He did, and the young man told me afterwards, “He did not shout. He did not preach. He just told me what it was like, and what it would cost, and that God had not finished with me.”

That is what restoration looks like. It began with the truth, rested on Christ’s mercy, reached the people who were hurt, and allowed trust to be rebuilt slowly. And a man who fell became a man who could help others stand.

For reflection, practice and prayer

Teaching Companion

For Reflection

• When you have fallen, which has been your greater danger: minimising the sin, or being overwhelmed by it? How does 1 John 1:9-2:2 speak to that?
• Paul lists seven marks of godly sorrow in 2 Corinthians 7:11. Which of them do you find hardest? Why?
• Is there anyone you have hurt whom you have never tried to put things right with? What would a first step look like, without pressuring them?
• Why is it important to distinguish between restored fellowship and restored public responsibility? How does that protect both the fallen and the harmed?
• What do you learn from the way Jesus restored Peter by the fire of coals?

This Week

Read Psalm 51 slowly on the first day of this week, and John 21:1-19 on the second. Then spend some time alone with God and ask Him to show you any wrong you have not fully dealt with. Write it down in plain words, the way God would describe it. Confess it to Him, and thank Him for His forgiveness in Christ. If someone was harmed, write down what it would take to put it right, and decide on one step you can take this week, such as a letter, a repayment or a clear correction of something untrue. If the matter is serious, speak to a mature leader you trust about how to proceed wisely, and where anyone is at risk, act to make them safe.

A Prayer

Father, thank You that when I confess my sins, You are faithful and just to forgive me and to cleanse me from all unrighteousness. Thank You that Jesus is my Advocate and the propitiation for my sins. Give me the honesty to call my sin what You call it, and the courage to put right what I can. Give me a godly sorrow that changes my direction, not a worldly sorrow that only regrets the cost. Heal those I have hurt, and do not let me demand from them what only You can give. Make me patient while trust is rebuilt, and use even my failures to help others stand. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Truth received brings freedom. Truth believed establishes the heart.

Scripture quotations are from the King James Version. · Illustrations using first names only are composites unless stated otherwise.