When “Feedback” Paralyzes Pastors
Dear Pastor,
You are not above correction. You are not beyond rebuke. You are not immune to blind spots, missteps, or immaturities—and God in His kindness often sends His sanctifying scalpel in the form of feedback.
Faithful are the wounds of a friend (Proverbs 27:6). Wise is the man who loves reproof (Proverbs 9:8). Every pastor needs iron to sharpen him, brothers to hold him up, and voices that can speak truthfully, humbly, and Biblically into his life. Paul tells Timothy to pay close attention to yourself and to your teaching (1 Timothy 4:16)—and sometimes that means listening to others who are watching your life with loving, honest concern. So yes—receive godly feedback. We need it. We grow from it.
But there is another kind of feedback. It’s the soul-grinding kind. The confusing, contradictory, demoralizing commentary that doesn’t build you up—but slowly breaks you down. And if you open the door too wide, you’ll find that everyone—yes, everyone—will start lining up to share every annoyance, every opinion, every preference, every disappointment they feel about you.
“I wish you preached more like him.”
“I wish you were more emotionally expressive.”
“You’re not doing enough hospital visits.”
“You’re too focused on details.”
“You delegate too much.”
“You don’t delegate enough.”
“You’re too pastoral.”
“You’re not pastoral enough.”
“You should be more like the last guy.”
“You should be more like the guy I watch online.”
Before long, you’re not receiving shepherding wisdom. You’re being torn apart by the fangs of fragmented preferences and impossible expectations. What they’re asking for isn’t you—it’s a Frankenstein pastor, an amalgam of all the qualities they admire in other men, sewn together by fantasy and frustration. And dear brother, no man—no matter how godly—can live up to that.
So hear me clearly: ignore it.
That kind of feedback is not constructive. It’s corrosive. It’s not meant to sanctify you. It’s designed to slowly erode your resolve, plant seeds of man-pleasing, and paralyze your pastoral joy. And you, Pastor, are too weak in your flesh to let it linger. If you meditate on it, it will fester. It will grow. And eventually, it will steal the courage from your calling.
So what should you do?
1) Remember: You are woefully limited.
More than they know. In fact, if your congregation knew the full extent of your incompetence, they’d likely call a congregational meeting to beg for your resignation. But here’s the thing: your calling was never contingent upon your perfection. You were never meant to be the Messiah. Perfection is a cruel noose—and no amount of feedback will ever make you the flawless pastor they imagine.
You will disappoint people. You will fall short. You will make poor decisions. And that’s not a sign you’ve failed. That’s a sign you’re not Jesus. Embrace it. Let your weaknesses magnify His strength and redirect their worship.
2) Remember: His strength is made perfect in your weakness.
If you could be everything for everyone, Christ would be unnecessary. You’d become their idol. You’d become their golden calf. And God has a long history of smashing those to pieces (Exodus 32). Your frailty is a mercy. It teaches them—and you—to hunger for Jesus. To look for Him. To rest in Him. To cry out to Him.
Your people don’t need a better version of you. They need more of Christ.
3) Remind them gently: You are a slave. Christ is Lord.
When their disappointments come crashing toward you like a tidal wave of unmet expectations, don’t try to carry them. Redirect them. “Brother, sister—I am but dust. I’m trying to be faithful, but I cannot be all that you want. Please take your burdens to Jesus. He can bear them. I cannot.”
Not only will this protect your soul from drowning under unrealistic weight, it will shepherd your people back to the throne where all true satisfaction is found.
In the end, feedback is a good gift. But like all gifts, it must be discerned.
We are neither to despise all counsel, nor be tossed by every wind of man’s breath. Receive the kind that builds you. Reject the kind that burdens you. And remember: you are but dust. Do your best, entrust the rest, and sleep like a Calvinist—because the government of the Church rests on His shoulders, not yours (Isaiah 9:6).
With you in the trenches,
—A fellow slave of Christ
