In medical ministry, one principle stands out as both essential and often neglected—the principle of being equally yoked. As a physician dedicated to combining medicine and ministry, I’ve experienced the challenges and the blessings that come when this principle is either ignored or embraced. The Bible counsels us not to be unequally yoked, and this advice is just as relevant to our professional lives as it is to personal relationships.
To be equally yoked means sharing the same vision, methods, goals, and spiritual foundation. It means working alongside others who are committed not only to healing the body but also to reaching souls for Christ. In my journey, I’ve learned firsthand how vital it is to be united in purpose—and how painful the consequences can be when that unity is absent.
The Search for Medical Evangelism
After completing my residency in Family Medicine and passing the boards, I traveled across the country, visiting more than ten different Adventist practices, clinics, and hospitals. Each one offered enticing opportunities—high salaries (often in the 90th percentile for family medicine), excellent benefits, modern offices, and manageable call schedules. On the surface, they had everything a young physician could want. But under the surface, I found something missing.
These practices… were built on a commercial model of medicine. Ministry was… a veneer
These practices, while led by dedicated Seventh-day Adventist physicians, were built on a commercial model of medicine. Ministry, if mentioned at all, was more of an overlay—a veneer that didn’t penetrate the foundation. There was no language for true medical evangelism, no plan for soul-winning, and no heart for reaching patients beyond clinical care. When I asked the physicians I was visiting questions about how ministry was integrated into patient care, I was told, “This is just how it is today. Get used to it.”
It was difficult to hear, especially after investing so much time and energy searching for a place that took seriously the sacred work of healing and salvation. I felt isolated, discouraged, and disillusioned. I faced inner conflict—the tension between the comfortable path laid before me and the conviction that I could not settle for less than the high calling of medical evangelism. I began to wonder if I would ever find a place that shared this vision, and the pressure to conform was intense. There were financial implications, peer pressure, and the quiet judgment of others who thought I was unrealistic. But I could not ignore the call of conscience. This was not just about a job; it was about a mission.
That advice didn’t sit well with me.
A Promising Partnership
Eventually, I met two Seventh-day Adventist physicians who, like me, dreamed of combining medicine and ministry in a meaningful way. They asked what I was looking for, and when I shared my vision, they excitedly told me it matched theirs. I was thrilled. I chose to work with them, even taking a one-third pay cut because I believed we would pursue true medical evangelism together. These men became my partners and close friends. I looked forward to learning from them—how to be a great doctor, a successful businessman, and a faithful medical missionary.
But challenges soon emerged.
The staff hired in our office were either not Christian at all, or they were Christians of other denominations, and they did they understand or support the principles of medical evangelism that I sought to practice. Though kind and well-meaning, they weren’t equipped to minister to patients or uphold the spiritual message we sought to share.
The Impact of Being Unequally Yoked
One day, a grieving woman came to my office, broken and hopeless. She believed her deceased husband was in purgatory, suffering, and she was consumed with guilt and sorrow. She feared he was burning in torment while she continued on earth, which overwhelmed her with despair. I first addressed her immediate medical needs, providing appropriate care, therapy recommendations, and prescriptions to help manage her depressive symptoms. After ensuring she was comfortable and stabilized, I gently asked if she would be open to hearing a biblical perspective on what happens when someone dies. She agreed, so I shared the truth from Scripture about the state of the dead. As she listened to the clear words of the Bible, tears of relief streamed down her face—her despair turned to joy as she realized her husband was resting in peace, not suffering. She was discharged from my room with the burden lifted, and her hope was restored.
In the hallway, she encountered one of our staff members who was not a Seventh-day Adventist and who noticed the remarkable change in her demeanor. I heard the staff member ask what had brought about such a difference. The patient innocently and joyfully shared the Bible truth that had transformed her, and the staff member responded, “That’s not true. That doesn’t exist.” At that moment, the patient’s joy was deflated, and the spiritual work I had done was undermined.
In another case, a patient told me they loved me as their physician and appreciated all I had done for them, but they would never return to my office—not because of my care, but because of the unkind treatment they received from our front desk staff. Again, the lack of shared mission led to mixed messages and, ultimately, to a loss.
Despite my efforts to bring forward ideas for medical evangelism, every proposal was ignored. One day, I met with my partners and asked directly, “What direction are we taking as a practice?” Their response stunned me: “You’re making good money and not working too hard. If we were you, we’d stay quiet and just keep working.”
“You’re making good money and not working too hard. If we were you, we’d just stay quiet and keep working.”
It was a betrayal of everything we had agreed upon. I quit on the spot—without another job lined up. My partners were visibly flustered, caught off guard that I would take such a strong stand, especially in light of the income I was earning. They asked if I had another offer waiting or a backup plan in place. I told them I did not. I had no job lined up, no safety net, and no clear path forward. Yet, my response was immediate, driven by conviction, not by preparation. I looked them in the eyes and said, “I don’t love the science of medicine enough to continue it if I can not do medical evangelism.”
The Cost of Commitment
What followed was a season of hardship. My family was forced to move three times in just six months, uprooting our household repeatedly with little stability or certainty about the future. Both of our vehicles, previously in excellent condition, suffered catastrophic engine failures and blew their engines within the same week, leaving us without reliable transportation for essential duties like night calls, ER visits, OB care, and hospital rounds. The financial strain was immediate and heavy, compounded by unexpected expenses and the loss of promised benefits from the practice I had left. My former partners, who had once been my friends, avoided me at work, church, and community, refusing to walk down the same hallway with me. Church members I once counted as allies gave me the side eye, influenced by my former partners’ silent withdrawal. Criticism from family came swiftly; one even pointed a finger in my face and called me a fool for leaving such a lucrative position for the sake of ministry. The isolation and pressure were immense and the sense of abandonment profound.
Yet, in the midst of this, God intervened.
One day, I received a postcard asking if I wanted to work with pastors in a small community—offering medical care while helping people know Jesus. The only condition: I would need to take a pastor’s salary. After prayer and soul-searching, my wife and I agreed. We moved to the Pacific Northwest for what would become the most fulfilling six years of my career.
I worked side-by-side with a pastor, equally yoked in our mission. We ministered to the community, cared for the sick, and led souls to Christ. Despite challenges, we knew we were exactly where God wanted us to be.
A Lesson for the Future
When I shared this journey and my new position with other physicians, many responded with polite disinterest. Working on a pastor’s wage to serve a higher mission wasn’t appealing. “That’s fine for you,” they’d say, “but it’s not for me.” And yet, I knew what I had experienced was a rare and precious gift.
I’ve had offers since—high-paying, low-effort roles—but I know now that if the mission is not aligned, if the partners and staff are not equally yoked in ministry, it will not fulfill the calling God has placed on my life.
Why It Matters
Being equally yoked is not just a nice idea—it is essential. When we are united in purpose, we can build something enduring. Patients receive consistent messages of hope. Staff serve with compassion. The practice becomes more than a business; it becomes a ministry.
I share this story not to criticize but to warn and encourage. If you are called to medical ministry, seek partners and staff who share your vision. Don’t be afraid to walk away from lucrative opportunities if they compromise your mission. Trust that God will provide, because He will.
Being equally yoked brings unity, clarity, and purpose. Without it, there is frustration, betrayal, and missed opportunities. I pray those who come after me will learn from my journey—and avoid the mistakes and heartaches I faced—by embracing this vital principle from the start.
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