When Loyalty Becomes More Important Than Truth

Groupthink and the shadow side of church leadership

There are times when a church can become very good at keeping its own secrets.

Not necessarily because people are deliberately dishonest, or because everyone knows something is wrong. Often it is much more subtle. A concern is raised and quietly put to one side. A difficult conversation is avoided. Someone who asks awkward questions is described as negative, divisive or disloyal. People begin to learn which things can be said and which are best left alone.

Nobody necessarily decides that truth no longer matters. It is just that, somewhere along the way, keeping the peace has become more important.

This is one of the dangers of groupthink.

Irving Janis, who developed the concept, described how groups can become so concerned with maintaining harmony that they lose the ability to think critically. People hold back their reservations. Silence is mistaken for agreement. Those who question the prevailing view can begin to feel that they are letting everyone down.

Churches are not immune. Perhaps we are particularly vulnerable because we have a language of calling, unity, forgiveness, loyalty and spiritual authority. These are important things, but they can also become ways of avoiding difficult questions and protecting those who hold power.

There is something else worth recognising. Groupthink isn’t simply something that happens in unhealthy organisations, or something caused by a few toxic leaders. It is a human possibility within all of us.

We are complicated creatures. Fear and self-interest sit alongside genuine love, generosity and good intentions. We want to belong. We want to be valued. We don’t want to lose relationships or the things we have spent years building. Sometimes we know what is driving us. Sometimes we don’t.

We can sincerely believe we are doing the right thing while being influenced by things we would rather not acknowledge.

The pull of the leader

This can be particularly powerful when a senior leader is respected, gifted and has given many years of service. Their ministry may have shaped the life of a church. People may owe them a great deal.

But somewhere along the way, the leader and the ministry can become so closely identified that to challenge one feels like threatening the other. Protecting the leader becomes confused with protecting the church.

Sometimes the leader encourages this. Sometimes it happens around them. Colleagues become invested in preserving their reputation because their own identity, influence or sense of belonging has become tied to the success of the ministry.

People don’t necessarily set out to protect wrongdoing. They may simply be protecting something they love. But good intentions do not always lead to good judgement.

And so the questions become harder to ask. Those who might once have spoken honestly begin to weigh the personal cost.

No leader is the Kingdom.

No ministry is beyond question.

No calling places us beyond correction.

The church belongs to Christ.

How a culture learns to stay silent

A church might have accountability, transparency and integrity written into its policies. It might preach grace and truth from the pulpit. But what happens when somebody challenges the senior pastor? What happens when a member of staff raises a concern?

These moments tell us far more about the culture than the words on the website.

People notice who is listened to, who is protected and who pays a price for speaking honestly. They learn when to keep quiet. Nobody needs to tell them.

Over time, things that would once have caused concern become accepted. A little compromise here, a quiet accommodation there. Eventually, we stop noticing.

An unhealthy culture rarely emerges through one dramatic act of wrongdoing. More often, it takes root through a thousand small accommodations.

We might say that we value honesty. But do people feel safe enough to be honest with us?

Silence is not always agreement.

Sometimes it is fear. Sometimes loyalty. Sometimes self-preservation.

And sometimes we have become so accustomed to the silence that we no longer hear what is missing.

The shadow in all of us

Carl Jung’s idea of the shadow offers another way of thinking about this. It describes those aspects of ourselves we struggle to acknowledge: our insecurities, fears, ambitions, resentments and unmet needs. The parts of ourselves that don’t sit comfortably alongside the person we believe ourselves to be.

It is tempting to think of the shadow as something belonging to other people. The controlling leader. The manipulative church. The defensive leadership team.

But I have a shadow.

And so do you.

We all have parts of ourselves we’d rather not look at. The need to belong. The desire to be valued, respected, needed. The fear of losing influence, relationships or something we have spent years building.

These things don’t necessarily make us bad people. But they can quietly shape our judgement.

I might remain silent because I am frightened of the consequences. But perhaps silence also protects my position.

I might defend a leader because I genuinely respect them. But perhaps their success also gives me a sense of importance or belonging.

I might tell myself I am protecting the church, when somewhere beneath that conviction I am protecting myself.

Fear and self-interest are often tangled together. We don’t always know where one ends and the other begins. The shadow has a way of remaining hidden, even from the person who carries it.

And perhaps this is how the shadow becomes embedded in a church’s culture. What we refuse to acknowledge in ourselves can begin to shape the way we treat others. Our fear becomes someone else’s silence. Our insecurity becomes someone else’s burden. Our need to protect ourselves becomes a reason for not listening.

There is something deeply biblical about this recognition.

Jeremiah writes:

“The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it? I the LORD search the heart and examine the mind.”

— Jeremiah 17:9–10 (NIV)

We are not always reliable interpreters of our own motives. We can dress up fear as wisdom, self-interest as loyalty and the desire to protect our position as concern for the church.

And perhaps this is where the real work begins.

Not simply in identifying the shadow in others, but in having the courage to acknowledge our own.

I have a shadow.

It may be influencing me more than I care to admit.

Before I look at the unhealthy culture around me, I need to ask what in me might be sustaining it.

That is an uncomfortable place to begin. But perhaps it is the only honest place.

I can see the shadow in others.

But can I bear to look at my own?

Perhaps the health of our churches depends, in part, on our willingness to ask that question. Not just of our leaders, but of ourselves. To make room for honest disagreement, to resist the temptation to protect reputations at the expense of truth, and to remember that our loyalty is ultimately to Christ, not to any individual or institution.

There is a prayer in Psalm 139 that I think belongs at the heart of Christian leadership, and perhaps at the heart of any honest community:

“Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”

— Psalm 139:23–24 (NIV)

The courage to speak truth matters.

But so does the humility to discover that we might need to hear it.