Bedtime Biographies
I love reading biographies. Over the years, though, they have been pushed out of my reading lineup by more pressing matters. Pastoral ministry is, in part, a journey of lifelong learning, and each new season of ministry or new issue moves “more pressing matters” higher on the list.
Wanting to grow in biblical counseling, I spent months reading the best books I could find. A desire to have conversations with people in our church about gender and sexuality led me to books in that area. Watching the culture around us fall headlong into debates about nationalism has sent me down that rabbit hole.
But with the new year, I decided to get back into a practice that I haven’t done in a while: the nightstand book stack. And because I am a Baptist, I am calling it “Bedtime Biographies.” It won’t be a hard and fast rule that I will only read biographies before bed, but I have several I want to get to, and this seemed like the best time to do it.
The first one I tackled proved more helpful than I realized it was going to be. It is not a biography in the strict sense of the word and could be categorized as an ecclesiography. Caleb Morell wrote a history of Capitol Hill Baptist Church in Washington, D.C. titled A Light on the Hill: The Surprising Story of How a Local Church in the Nation's Capital Influenced Evangelicalism. It is quite surprising. It’s about a specific church, but it’s also about the church. I think you should read it, but this article isn’t meant to be a review of the book, so I will spare you the details.
Rather, I want to share why I find it helpful to read biographies in general.
History Corrects Our Anxiety
First, biographies are a good reminder that we are not the first Christians to walk through hard times. As much as the word “unprecedented” was thrown around during COVID, A Light on the Hill reminded me that the church has navigated similar situations in the past. During the 1918 outbreak of the Spanish flu, churches were asked not to gather. Morell shared several pages of the struggles D.C. pastors had in leading their congregations through that struggle.
Reading about their debates over public health, gathering restrictions, and the spiritual welfare of their flock was oddly comforting. It reminded me that the “unprecedented” is usually only unprecedented to us. The church has been here before. We often feel as though the sky is falling on our particular generation, but history gently corrects us. It reminds us that the sky has stayed firmly in place through wars, plagues, persecutions, and cultural collapses because Christ is holding it up.
When we see how our forefathers navigated the murky waters of their own cultural moments—making hard calls when the “right” answer wasn’t obvious—it lowers the temperature of our own anxiety. It reminds us that Jesus didn’t just build His church in theory; He has sustained it in reality for two thousand years. If He walked them through the Spanish Flu, He will walk us through whatever the next crisis may be. We are not the first to weep, we are not the first to worry, and we are not the first to need wisdom beyond our own.
The Gift of the Long View
Second, biographies give us the benefit of the long view. In the daily grind of ministry—or just the daily grind of the Christian life—we often live with our noses pressed against the glass. We see the immediate trials, the current conflicts, and the unanswered prayers of the present moment. We see the budget shortfall, the family leaving the church, or the heavy counseling case that seems to have no resolution. Because we are trapped in the “now,” we often lack the perspective to see what God is doing. We don’t know how the chapter ends.
But when you read a biography, you are given the gift of God’s-eye perspective. You get to see the full arc of providence. You see how a crushing disappointment in a saint’s twenties was actually the very tool God used to prepare them for a massive work in their fifties. You see how a theological controversy that seemed like it would destroy a friendship was later the forge that strengthened it.
Ecclesiographies like A Light on the Hill do this corporately. You see how a church’s lean years were not a death sentence, but a pruning process for future fruitfulness. You realize that what looked like a “dead end” in 1950 was actually a detour toward a greater blessing in 1960. Seeing the “end of the matter” in the lives of others helps us trust the Lord in the middle of the matter in our own lives. It teaches us to hold our current discouragements loosely, knowing that God is rarely done writing the story when we think He is.
Biographies Humanize Our Heroes
Third, biographies humanize our heroes. It is easy to look at the giants of the faith—whether they are famous preachers, missionaries like David Brainerd, or the founders of our own institutions—and assume they were cut from a different cloth than we are. We assume they didn’t struggle with petty insecurities, bouts of anger, or seasons of spiritual dryness. We put them on pedestals, which only serves to make our own stumbling efforts feel more pathetic by comparison.
But a good biography (and certainly an honest history of a local church) strips away the varnish. We see that great men and women of God were also sinners in desperate need of grace. We read about their bad decisions, their blind spots, and the times they hurt people they loved. We see churches that we revere today making foolish mistakes in their past.
Far from being discouraging, I find this incredibly hopeful. It reminds me that God uses crooked sticks to draw straight lines. If He could use them—with all their baggage, frailty, and mixed motives—He can certainly use us. It kills the idol of perfectionism that plagues so many pastors. We realize that the requirement for ministry is not being a “super-saint,” but being a faithful servant who keeps repenting and keeps showing up.
Redefining What Is Pertinent
Finally, reading biographies redefines what is “pertinent” to ministry. This brings me back to my original hesitation. As I looked at my nightstand, A Light on the Hill felt like a luxury. It felt like a hobby. I assumed that the books on biblical counseling were “work” and the book on church history was “play.” I thought that to be a faithful pastor in this season, I needed technical manuals on the immediate fires burning in our culture—books on gender, sexuality, and politics. And to be clear, we do need those resources. We need to be sharpened in those areas.
But I found that while the technical books gave me information, the biography gave me courage.
The books on specific issues told me what to think, but the story of God’s faithfulness to a local church told me how to endure. I realized that wisdom is not just about having the right answers to cultural questions; it is about having the spiritual fortitude to stay the course when the culture turns against you.
In reading about the highs and lows of Capitol Hill Baptist Church, I found wisdom and counsel that I didn’t know I needed. I found myself taking notes not on “strategy,” but on patience. I found myself praying differently for my own church—not just for our immediate success, but for our long-term fidelity. The “counsel” I received from the past was that ministry is a marathon, not a sprint. It reminded me that the most “productive” thing I can do is often not to fix every problem immediately, but to faithfully teach the Word and love the people, trusting that the same God who built a church on Capitol Hill is building one here in our community.
So, if your nightstand is looking a little empty, or if it is currently stacked with books on the pressing debates of the day, consider making room for a biography. You might feel like you don’t have time for the past because the present is too loud. But I have found that the best way to prepare for the future is to spend a few quiet evenings looking at the past.
We need the technical manuals, yes. But we also need the stories. We need the reminder that we are part of a long line of faithful men and women who have run this race before us. We need to look at their scars and their crowns and hear them say, “Press on. He is faithful.” That is a lesson that is always pertinent, no matter what pressing matters are on the list.
Aaron Batdorf
Aaron was born in Pottstown, PA but after attending Lock Haven University, God opened a door for ministry with Big Woods. Aaron is married to Brianna, and they have two children, Zadok "Zae", and Eleanor. Except for a year and a half away for education, Aaron and Brianna have been in Lock Haven since college and enjoy the outdoors, coffee, sitting on the porch, reading, and helping people follow Jesus faithfully by applying God's Word to all of life. Aaron has a burden to see people grasp the deep things of God and teaching others to go and do likewise through discipleship. Aaron earned his PhD at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary.
