In 1 Samuel 8, Israel asks the priest Samuel to appoint a king. Up to this point, Israel had been governed by judges because God was their king. Though God warned the nation against placing a human king over themselves, He made allowances for it. He said:
“When you come to the land that the Lord your God is giving you, and you possess it and dwell in it and then say, ‘I will set a king over me, like all the nations that are around me,’ you may indeed set a king over you whom the Lord your God will choose.”
— Deuteronomy 17:14–15
It seems to me that God’s original design was not for people to be ruled by a singular authority. Even in the first chapter of Genesis (“Let us make mankind in our image…”), we see that God is not a solitary ruler. Scripture reveals mutual submission within the Trinity—between the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Nevertheless, we are quick to ask for a king—a singular figure to lead and rule.
This hierarchical model of leadership is embedded in the fabric of our society. Nearly every business or organization in the developed world has a CEO, a board chair, a president—someone at the top. This is just how things work. But there are alternative models. And they do work.
In 2020, I helped lead a merger between two churches. Each had a lead pastor. Naturally, the question arose: Who would become the lead pastor? Who would be second in command? But we proposed something different: a co-pastor model. Equal leadership. Shared responsibility.
Many told us this was a “cute idea,” but it wouldn’t last. Eventually, one of us would emerge as the real leader. Because in the 21st century, leadership is often imagined as a solo act. And outside of marriage, there’s not much precedent for co-leadership in pastoral ministry.
We live in a deeply individualistic world. Our culture idolizes personal success, independence, and self-made achievement. “I” worked hard for what “I” have. Even the American Dream is built on the idea that I can climb a ladder and someday be the boss. In nearly every area of life, this hierarchy shows up.
And in this model, submission becomes a dirty word—a sign of weakness. Leaders may be accountable to a board or a congregation, but typically, they hold the reins. They set the vision. They carry the weight. Even the best of them do it alone.
But David—my co-pastor—and I chose a different path. We committed to lead together. We worked with a spiritual director to establish a strong foundation, and we entered into this partnership as equals. Five years later, we’re still here.
To be honest, I don’t think I’d still be in ministry without David. We support each other, tackle difficult decisions together, and share the burden of leadership. We set vision, lead meetings, preach, visit hospitals, plan services, and handle administrative tasks—together.
Yes, we have different strengths and personalities. (Interestingly, we share the same Myers-Briggs type: ENFP.) Over time, our roles have blurred. We started with distinct lanes, but ministry doesn’t always respect lanes. There’s overlap. And that’s okay. Because we’ve found that different people resonate with different voices. Just like children thrive when they have strong relationships with both parents, our church is stronger with two pastors sharing the load.
One of the key reasons this works is because shared leadership keeps our egos in check. In a traditional model, it’s easy for a leader to start believing their own press—to assume they’re the indispensable one. But when you lead alongside someone as an equal, there’s no room for that. David and I do a good job of encouraging each other—and also cutting each other down when we need it. In love, of course. We challenge each other, laugh at ourselves, and make sure neither of us drifts into self-importance. The relationship itself becomes a kind of accountability.
We’ve discovered that mutual submission doesn’t weaken leadership—it strengthens it. Because we’re not fighting to be the loudest or most important voice in the room, we make better decisions. Our people trust that no single personality is driving the church. And we trust each other enough to call out ego when it starts to creep in.
David and I lead as equals. We don’t make major decisions without each other. It’s not always efficient. It’s slower. It takes more conversation, more discernment, more trust. But it’s sustainable. And it’s shaped our church in beautiful ways.
Five years in, neither of us has burned out or checked out. And that may be the greatest testimony to the power—and humility—of shared leadership.