1 Kings 1 records the story of Solomon ascending to the throne of Israel as David’s successor. As David grew old and had not yet named a successor, Adonijah conspired to seize the throne for himself. A significant number of high-ranking officials in David’s administration joined the plot. One characteristic of power is that it is not easily surrendered.
David, the center of their power structure, had become a frail old man—so weakened that even lying beside a young woman stirred no desire in him. If they wished to maintain their influence, the only viable path was to rally around a younger, capable leader who still possessed Davidic legitimacy. David’s era seemed to be fading; Adonijah’s seemed poised to begin. But the moment David publicly declared Solomon as his successor, the tide turned. The new center of power in the royal court became Solomon.
When a CEO fails to retire at the appropriate time, organizational instability is almost inevitable. Schemes that were never imagined can quietly develop beneath the surface. Sadly, the church is no exception. When a pastor does not step down at the right time, not only does his influence base weaken, but unhealthy maneuvering may also begin.
In 2018, prior to his retirement, Bill Hybels announced two successors who would lead Willow Creek Community Church. Heather Larson, named as senior pastor, had served alongside Hybels for over 20 years and was appointed Executive Pastor in 2013, serving effectively as second in command. Steve Carter, appointed Lead Teaching Pastor, had been mentored by Hybels for fifteen years and had shared preaching responsibilities with him since 2013.
In 1 Kings 19, God gives Elijah three final assignments while the prophet trembles in fear. One of them is to anoint Elisha as his successor. When Elijah finds Elisha, he is plowing a field with oxen. Elijah throws his cloak over him—a symbolic transfer of prophetic authority and calling. After saying farewell to his parents, Elisha slaughters his oxen, burns the yoke as firewood, cooks the meat, and distributes it to the people. He eliminates any possibility of returning to his former life. There is no fallback plan—only wholehearted commitment to prophetic ministry.
What is striking is that Elisha never applied to a prophetic search committee. Elijah designated him under God’s guidance. Moses appointed Joshua. David appointed Solomon. Of course, none of these men would have been chosen had they lacked the capacity to receive public affirmation. When Hybels named a 42-year-old single woman as his successor, Willow Creek did not waver. The congregation trusted that the founding leader—who knew the church’s DNA better than anyone—would not appoint someone the people could not affirm.
2 Kings 2 captures Elijah’s final moments. Elijah and Elisha travel from Gilgal to Bethel, to Jericho, and to the Jordan—essentially retracing in reverse the route Joshua once took into the Promised Land. Their journey becomes a living testimony to God’s fulfilled promises. Along the way, they repeatedly meet communities of prophetic disciples. Just before Elijah is taken up to heaven, his final ministry focus is on the next generation of leaders. One cannot help but hear an echo of Paul’s solemn charge to Timothy: entrust what you have heard to faithful people who will also be qualified to teach others.
At the NACIE ’94 North American Conference for Itinerant Evangelists, Billy Graham made a statement I will never forget:
“My ministry is a failure. By God’s grace, I was able to preach the gospel on a scale no one had ever done before. But I did not produce someone who could continue this work on the same scale or greater. My ministry is a failure. Do not repeat my failure.”
Just days ago, I read a sentence so striking that I memorized it. Yet perhaps I am aging—I cannot remember which book it came from. The sentence was this:
“Failing to raise a successor is a failure of leadership.”
Thanksgiving is gratitude for the harvest. The ultimate harvest of ministry is not merely what I accomplish, but whether I raise someone who can do what I did—better and more effectively than I ever could.