Making a Mistake Won’t Ruin You. Refusing to Admit it Just Might.

Shortly after I moved away to college, my childhood church erupted in conflict and division. I don’t remember exactly why everyone was upset, but I remember that the pastor found himself besieged with complaints and surrounded by conflict. Elders resigned. Congregants fled. It was ugly, and it made me sad to see a place I loved filled with so much pain.

Years later, I heard from a man who attended the church during those years, a seminary professor of mine. He recalled a particularly tense congregational meeting, during which leaders and members of the church tried to explain to the pastor how some of his actions had been hurtful and divisive.

My professor said that after hearing their concerns, the pastor stood at the front of the auditorium and said something to this effect: “I have searched my own heart thoroughly, and I can honestly say that I have found no sin or wrongdoing there.”

At the time, our professor was giving a lecture on the doctrine of sin. He said, “Look, if you haven’t found any sin or wrongdoing in your heart, then you haven’t really done a thorough search. And anyway, you’re probably not the best one to perform that search.”

His point was simple: Our hearts are more sinful than we realize. If there’s a conflict between you and another person, it’s almost certain that you’re at least partly responsible. You might be 90% right and 10% wrong, but you’re still 10% wrong.

I realize this isn’t always the case – sometimes you’re just up against a particularly abusive or evil person, and you’ve done nothing wrong.

I also know firsthand that leaders are often criticized by people who don’t know them and who aren’t speaking from a place of understanding. They might be operating on the basis of false information or misaligned preferences.

What I’m talking about, though, are the normal conflicts that arise between generally well-meaning people. I’m talking about conflicts between the leader and those who know him and are invested in his leadership. These are usually people who are actually on his team. They want him to succeed, but they’ve been wounded by his behavior or his words. They’re looking for understanding and accountability; they’re not trying to destroy him. Most leaders know the difference between a drive-by shooting and a good-faith conflict. I’m talking about the latter.

In those cases, it’s very rare that one person is entirely guilty while the other is entirely innocent.

That’s especially true if you’re a leader, because you are the one holding nearly all the cards. You have most of the power. If you’re responsible for creating and leading an organization’s culture, then you bear some responsibility when the culture starts to sour.

I think the greatest damage to an organization’s culture is usually wrought by leaders who cannot accept that they might be even 10% — or even 1% — wrong.

Most people find it hard to admit when they’re wrong. For some reason, leaders find it especially hard.

I’ve seen this pattern play out over and over again during my years of ministry:

• Conflict erupts between a ministry leader and a staff member, or between the leader and his congregation.
• The leader feels embattled and grows defensive. He lashes back. He insists the problem isn’t anything he’s done, but everyone else’s misinterpretations or oversensitivity.
• By lashing back, he provokes a stronger response. People try harder to explain to the leader how he hurt them.
• The leader insists that he meant well – his intentions were good – so everyone else must be overreacting.
• He might drown his critics in details, rehashing every conversation to explain why he was right and they were wrong. He refuses to look at the big picture.
• People eventually give up trying to communicate their perspective to the leader. They figure it’s a waste of time. Maybe they leave or resign. Maybe they stay, but they grow apathetic toward the organization and they stop trying to make it better.
• The leader’s desperate attempt to preserve his credibility results in him losing it. People no longer trust him, nor do they believe he has their best interests at heart. Fair or not, his followers and subordinates believe he’s more concerned with protecting his reputation than in doing what is right.

Notice that the problem here isn’t that the leader made a mistake. It’s not even that he sinned. It’s that he refuses to admit it and apologize.

Sometimes leaders will insist that they have apologized, when in fact they haven’t. What they’ve done instead is explain themselves. Or they’ve said something to the effect of, “I’m sorry you feel that way.” Or maybe they say, “We made a mistake,” using plural pronouns for an individual sin.

If you lead people, especially as a Christian leader, it’s your responsibility to be the first one to own your mistakes and sins. Not the last one. Not after everyone else has come and apologized to you.

It’s also your job to initiate that conversation – not to expect them to come to you.

Most leaders I know would affirm these ideas in theory, by the way. But putting them into practice is painful. To admit our own wrongdoing threatens our self-image.

We’re all a little bit worried about our public image. But sometimes we’re also trying to convince ourselves that we’re good and worthy leaders. Saying, “I screwed up” ruins the facade.

But at the end of the day, the need to be right all the time reveals that we don’t really believe in the grace of God. Sure, we believe that God’s grace grants us eternal life. But we don’t believe in grace as a daily reality.

We’re afraid that if we admit that we’re sinners and failures, we might as well step down. Why would God want a failure to be a leader? We’re afraid that if we admit we did anything wrong, we’ll be judged completely unfit to lead.

I’m pretty sure that’s how King Saul felt when Samuel confronted him about his sin on two separate occasions (1 Samuel 13, 15). To save face and preserve his own authority, Saul shifted the blame and denied the charges. I believe it wasn’t Saul’s sin alone that disqualified him from the throne. Saul’s unyielding pride did, though.

When Nathan confronted King David, though, it was a completely different story (2 Samuel 12). David confessed, sought forgiveness, and repented. David didn’t keep his throne because he was perfect, but because he was contrite and humble.

For leaders who believe in God’s grace, and who preach it to others, admitting our sins and mistakes should be part and parcel of our ministry. Repentance should be a regular occurrence. When leaders apologize and repent, relational and spiritual walls fall down.

The next time somebody confronts you or criticizes you, then, try this:

• Ask God to show you clearly where you have sinned or failed. Ask a neutral third party where you have sinned or failed.
• Write down the specific actions or words that you need to apologize for.
• Avoid shifting blame. Yes, other people probably are partly to blame. That’s on them. If necessary, you can address their behavior after you take responsibility for your own. But you are the leader. You go first.
• Avoid deflecting responsibility by using vague language. For example, “Mistakes were made,” or, “As an organization, we failed to consider every contingency.”
• Avoid making the conversation about the other person’s reaction rather than your own actions. For example, “I’m sorry you feel so upset,” or, “I regret that you’re angry.”
• Avoid making the conversation about your feelings or how you were hurt. For example, “Did you ever think about how this makes me feel?” or, “We are all wounded here, not just you.”
• Directly say the words, “I apologize,” or “I am sorry for what I did.”
• Wait for the other person’s response, and then reply graciously and calmly.

My old church eventually recovered from that season of division and chaos. But I wonder if it could’ve been avoided altogether if the pastor would have owned his mistakes, apologized, and asked his people how they could move forward together.

Most people forget our mistakes over time. And most people are more forgiving than we give them credit for being.

They’ll remember our character long after our ministry victories or defeats are forgotten.

May our legacy be one of Christlike humility and God-given grace.