“THE HUSBAND OF ONE WIFE” — LAW, GRACE, AND THE MEN GOD USES

I am a preacher. I have been a preacher since I was a boy. And I have been a sinner for just as long.

Holding those two truths together has not been easy. Calling and failure make uneasy companions; they rub against each other, expose each other, refuse to stay neatly separated. I have had to learn—slowly, painfully, honestly.

One of the places I have failed most visibly is in marriage. I have been married three times; I have been divorced twice; I have been annulled once. The three women I was privileged to marry were absolute queens—good, kind, patient, strong. They deserved someone far better than I was. Nobody’s perfect, but they were far closer to perfect than I even thought about being. The failures were my fault, not theirs. Period. I failed. I sinned. I am not proud of it. I do not minimize it. But I do not hide from it. Not anymore, anyway. I own it. And by the mercy of God, I am not the same man I once was (2 Corinthians 5:17).

And I am not single as an act of penance. If I choose to marry again—and if I find someone who would willingly share that life with me—I will do so without apology. I have studied the Scriptures carefully, and I reject legalistic conclusions that go beyond what the text will bear. I have written on these things; the articles are there, and I am willing to defend them. I would not marry to make a point, nor remain single to make one.

I know this much: if I do it again, I will do it rightly—not because I am flawless, but because I am no longer the man I was. I don’t necessarily blame you if you don’t believe that or even if you want to mock it. But it’s true. I really am different. And the reason is Christ Jesus.

So the question comes, sometimes whispered, sometimes spoken plainly: Why are you still preaching? Preachers are supposed to be “the husband of one wife.”

I offer no clever defense—only a Pauline one. I preach because the gospel is for sinners, and if sinners are disqualified from proclaiming it, then the church will soon fall silent. I have as much right to preach as any man who has been redeemed by Christ, because the authority is not in my résumé but in the message itself (1 Corinthians 1:23).

When Paul writes that an elder or pastor (we can discuss exactly what “office” he’s talking about later) must be “the husband of one wife” (1 Timothy 3:2; Titus 1:6), there are certain things the text cannot mean—no matter how often it is wielded like a blunt instrument.

It cannot mean that a man must be married. If it does, then Jesus Himself is disqualified. So is the apostle Paul. Can you imagine Paul—an apostle over many churches—laying down qualifications that would exclude himself from serving as an elder in a local congregation? That he could plant churches, correct elders, rebuke Peter to his face, but could not shepherd a single flock because he did not have a wife? Believe that if you can; I never really have. And certainly do not now.

Nor can it mean that a divorced man has “living wives.” I am told sometimes that I do. Where are they? As I understand it, I am single. Divorced—yes. But single. I have no wife.

When I have asked, rather pointedly, since I have “living wives,” whether I am therefore free to have marital relations with my former wives—if I could persuade them—the answer is, of course, no. And rightly so. But if they are still my wives, why not? The logic collapses in the mirror of its own lack of anything resembling real logic. I do not have a wife.

Paul was addressing polygamy—a real, present issue in the ancient world. One woman. Faithful. Not a man with divided loyalties, divided affections, divided households. That is the point.

Even if someone disagrees with me, they cannot be dogmatic about it—because the text does not allow for dogmatism. No one can prove, beyond question, that Paul meant what later legalisms insist that he meant.

And that brings us to the deeper issue. The qualifications for pastors were never intended to be read as a cold legal checklist. If they are, then no man qualifies. Paul also says an elder must be “able to teach.” Teach what? Perfectly? Without ever being corrected? Without blind spots? Without growth?

He “must manage his household well”—does that mean every child must always believe rightly, behave rightly, and never stray? If so, God Himself would be disqualified as a Father, for His children rebel constantly (Isaiah 1:2).

He must not be quick-tempered—how quick is quick? Not greedy—how much is too much. Well thought of by outsiders—which outsiders, and at what moment in time? Taken woodenly, legalistically, these qualifications do not produce humble shepherds; they produce either hypocrites or cowards.

But lo and behold, when it comes to all these other qualifications, we suddenly want to live by principles rather than by ironclad rules. We allow wisdom, discernment, context, and charity to guide us—except at the one point where failure is most visible and easiest to police.

I am a preacher. If your sect, your customs, or your traditions do not allow me to preach to you, that is fine—truly, no hard feelings. The gospel has never lacked for ears, and I will always find someone willing to hear it preached.

The tragedy is that divorce is visible. Other sins are easier to hide. So we quietly tolerate pride, harshness, lovelessness, prayerlessness, and biblical ignorance—while disqualifying men whose repentance is written in plain sight. Jesus reserved His harshest words not for broken men, but for religious ones who strained out gnats and swallowed camels (Matthew 23:24).

I’m not condemning you, I’m not judging you, I’m not your enemy. You do you. Go where your convictions lead. But don’t try to bind them on me. I’ll decide how I serve God in my own life.

None of this excuses my failures. Grace is not denial. Repentance is not revisionist history. But neither is the church served by pretending that God only uses men with tidy stories. If that were true, Abraham, David, Peter, and Paul would all be sidelined. God has always written straight with crooked lines (2 Corinthians 4:7).

I preach not because I am worthy, but because Christ is. I preach not as a man who has arrived, but as one who has been forgiven much—and therefore loves much (Luke 7:47). If that disqualifies me with you, then so be it. But I cannot find such a gospel in the New Testament. And I’m not going to let you put it there for me.

The church does not need fewer wounded preachers pretending to be whole; it needs more redeemed sinners telling the truth about grace.

So I will keep preaching. Not in defiance, not in bitterness, not to prove a point—but because I am called, forgiven, and compelled by the grace of God.

I will preach as a man who knows his own weakness and therefore trusts wholly in Christ’s strength; as a sinner saved by mercy, not a trophy of moral achievement.

I will preach Christ crucified—again and again—because the church does not need flawless messengers but faithful ones, and the gospel does not rest on the perfection of the preacher but on the power of the cross (1 Corinthians 1:18).

Until the Lord Himself tells me to be silent, I will open my mouth, open the Scriptures, and tell the old story to anyone who will listen.

I will lead where I am invited, shepherd where I am trusted, guide and counsel where I am needed. I am no longer driven by position or title, but by service. I am different now—humbled, teachable, and resolved—and no one can take that from me. And I am excited about the changes Christ has made in me. I will not apologize for them.

By the grace of God, I will spend whatever days I have left helping, healing, and pointing others to Christ, content to serve in whatever way love requires (Mark 10:45).

And I encourage you, no matter who you are or what you have done, to come to the cleansing fountain of God‘s grace and do the same thing in your life.

BDD