I am not officially involved now in the direction of the Teen

David Wilkerson once said with the voice of humility and thanksgiving: "I am not officially involved now in the direction of the Teen Challenge ministry, but I rejoice that God permits me to be the father of these ministries." In these words, we hear the heart of a man who understood that true legacy is not measured by power or control, but by the seed one plants that continues to grow long after his hands have left the soil. He speaks as one who had stepped back from the daily guidance of the work, yet still felt profound joy at being the spiritual father of a movement that had changed countless lives.

The origin of this statement lies in Wilkerson’s founding of Teen Challenge in 1958. He was a young pastor from Pennsylvania who followed God’s call to reach the gangs and drug addicts of New York City. His journey began with a simple act of obedience, and it grew into a worldwide ministry of rehabilitation and spiritual renewal. By the time he uttered these words, the ministry had already taken on a life of its own, guided by new leaders, yet still rooted in the vision God had first given him. His joy was not in holding the reins, but in knowing the mission lived on, blessed by God.

History offers us echoes of this truth. Moses, after leading Israel through the wilderness, did not enter the Promised Land himself, yet rejoiced in knowing that Joshua would lead the people forward. George Washington, too, after guiding a young America through its birth, stepped down willingly, content to see the nation carry on beyond him. So too did Wilkerson—recognizing that to be a father of a work is not to cling to it forever, but to release it so that it may flourish under the hand of God and the labor of others.

His words also reveal the essence of fatherhood in ministry: it is not domination, but nurturing; not ownership, but stewardship. To be called the “father” of Teen Challenge was not a title of pride for Wilkerson, but of gratitude. He understood that the work was never his, but God’s. He was but the instrument, the vessel through which the Spirit birthed a movement. In rejoicing, he shows us that true joy comes not from claiming credit, but from watching others continue the mission faithfully.

There is also a reminder here about the seasons of life and calling. No one can lead forever. Every leader, no matter how strong, must one day step aside. But if the work is rooted in God’s purpose, it will endure. Wilkerson rejoiced because he knew that his labor had borne lasting fruit, that the ministry no longer depended upon him alone, but had become a living body sustained by the Spirit and by countless others who had caught the vision. This is the true test of leadership: that the work continues after you are gone.

For us, the lesson is clear: seek not to be the perpetual ruler of what you build, but to be the faithful father or mother who plants, waters, and then releases. Do not clutch your legacy with fear, but entrust it to God, rejoicing that you were allowed to play even a small part in His grand design. If you are called to lead, lead with humility; if you are called to found, build with the intent to pass on.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, learn from David Wilkerson’s heart. Rejoice not in power, but in the fruit of faithfulness. Strive to create works that endure beyond you, to raise up others who will carry the mission forward, to sow seeds that will bloom when you are gone. For in the end, the greatest title is not master, nor ruler, nor even leader—but father or mother of a vision that continues to give life to the generations that follow. And this, indeed, is a crown that time cannot take away.