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Stop Mistaking Empathy for Compassion

May 15, 2025 / / 0 Comments

They’re Not the Same, and It’s Hurting Us

Let’s cut through the fluff: empathy is not compassion. And pretending they’re the same is making us soft in all the wrong places, blind to what’s broken, and oddly proud of standing still while people suffer.

Empathy says, “I feel your pain.”
Compassion says, “I see your pain, and I’m going to help you do something about it.”

See the difference? One sits in the mud with you and calls it solidarity. The other reaches in, lifts you up, washes you off, and walks with you toward healing. That’s compassion — and it’s what we need more of.

Let’s be honest: empathy sounds nice. It’s trendy. It sells. It wins likes on social media. “I see you.” “I hear you.” “I’m with you.” But here’s the hard truth: empathy, when left alone, is passive. It doesn’t fix anything. It just wallows in shared misery. And worse — it can become a mask for cowardice. We use it to avoid confrontation, delay hard conversations, and excuse inaction.

We say, “I don’t want to judge,” when what we mean is, “I don’t want to deal with the mess.” We say, “I’m just empathizing,” when we’re actually enabling. Empathy left unchecked coddles dysfunction. It listens without challenging. It observes pain without interrupting the cause. And in the end, it lets sin fester, addiction deepen, and wounds rot — all in the name of “understanding.”

That’s not love. That’s apathy dressed in empathy’s clothing.

Now look at compassion. Real compassion feels — yes — but it moves. It confronts. It speaks the truth in love. It’s gentle, but it’s not soft. It’s kind, but it’s not afraid to correct. It knows that healing sometimes stings and growth is often uncomfortable. Compassion refuses to leave people in their pain — it enters in with purpose.

Think of Jesus. He had compassion on the crowds — and He healed them. He taught them. He fed them. He called them out of darkness into light. He didn’t just say, “Wow, that’s tough,” and keep walking. He did what needed to be done — even when it meant flipping tables or confronting hypocrisy. That’s what love looks like when it has a backbone.

So let’s get this straight:
Compassion does what empathy won’t.
It makes the hard phone call.
It says, “You’re not okay — and I’m going to help you get there.”
It tells the addict, “I love you, but I’m not going to watch you destroy yourself.”
It tells the friend, “You’re spiraling, and I’m stepping in.”
It’s the parent who says “no” out of love.
The leader who holds a line.
The friend who speaks truth, even if it hurts.

This world has had enough of people “feeling for” others without actually helping them. What we need is a revival of compassion — gritty, loving action that heals instead of coddles.

You can feel with people all day long and never lift a finger to help them change. But compassion? Compassion rolls up its sleeves. It doesn’t just listen. It acts. It builds. It restores.

Empathy might leave you stuck. Compassion will carry you forward.

So here’s the challenge: stop applauding yourself for your feelings, and start asking what your love is actually doing. Is it changing anything? Healing anyone? Calling anyone to more?

Empathy whispers, “Stay where you are.”
Compassion says, “Let’s go — I’ll walk with you.”

Choose wisely. One path leads to deeper pain. The other leads to real freedom.

When Questions Are Silenced, the Church Suffocates

May 14, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Let’s stop pretending the Church is fine.

It’s not.

The numbers say it. The exodus of young people says it. The stale worship. The empty classrooms. The leadership pipelines that dried up a decade ago. They all scream what no one wants to admit: we are stuck. Not in doctrine. Not in Jesus. But in methods, mindsets, and models that have lost their grip on reality.

And every time someone dares to raise a hand to ask, What if we tried…? the answer isn’t curiosity. It’s control.

Let’s name the poison: fear.
Fear of change. Fear of innovation. Fear of losing comfort, influence, or nostalgia. Fear that masquerades as faithfulness.

And under the weight of that fear, creativity is choked out, ideas are left to rot in meeting minutes, and the Spirit-led boldness that marked the early Church has been traded for policy manuals and committee reports.

When questions are silenced instead of answered, the Church doesn’t just stagnate. She suffers. People suffer.

Whole communities go unreached. Entire generations leave because they were told their questions were divisive, their ideas disruptive, their creativity unorthodox.

All the while, Jesus weeps.

The Gospel is unchanging. But the way we carry it never was.

Jesus didn’t call the disciples to maintain a system. He called them to overturn one. He didn’t say, “Find the most comfortable way to reach people like you.” He said, “Go make disciples of all nations.” That meant language barriers. Cultural shifts. Wild methods. Radical risk.

He preached from boats. He taught with stories. He sat with outcasts. He blew up traditions that had calcified into idolatry.

“You have heard it said… but I say to you…” That wasn’t safe. That was revolutionary.

Yet in 2025, the Church shrinks back from that same edge. We cling to what’s known, what’s approved, what’s “how we’ve always done it.” We turn down the volume on innovation. We run creative leaders out of the room. We label new ministries unnecessary. We crush Holy Spirit dreams under layers of bureaucracy, protocol, and denominational red tape.

Jesus flipped tables in the temple. It seems the best we can do is form a committee to discuss whether the tables are Lutheran enough (insert your own denomination there).

And we wonder why no one’s listening. The world doesn’t care how it’s always been done. They care how Jesus lived, loved and lead.

Silencing questions is not just bad leadership. It’s spiritual malpractice!

When we shut down the dreamers, we shut out the very people God is calling to lead the next generation. When we ignore the young leader with a passion for digital ministry because “we’ve never done it that way,” we lose a voice who could reach those we’ve never reached. Heck we’ve probably never thought of reaching some of these people!

When we refuse to plant new ministries because “the budget doesn’t allow,” what we’re really saying is, “We don’t trust God to provide for the things He inspires.”

When we fail to mentor new leaders because we’re afraid they’ll do things differently, we’re not protecting the Church. We’re burying the talent God gave us and expecting applause for our caution. Newsflash friend, Jesus condemned that talent burying servant as wicked and worthless. I think we might be on the wrong side of this argument.

The Church is dying not because the Gospel lacks power—but because the Gospel-bearers lack courage.

Courage to ask, “What if?”
Courage to step out of the boat.
Courage to let go of sacred cows and grab hold of a cross.

Do we believe the Holy Spirit still speaks? Still moves? Still creates new things?Then why do we act like the Great Commission was fulfilled in 1965 and now we just need to maintain the property?

Jesus didn’t die so we could die on the hill of tradition. He rose so we could move forward with the message of the resurrection into our neighborhoods.

Here’s what has to change:

  • We need leaders who ask dangerous questions. Not heretical ones, but honest ones.
  • We need churches that give permission to fail, to experiment, to build what’s never been built.
  • We need to stop confusing liturgy with legacy. Tradition with truth.
  • We need denominations that empower churches instead of controlling them.
  • We need new expressions of the unchanging Gospel. And we need them now.

This is not a call to throw out doctrine. This is a call to remember that Scripture and our tried and true doctrine is the foundation, not the ceiling. That methods are tools, not idols. That ministry is mission, not museum curation.

If we keep silencing questions, we’ll silence the Church.

But if we listen? If we empower? If we unleash Spirit-filled, question-asking, tradition-challenging, Gospel-rooted pioneers?

Then maybe, just maybe, the next generation will stop walking away. And start walking in.

The Church doesn’t need more meetings. It needs more movement.

Let’s stop being afraid of the unknown. The God I serve…He’s already there.

Towel-Bearers in the Wild: Stories of Real Leaders Doing It the Jesus Way

May 13, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Part 7 of the “Towel-Bearers: Redefining Leadership” Series

They don’t wear name tags that say “hero.”
They don’t have book deals, podcasts, or one of those larger than life cardboard checks.
But they have towels. And they’re soaked.

These are the leaders you won’t find in conference lineups.
But heaven knows their names.

Because they’re doing it the Jesus way.

The Youth Leader Who Keeps Showing Up

She preps lessons no one seems to remember.
Deals with middle school chaos and sticky floors.
Listens when a kid says, “My dad left.”
And she doesn’t flinch.

Nobody claps.
But she shows up again. And again. And again.

That’s what Jesus looks like.

The Grandma Who Prays in Secret

She doesn’t hold a title.
She can’t stand long enough to volunteer.
But every day, her Bible is open and her hands are raised for her family, her church, her nation.

No one sees the war she’s fighting on her knees.
But the heavens shake because of her faith.

That’s what Jesus looks like.

The Pastor Who Refuses to Climb the Ladder

He’s been overlooked.
Passed over for bigger churches, flashier pulpits.
But he keeps loving his people.
He weeps with them. Marries them. Buries them. Disciples them.
No fanfare. Just faithfulness.

That’s what Jesus looks like.

The Business Leader Who Leads Differently

She could build her brand.
She could chase profit.
But instead, she raises up employees with dignity.
She writes checks to single moms who can’t pay rent.
She mentors with grace and serves without needing credit.

That’s what Jesus looks like.

This Is the New Definition of Leadership

It’s not influence. It’s integrity.
It’s not followers. It’s faithfulness.
It’s not building a name. It’s bearing a cross.

Towel-bearers don’t wait for recognition.
They don’t chase platforms.
They chase Jesus—and stoop to serve.

One Day, the Towels Will Be Traded for Crowns

Maybe nobody sees you right now.
Maybe it feels like you’re throwing seed into dry ground.

But one day, the King will come.
And He’ll say the words the world could never give you:

“Well done, good and faithful servant.”

Not for how loud you were.
But for how low you knelt.
Not for how much you built.
But for how much you poured out.

You didn’t quit.
You carried the towel.

So Here’s to You—The Towel-Bearers in the Wild

You’re the real leaders.
The brave ones.
The hidden ones.
The faithful few.

Keep serving.
Keep loving.
Keep kneeling.

The world may not know your name—but heaven already carved it in glory.

Hope. Worth. Power.

May 12, 2025 / / 1 Comment

There’s a prayer in Ephesians that punches through the noise of our weary, distracted lives. Paul writes to believers—people already following Jesus—and he doesn’t pray for their circumstances to change. He doesn’t ask for them to be more successful, less anxious, or more comfortable. He prays they see. That the eyes of their hearts would be opened to what they already have in Jesus.

Let’s not miss that. This is a prayer for Christians. Not that they would get something new, but that they’d finally realize what’s been right in front of them the whole time.

Hope. Worth. Power.

Let’s start with hope—not the vague, wishy-washy kind the world offers. This is hope that is anchored in Jesus. Paul says we’ve been “called” to it. And when Jesus calls something into being, it happens. This hope isn’t fragile. It’s not on backorder. It’s a done deal—certain, real, and alive. You don’t have to wonder if God will come through. The cross and the empty tomb already proved He has. Your hope isn’t hanging by a thread; it’s standing in front of you with nail-scarred hands.

Then Paul prays we’d see the “riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints.” That’s not just future language—some pie-in-the-sky promise. That’s worth. Right now. God has already placed infinite value on you. Not because of what you’ve achieved or how holy you act, but because Jesus chose you, adopted you, and calls you family. You’re not a spiritual orphan trying to earn your place. You’re a loved, named, claimed child of God. That’s your worth. And no failure, label, or lie can undo that.

And finally—power. The same power that raised Jesus from the dead now lives in you. That’s not metaphor. That’s resurrection reality. This is not about mustering up your own strength. This is about tapping into the power source that conquered sin, death, and hell. Paul stacks up words for it: immeasurable greatness… according to the working of his great might… that he worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead. That’s a power no enemy can touch. And it’s yours. Today.

We live like we’re powerless. We walk around as if we’re barely scraping by spiritually. We forget the very Spirit who raised Jesus lives inside us. Paul’s prayer is that we wake up to that power—that we stop living like victims and start standing in victory.

So let me ask you:
Do you see the hope that’s already yours?
Do you know your worth in Jesus is already settled?
Are you walking in the resurrection power you already possess?

You don’t have to beg God for more. You don’t need to prove yourself. You just need eyes to see what’s already true.

Open your Bible. Read Ephesians 1:15–23 again. Then pray this:
Lord, open the eyes of my heart. Let me see the hope, the worth, and the power that are already mine in Jesus. Amen.

Don’t Drop the Towel: What to Do When You Want to Quit

May 8, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Part 6 of the “Towel-Bearers: Redefining Leadership” Series

You’ve prayed. You’ve poured out. You’ve kept showing up.
But if you’re honest—you’re tired.
Not just physically. Soul tired.

Ministry can hurt in ways you didn’t know possible.
People ghost you.
Plans fall flat.
Recognition for carrying the extra load never comes.
The critics? Oh, they never miss a beat.

And somewhere deep inside, you hear it:

“Just walk away. Drop the towel. You gave it your best shot.”

But hear me out:
Don’t do that!

Jesus Didn’t Quit—Even When Everyone Else Did

When things got hard, the disciples scattered.
The crowds vanished.
The miracles weren’t enough to keep people loyal.

But Jesus didn’t drop the towel.
He picked up the cross.

And He kept walking—for you.

You’re not carrying something He doesn’t understand.
He felt betrayal. He knows rejection. He walked the lonely road.

Hebrews 12:3 (ESV): “Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted.”

He didn’t quit on you.
Don’t quit on what He’s put in you.

3 Ways to Hold the Towel When Everything in You Wants to Let Go

1. Name the Burnout. Don’t Fake the Strength.

You’re not superhuman. You’re not weak for needing rest.
You’re honest. That’s holy.

Jesus rested. Jesus wept. Jesus withdrew.

If He needed it, you definitely do.
So name it. Own it. And then bring it to Him.

2. Let Others Carry You for a While

Even Jesus let someone else carry His cross for a stretch. (See: Simon of Cyrene.)

So why are you trying to be the hero?

Ask for help. Tell someone you’re worn out.
You’re not less of a leader for leaning on others—you’re just finally leading real.

3. Reconnect to the Why

You didn’t start this to be famous.
You started because Jesus flipped your life upside down with grace.
You said yes because people matter. Because eternity matters.

When the “what” feels heavy, remember the “why.”

And remember Who you’re doing this for.

Grace Is for You Too.

Sometimes the hardest person to show grace to is the one in the mirror.
You preach it to others—now preach it to yourself:

You’re not failing. You’re not forgotten. You’re not done.

The towel might feel soaked with sweat, tears, and frustration—but it’s still in your hands. And Jesus is still washing feet with you.

Before You Quit, Remember This:

Quitting might quiet the pain—but it also silences your calling.
What you’re doing matters. Even if no one claps. Even if no one sees.

So no, don’t drop the towel.
Wipe your brow.
Fall into the arms of grace.
And keep going.

Because He’s not finished with you yet.

Next up in Part 7 of the Towel-Bearers series:
👉 “Towel-Bearers in the Wild: Stories of Real Leaders Doing It the Jesus Way” — a celebration of the unfiltered, unpolished, radically faithful.

When the World Goes Quiet: The Hidden Face of Trauma

May 7, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Trauma doesn’t always look like what we expect. It’s not always tears or trembling hands. It isn’t necessarily someone lying in bed, unable to move, or openly speaking about the nightmares that haunt them. More often, it’s hidden in plain sight—in the bright light of day, in the loud, busy moments when the world keeps spinning. Trauma wears a mask, and many people wear it so well you’d never know it was there at all.

In the daylight, trauma can look like a successful professional who hits every deadline. It can sound like laughter at a lunch meeting or appear in the form of perfectly crafted social media posts. Highly functioning individuals are often the ones carrying the heaviest burdens, because they’ve learned how to keep going no matter what. Not because they’ve “healed,” but because continuing to move feels safer than stopping. To stop would mean facing what waits in the silence.

And that’s when trauma speaks loudest—when the world shuts down.

In the quiet of night, when distractions fade and the demands of the day are gone, trauma comes out from the corners where it hides. For some, it shows up as insomnia or racing thoughts that make sleep impossible. For others, it’s a sudden wave of sadness, anxiety, or fear that seems to come from nowhere. The mind replays moments long buried, feelings long suppressed. There’s no applause for surviving in the dark. There’s no one to witness the fight. But it rages on.

We often assume that if someone is functioning—working, parenting, creating, joking—they must be okay. But trauma doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t need permission to exist. It doesn’t check your calendar before showing up. Trauma from years ago can feel as fresh as something that happened yesterday. And recent trauma can hide behind a smile so convincing even the person wearing it might forget it’s there—for a time.

This is why compassion matters. This is why slowing down and looking beyond the surface matters. Not everyone will talk about what they’ve been through. Not everyone has the language, the safety, or the support to name their pain. But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

So the next time you’re tempted to assume someone is “fine” because they seem fine, take a pause. Understand that for many, survival looks like achievement. Coping looks like productivity. And healing? Healing is often messy, invisible, nonlinear, and deeply personal.

Let’s normalize checking in with our strong friends. Let’s hold space for those who appear to have it all together. And most importantly, let’s remember that trauma isn’t defined by how loud it screams in public—but by how silently it haunts when no one is watching.

In the stillness, when the world goes quiet, some people are still fighting battles. Just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean they’re not real.

When Nobody Claps: Finding Joy in Obscure Faithfulness

May 6, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Part 5 of the “Towel-Bearers: Redefining Leadership” Series

There’s no spotlight.
No applause.
No thank-you note.
No social media post shouting you out.

You vacuumed the church hallway.
Held the crying baby in the nursery.
Prayed for someone who never knew.
Texted the hurting at 2 a.m.
Showed up again. And again. And again.

And not a soul noticed.

But heaven did.

The World Cheers the Loudest Voices. The Kingdom Honors the Faithful Ones.

You won’t trend for folding chairs.
You won’t get likes for discipling one kid at a time.
No one will interview you for spending 10 years loving a community that barely responds.

But this is what Kingdom greatness actually looks like.

Jesus didn’t praise the Pharisees for their platforms.
He praised a widow for her two coins.
He honored a woman who poured perfume on His feet.

No PR team. No followers. No fame.
Just faithfulness.

Why Obscurity Might Be Your Greatest Gift

1. Obscurity Starves the Ego

When no one’s watching, there’s no performance to maintain.
No masks. No hype. No pressure.

It’s just you and Jesus.
And that’s where real leadership is forged.

The spotlight can inflate your pride.
Obscurity? That’s where the roots grow deep.

2. God Sees What Nobody Else Does

Hebrews 6:10 (ESV): “For God is not unjust so as to overlook your work and the love that you have shown for his name in serving the saints, as you still do.”

You’re not overlooked.
You’re not forgotten.
You’re not wasting your time.

The God who counts the hairs on your head counts every act of hidden faithfulness too.

3. Your Reward Is Coming—And It’s Better Than Applause

Let the world have their claps. You’re waiting for the well done.

Matthew 6:4 (ESV): “And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.”

One day, Jesus will look you in the eyes—not the crowd, not your peers—you—and say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

No mic drop. No stage. Just resting in His glory.

So Keep Going, Towel-Bearer

If you’re tired of doing good and getting silence in return—don’t quit.
If you’re wondering if it’s worth it when no one seems to notice—keep showing up.

You’re not serving for a standing ovation.
You’re serving the One who knelt low and washed feet.

That’s where the joy is.
Not in being seen—but in being His.

Coming up in Part 6 of the Towel-Bearers series:
“Don’t Drop the Towel: What to Do When You Want to Quit” — because leadership is heavy, but grace is stronger.

Not Your Platform: The Kingdom Isn’t About You

May 1, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Part 4 of the “Towel-Bearers: Redefining Leadership” Series

Let’s say the quiet part out loud:
Ministry has a branding problem.
Not the logos. Not the livestreams. Not the fonts.
The ego that sometimes hides behind it all.

Somewhere along the way, some have stopped preaching Jesus and started promoting ourselves. They stopped building altars and started building platforms.
And if we’re not careful, we’ll confuse applause with anointing—and miss the whole point of the Kingdom.

This Isn’t About You

We say it’s for Jesus. We sing it loud. We hashtag it.
But if we peel back the layers… too many of us are more concerned with followers on Instagram than with following the Savior.

And that’s not leadership. That’s show business in a clerical collar.

Jesus didn’t come to be admired—He came to die.
And He didn’t call us to be influencers. He called us to be cross-bearers.

3 Platform Pitfalls That Kill Kingdom Work

1. Performance Over Presence

When the platform becomes the goal, performance becomes the method.
You start curating moments for likes, not for lives changed. You start preaching for a reaction, not transformation.

Here’s the truth: performance might impress people—but it doesn’t move heaven.

Presence does.
And you can’t manufacture that. You get it by dying to self and staying rooted in Jesus.

2. Applause Becomes the Addiction

If the only time you feel valuable is when people are clapping, you’re already in trouble.

Applause is a drug. And it will never be enough.
Ask the preachers who burned out trying to chase the next standing ovation. Ask the worship leaders who lost their joy when the setlist didn’t get a standing ovation.

Kingdom leadership isn’t about being celebrated. It’s about being faithful, even when no one notices.

3. Jesus Gets Drowned Out By Our Name

We slap His name on events, but our faces are front and center.
We say “To God be the glory,” but let’s be honest—we’re tracking analytics like stockbrokers.

Let this sink in: If people remember your name but forget His, you failed.

John the Baptist had it right: “He must increase, but I must decrease.” (John 3:30, ESV)

That’s not poetic. That’s the point. It’s time to show Jesus to others not require them to hail us as king or pastor or president or whatever our title might be.

The Platform Is a Tool—Not a Throne

God may give you influence. That’s fine. Use it well.
But the moment you start climbing the stage like it’s your throne, the towel’s slipping out of your hands.

Jesus washed feet. And then He went to a cross.
The only crown He wore down here had thorns on it.

If you’re going to follow Him, leave the spotlight behind. You can’t carry a cross and your brand at the same time.

Let’s Get Back to the Mission

The Kingdom is not about building your name. It’s about surrendering it.

Drop the need to be known.
Let go of the platform you’re building.
Pick up the towel. Take the lower seat.
And let Jesus be the only name that echoes when the lights go out.

Up next in the Towel-Bearers series:
“When Nobody Claps: Finding Joy in Obscure Faithfulness” — because sometimes, the holiest work happens when no one’s watching.

The Weight of the Towel: When Serving Hurts

April 29, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Part 3 of the “Towel-Bearers: Redefining Leadership” Series

You said yes to serve.
You said yes to love.
You said yes to Jesus – (after he said yes to you).

But somewhere along the way, that towel you picked up started to feel like a weight chained to your soul.

You’re tired. Not just in your body—but in your spirit.
You still show up. Still pour out. Still smile when you’re asked, “How’s ministry going?” But underneath it all, you’re running on fumes.

Welcome to the weight of the towel.

Serving Hurts Sometimes. And That’s Not a Sign You’re Doing It Wrong.

Myth: “If I were really called to this, it wouldn’t feel this hard.”

Jesus was called. Perfectly. And still—He sweat blood in the garden.

He served, knowing the cross was waiting. He washed Judas’ feet, knowing the betrayal was coming.
He kept showing up—not because it didn’t hurt—but because love is stronger than pain.

So yeah, it’s going to hurt sometimes.
Not because you’re broken.
But because you’re becoming like Jesus.

3 Realities of Leading With a Tired Soul

1. You Will Run Out—That’s Why You Need to Be Filled

You’re not the source. Never were. You were never meant to carry the weight of every need, every crisis, every expectation.

Even Jesus withdrew to lonely places to pray (Luke 5:16).
If the Son of God had to unplug to be filled—what makes you think you can run without stopping?

This is your reminder: Rest is not weakness. It’s worship.
You’re not abandoning the mission when you sabbath—you’re sustaining it.

2. Just Because It Hurts Doesn’t Mean It’s Not Holy

Pain doesn’t always mean you’re out of place. Sometimes, it’s proof you’re walking the right path.

Paul didn’t plant churches from a place of comfort—he planted them with scars.
Real servant leaders don’t avoid pain—they endure it for the sake of others.

But here’s the catch: Suffering in silence isn’t sainthood—it’s pride. Don’t wear burnout like a badge. Talk to someone. Let people in. You’re not less spiritual for needing help—you’re more human.

3. You’re Not Saving Anyone—Jesus Is

You’re not the Messiah. You’re not the answer. You’re a messenger.

When the weight gets too heavy, remember: you were never meant to carry the cross. You’re just called to carry the towel.

Let Jesus carry you.

To the Worn-Out Leader…

You don’t have to be strong every day.
You don’t have to fix everything.
You don’t have to carry this alone.

God sees you.
Not the polished version. Not the public one. The real you.

He sees the tears you’ve cried in your car.
The text messages you never got a response to.
The late nights. The misunderstood moments. The quiet serving no one ever applauded.

And He says, “Well done.”

Want more?
Stay with us for Part 4 of Towel-Bearers: Redefining Leadership:
“Not Your Platform: The Kingdom Isn’t About You” — a gut-check on ego, branding, and who the spotlight really belongs to.

How to Spot a Counterfeit Leader (And Why It Matters More Than You Think)

April 25, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Part 2 of the “Towel-Bearers: Redefining Leadership” Series

Not everyone with a Bible and a microphone should be leading people.
Yeah, there are counterfeit leaders in the Church. And they’re not always easy to spot. They sound holy. They know the lingo. They wear the “right” clothes. They inspire crowds, cast vision, and quote Scripture on demand. But behind the scenes, it’s not about Jesus—it’s about their own control, ego, and power.

Jesus warned us: “Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves.”(Matthew 7:15, ESV)

We should’ve been listening.

4 Signs of a Counterfeit Leader

1. People Are Used, Not Shepherded

Counterfeit leaders don’t build people up—they use them to build their platform. If you’re only celebrated when you’re useful, and ghosted when you’re not, you’re not being pastored. You’re being leveraged.

Servant-hearted leaders walk with you—especially when you can’t offer anything in return.

2. Disagreement Is Punished, Not Processed

Try questioning their decision. Watch what happens.

If the response is silence, guilt-tripping, or spiritual intimidation (“Touch not the Lord’s anointed!”), that’s not leadership. That’s dictatorship in a title or position.

Jesus welcomed correction, modeled vulnerability, and still stooped to wash His disciples’ feet.

3. Fear Replaces Freedom

If you constantly feel anxious around your leader—like any wrong move will cost you your place—you’re not under godly authority. You’re under human control.

Jesus sets people free. Leadership that leads with fear doesn’t come from Him.

4. Their Private Life Doesn’t Match Their Platform

This is the hardest one. You don’t always see it right away. But true leadership shows up in the home, in the staff culture, in the way they treat the least powerful around them.

If their public presence is polished but the people closest to them are walking on eggshells—pay attention.

There’s Grace for This

Maybe this stings because you’ve followed a counterfeit leader.
Maybe it stings more because you’ve been (or are) one.

There’s grace. There’s always grace. But grace doesn’t mean silence. And it doesn’t mean ignoring the pain of those who’ve been hurt in the name of “leadership.”

You’re not crazy. You’re not bitter. You’re just waking up.

The Call: Watch for Fruit, Not Flash

We need leaders who bleed love, not demand loyalty.
Who show up in silence, not just in the spotlight.
Who carry towels, not just sit on their personal thrones.

Don’t settle for stage lights. Look for the ones who stay when the lights go out.

Want more?
Stay tuned for Part 3 of our Towel-Bearers series:
“The Weight of the Towel: When Serving Hurts” — how to lead with a servant’s heart when your soul is tired.

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