Escaping Gravity: Bishops as Servants of Christ and His Church
Mosaic of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples in St. Peter’s Basilica, Vatican, Rome. Photo by Rob Birkbeck.
The following article is based upon the opening devotion given by Bishop Jeff Greenway at the April 2025 meeting of the Assembly of Bishops of the Global Methodist Church.
When a NASA or SpaceX rocket breaks through the gravitational pull of our atmosphere, it does so by generating thrust, an upward force, which is greater than the force of gravity pulling the rocket down. It takes incredible force to break free of gravity, whether we’re speaking figuratively or metaphorically. For all our collective church lives, we’ve been under the gravitational pull of our former connection. It held us in place and prevented us from spinning off in various directions, but over the last 8+ years, we built a ship to help us exit the gravitational pull of our former connection and head in a different direction as part of the Global Methodist Church.
Our convening General Conference provided the thrust needed for many of us to break free, but here we are—six months later—and I wonder: have we escaped the gravitational pull of our past?
I ask this because, even though the General Conference dramatically redefined the episcopacy, I find we often face the gravitational pull of the way bishops have operated in the past. I have a growing conviction it’s going to take intentionality on our part to continue a trajectory that frees us:
From becoming enmeshed in operational leadership—to modeling a depth of spiritual leadership.
From command-and-control management styles—to teaching and preaching sound doctrine to guide our movement.
From using our voices to issue virtue-signaling statements about various issues—to speaking with one voice while guarding and defending our faith.
From wielding power to protect the turf of our geographic, geopolitical conferences or regions—to exercising spiritual authority, in the context of relationship, across the whole church.
From bowing to the pressures of the various ethnicities and cultures we represent—to embracing unity in our diversity which is rooted in Kingdom values.
From wearing shiny pins and flowing vestments while carrying ornate crosiers—to daily emptying ourselves of the trappings of our office and using a towel and basin to serve those we lead.
From craving the adoration of the crowds—to setting the example of denying ourselves, taking up our cross daily, and following Jesus.
We've made progress, but I find the gravitational pull of what we (and by "we" I mean laity, clergy, and bishops) experienced as the episcopacy in our past is strong, and if we don't discipline ourselves to push away from what was, we will surrender to its pull, and it will kill what could be.
The gravitational pull is strong. Let me share some examples:
The day after our consecration in Costa Rica, my wife (Beth) and I were walking through the lobby of our hotel. It was just another day. As we walked, people said, “Good morning, Bishop,” “Have a good day, Bishop,” “It’s good to see you, Bishop.” I didn’t respond until Beth said, “You know they’re talking to you, don’t you?” Until that moment, I had largely walked through a hotel lobby in anonymity, but now almost everyone greeted me. The temptation to think we’re important can be intoxicating.
On November 1, 2024, I was in Nairobi, Kenya, on a mission trip with a team from the Allegheny West Conference the day our episcopal assignments were announced. It was 2:00 AM when my phone began to explode with messages of welcome and a flood of Facebook “friend” requests. Some were from people I’ve known for years, but others came from people I’ve never known. It seemed everyone wanted to be my “friend.” Being a bishop can be heady stuff—if we let it.
In the months that have followed, I’ve often been approached to insert myself in matters that are not in my purview. For example, I received an email from someone going around the conference superintendent because our former system taught us that if we can get the ear of the bishop, we could get what we want. If we act like bishops did in our past, we may be tempted to respond to the inquiry without consulting with the conference superintendent to get the context before responding. This triangulation can undermine the leadership of the conference superintendent. A more excellent way is to loop the conference superintendent into the conversation, get the context, provide some coaching if necessary, and then respond to the original inquiry— while copying the conference superintendent and allowing him or her to care for the issue at hand.
These are three of the many examples we can all name. If we’re honest, we must acknowledge we struggle because the gravitational pull feeds our egos—making it hard to break.
The questions I want us to ponder are: (1) Will we discipline ourselves to set the culture that helps us escape the gravity of our past to develop a distinctively different episcopacy? (2) Will we push against our people’s attempts to force us into what they knew—and help them break free from the past and exit that atmosphere once and for all?
These questions aren’t just about the role and function of bishops. They are about all clergy. I recently read a short article on social media by Rosario Picardo that described how shifts in the culture have impacted the church and influenced the function and role of a pastor. As I pondered his post, I made these observations:
Christendom and mainline institutionalism led to the rise of pastor-as-shepherd and religious paid professional as opposed to servant spiritual leader. This was the main thrust of seminary education in the US for decades. Is it any wonder many of our former bishops operated that way?
The Church Growth Movement led to the rise of pastor-as-CEO. The influence of Bill Hybels and the Willow Creek Leadership Summit focused on developing the pastor’s leadership gifts and often substituted business principles for the working and rule of the Spirit.
The Charismatic/Pentecostal Movement led to the rise of pastor-as-prophet and spiritual catalyst who spoke with impunity. This often resulted in pastors/leaders who appear to be inaccessible, unaccountable, and beyond questioning.
The Missional Movement led to pastors operating as missional leaders who did everything possible to make their message relevant to the culture, but often adulterated the faith once entrusted to the saints in the pursuit of relevance. They wanted to be on the right side of history instead of being in alignment with the Lord of history.
The Modern Church Planting Movement led to pastor-as-entrepreneur who often had a hard time living under ecclesial authority and accountability.
The Digital/Online Church Movement led to pastor-as-content-creator and digital shepherd, a role that sometimes elevated the personality of the content creator above the Creator.
It wouldn’t take us long to think of examples of each of these among pastors, leaders, and bishops we’ve known. Perhaps we can see these things within ourselves. We do so many things—often good things—but what is the greatest thing we could do to show the church we love that we have broken the gravitational pull of our past and have set a different course? What would Jesus say to us?
John 13 is a good place to start. It takes place on the last night of Jesus' life—when he washed the disciple's feet. What motivated Jesus to wash the disciples’ feet? I’ve often thought it was that he wanted to teach the disciples a lesson about leadership, but the first verse of John 13 shows us his motivation: “Having loved his own who were in the world—he loved them to the end.” Jesus was motivated by his love for them. He then put his love for them into action in the humblest of ways.
The evening meal was in progress… Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him(John 13:2-5).
He washed feet.
The roads in ancient Palestine during the time of Jesus were a mix of dust, open sewage, animal excrement, and other filth. Only the wealthy wore sandals, and the rest of the people, including the disciples, walked barefoot. By the time the disciples arrived at the upper room for the Passover meal, their feet would have been a science experiment. The basic hospitality of that day was to have someone at the door to wash feet as guests entered the room, but someone had forgotten to care for this basic act of hospitality.
Just imagine, the most powerful person in the room did the work of the lowliest of slaves. Jesus washed the filth off their feet—bringing it close to himself with the towel wrapped around his waist. That’s LOVE.
This act challenged the culture of the day where leaders were served, and it shocked his disciples—especially Peter who objected. After setting Peter straight and washing his feet as well, Jesus sat back down at the table and said: “Do you understand what I have done for you?...You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet—you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set an example that you should do as I have done for you” (John 13:12b-15) Jesus’ action held greater significance than the washing of dirty feet. It modeled the ideal of servant leadership in the Kingdom. He was the most powerful person in the room and set that privilege aside to serve.
If we want to lead like Jesus, the culture of the Kingdom must always trump the trappings of the culture. Jesus was the most powerful person in the room, but he led by serving.
I don’t think I will ever forget the sermon Mark Webb preached at the consecration service in Costa Rica—especially the part where he stepped away from the podium and spoke directly to those who were being consecrated and admonished us that we are not called to be served, but to serve. I don’t know how that impacted you, but his words struck my heart and soul like a bolt of lightning.
Knowing Mark, this didn’t surprise me. I’d gotten a glimpse of this from him a few weeks earlier when we were itinerating through the Allegheny West Conference. We were running late for our last event of the week, and I suggested that I drop him off at the door, go park the car, and bring his bag to him inside the building. He said, “We are not going to operate that way. I’ll carry my own bags.” He was signaling a different kind of episcopacy. It was a little thing that inspired me.
When Jesus washed his disciple’s feet and admonished them to serve rather than be served, he modeled perfect love—humble, selfless, sacrificial—agape love. In our tradition, perfect love is also called holiness, sanctification, going on to perfection. Jesus washed the disciples’ feet out of perfect love for them and as such was spreading scriptural holiness.
What does perfect love look like? It’s described by the Apostle Paul in his first letter to the Corinthians, chapter 13:
Love is patient, love is kind, and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account the wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails (1 Corinthians 13:4-8).
Substitute “Jesus” for “love” in the text to get a complete picture of what Jesus is like. The challenge to us comes when we try to substitute our own names in the same way. John is patient. Leah is kind. Mark is not jealous. Scott does not brag and is not arrogant. Kimba does not take into account the wrong suffered, Kenneth does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices in the truth. Jeff bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. ______ never fails. How are we doing? Are we leading and loving like Jesus? We have not yet attained perfection, but we are making progress.
Perfect love personified in our servant leadership is the key to breaking the gravitational pull of If we’re ever going to lead our movement in making disciples of Jesus Christ and spreading scriptural holiness across the globe—we need to escape the gravity of our past. Jesus modeled the way.
Paul described what Jesus did in this way:
In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross! (Philippians 2:5-8)
That night, when Jesus was washing their feet, little did they know what Perfect Love would endure in the next 18 hours—betrayal, denial, and desertion—arrest, trial, and condemnation—and crucified, dead, and buried Perfect Love would endure it all before he would rise and give us life.
How could Jesus do it? How could he empty himself? How could Jesus show perfect love? Jesus was only able to humble himself and wash the disciples’ feet, and obediently walk the way of the cross, because he was secure in who and whose he was. He knew he had come from God and was returning to God.
If we’re going to serve like Jesus—we need to remember who and whose we are.
As long as I can remember, my parents assured me of their love for me by speaking two phrases into my life on a regular basis. The first phrase helped shape my identity. They would say, “Jeff, remember who you are and who you belong to.” They wanted me to remember my identity. I am Jeff Greenway—Harold and Betty Jo’s oldest son. My dad freely gave me his family name with the reminder that it was a good name. No one in recent generations had done anything to bring shame or dishonor upon our family name. It was their desire I would give the name to my children better than I receive it. That is who I am—Jeff Greenway.
They were also reminding me that I belong to God. They were rehearsing the memory of my identity in Christ. They received me as a gift from God at my birth, and then presented me at the altar of the Beechview Methodist Church in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, for baptism. In their vows, they had given me back to God and pledged to do all in their power to raise me to respond to the grace offered for my salvation and sanctification. That is whom I belong to—I am God’s child.
The second phrase is longer, but it speaks to my life’s purpose. My mom has spoken these words into my life for as long as I can remember: “Jeff, you are a unique, unrepeatable miracle of God. There is no one else who is just like you, and this world will be lacking and incomplete unless or until you find your place in it and make your unique contribution to it.” That is what I’m called to do—to find my place and make my unique contribution.
Do you want to break the gravity of our former movement? Remember who and whose you are—and let it shape your life. Remember, you are a unique, unrepeatable miracle of God. There is no one else who is just like you, and this world will be lacking and incomplete unless or until you find your place in it and make your unique contribution to it.
One last thing: I can remember listening to Dr. Dennis Kinlaw talking about the servant leadership of Jesus. Dr. Kinlaw said that as Jesus walked the way of the cross, he never asked: “What’s in it for me?” He never asked, “How will I look?” And he never said, “I deserve better than this.” Those are the kinds of things the entitled say—not servants who embody perfect love.
Perhaps we need to take a cue from Jesus. The strength needed to break the gravitational pull of self-interest will not be found in the office we hold or adoring crowds—it’s in the grace we’ve received and the relationship we share with God.
Jeff Greenway is a bishop of the Global Methodist Church and Conference Superintendent of the Allegheny West Annual Conference.