When leadership listens, and when it doesn’t
I once asked someone why they hadn’t voiced their frustration to the senior pastor. Just for clarity’s sake, I gently asked, “Did you ever tell him how you feel?”
He shook his head. “He won’t listen to me. Told me it’s his decision and that’s that.”
That phrase stuck with me: he won’t listen to me. Not just because it revealed a closed door, but because I’ve probably been on the receiving end of that same accusation myself. I’m not exempt. There are likely people who’ve walked away from conversations with me thinking the same thing. That’s hard to admit — but necessary.
The saddest part? That whole situation could’ve been avoided. In fact, it could have been a teaching moment — a space for growth, grace, and guidance. But it became another notch on the long list of silent disappointments people carry with them.
A Verse That Hangs in My Study (well mancave)
These days, Jeremiah 3:15 hangs on my wall:
“Then I will give you shepherds after My own heart, who will feed you with knowledge and understanding.”
(Jeremiah 3:15, CEV)
That verse isn’t a badge of pride. It’s a reminder — a daily gut-check. It tells me that pastoral leadership isn’t about hierarchy or control. It’s about wisdom. Understanding. Shepherding. It’s not just about declaring decisions but about explaining them. Not just what we do, but why we do it.
That’s not weakness — that’s Christlike leadership. That’s how trust is built. That’s how hearts are won.
Don’t Die on That Hill
I still remember the phone call years ago, in the thick of a difficult season in ministry. “Stuart,” someone said gently but firmly, “don’t die on that hill.” At the time, they were trying to help — trying to steer me away from a conflict that felt costly and unnecessary.
And yes, there’s wisdom in choosing your battles. Not every hill is worth dying on. But some are.
Calvary was.
Jesus didn’t die on that hill to win an argument. He died to win us. He didn’t cling to reputation or silence the inconvenient. He didn’t self-protect. He surrendered. He bore the weight of our sin, including our pride, our failures, and our unwillingness to listen.
That image of Christ crucified shapes how I want to lead. Not fighting every battle — but never running from the ones that matter.
Conflict Isn’t the Enemy — Avoidance Is
Let’s be honest: most of us, especially in church leadership, don’t enjoy conflict. We avoid it. We minimise it. We smooth it over with platitudes or spiritualise it out of existence.
But sometimes what we call “peacekeeping” is actually just avoidance.
And that avoidance can be costly. Relationships fracture. Trust erodes. People are quietly made expendable in the name of unity. But the Church is not a machine. It’s not a brand to protect. It’s a body — living, breathing, prophetic. What we do, and what we don’t do, speaks volumes.
Jesus said:
“Anyone who has seen Me has seen the Father.”
(John 14:9, NIV)
So when people look at the Church — at us — they’re meant to see Him.
Covering the Few at the Cost of the Many
There have been too many stories of churches protecting reputations at the expense of truth. Mistakes are covered up. Accountability is dodged. Victims are silenced. And all for what? To save face?
But the Bible isn’t vague about this:
“All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness.”
(2 Timothy 3:16, NIV)
Correction is part of discipleship. Rebuke — when done biblically and lovingly — is redemptive. Truth-telling is holy. But if we prize image over integrity, we lose both.
Jesus Didn’t Avoid Conflict — He Redeemed It
Jesus never shied away from hard moments. He leaned into them. He left the ninety-nine for the one (Luke 15). He stopped for the man by the pool (John 5), reached for the isolated leper (Luke 5), and restored the man chained among the tombs (Mark 5).
He corrected His disciples when they silenced children (Mark 10:13–16), and wouldn’t let the cries of a blind beggar be drowned out by the crowd (Luke 18:35–43). He even challenged His own family when they misunderstood His calling (Mark 3:21–35).
In the temple, He overturned tables (Matthew 21:12–13). In the wilderness, He confronted the enemy’s misuse of Scripture head-on (Luke 4:1–13).
Jesus didn’t cancel people. But He didn’t coddle dysfunction either. He told the truth. He told it in love. And He walked the talk — all the way to the cross.
A Final Thought
This post isn’t aimed at one church, or one person. It’s not a rant. It’s a reflection. A confession, even.
I’ve got it wrong before. I’ve dismissed things I should’ve leaned into. I’ve moved on when I should’ve stopped and listened. And I’ve learned that leadership isn’t about being right — it’s about being righteous.
So here’s my prayer:
May we lead like shepherds, not CEOs.
May we value the one, not just the ninety-nine.
May we know when to walk away… and when to take up our cross.
And may we not die on every hill —
…but never walk away from Calvary.
If this resonates…
You might also like:
- When Leaders Forget the One – reflections on shepherding and the cost of silence
- When Trust Breaks – a piece on grace, accountability, and rebuilding
- Window Seat Memoir Series – stories of recovery, calling, and hope
👉 Full series: https://stuartpatterson.blog/category/window-seat-memoir/
I write these pieces to help leaders and ordinary folk wrestle honestly with faith, conflict, and calling. If anything here spoke to you, feel free to leave a comment or reach out through the contact page.
Let’s keep learning. Let’s keep listening. Let’s keep leading with grace and grit.
Window Seat 
Leave a comment