The Sacred Art of Timing: When God Says Not Yet to Church Change
The Sacred Art of Timing: When God Says Not Yet to Church Change
By W.J de Kock, ThD
Educational Consultant to Partners in Ministry
Professor of Practical Theology at Palmer Theological Seminary of Eastern University
9 minute read
It's mid-January, and the New Year optimism is already showing cracks like a windscreen after a hailstorm. Your inbox is screaming. Someone's forwarded a glowing article about a church that revolutionised their worship in six months. Another mate's already sent you a podcast about the latest small-group model that's 'changing everything.' Meanwhile, your own church is still recovering from the Christmas-New Year whiplash—half the leadership team is on annual leave, the other half is sunburnt and vaguely resentful about being back. And you're sitting there with your third flat white thinking: 'We could do that. We absolutely should do that. But should we do that now?' Welcome to the pastor's paradox—the moment when 'good idea' and 'God's timing' part company like a couple in a badly-timed counselling session.
Here's what nobody tells you in seminary: timing is the one skill that separates pastors who lead change gracefully from those who blow it up. Technical knowledge? Google that. Theology? You've read enough books. But reading the actual readiness of your people—understanding whether they're ready to let go, whether they have emotional bandwidth, whether they're still grieving something from last year—that's an art form nobody teaches. And January is precisely when you're least equipped to practise it. New Year always arrives looking like a blank canvas; everyone comes back from holidays with ideas, energy, and that intoxicating sense that 'now is the time to change.' Board members forwarded you that one article about the church that did it in six months. You've been thinking on the beach. Suddenly your restructuring idea feels urgent, inevitable. But here's what the calendar won't tell you: that January energy is mostly psychology, not actual readiness. The Christmas season probably stretched everyone thin. Some are still on leave. Others came back resentful. You're all operating on fumes and good intentions—which is precisely the worst moment to ask people to grieve their way through major change. The irony is brutal: the same initiative that would flourish in June will combust in January. Same change. Same church. Different time. Everything.
So here's what the sacred art of timing actually looks like: it's you, sitting with your senior leadership team after everyone is back, not with a PowerPoint about change, but with a genuine question: 'How are we actually doing? What are people still carrying from last year? Where's our real emotional bandwidth right now?' It's spending time listening before you speak. It's reading the room like you read Scripture—looking for the deeper meaning beneath the surface noise. It's trusting that God moves at a different pace than LinkedIn and podcasts and every other voice screaming for your attention. And it's understanding that the change you're sensing might be real and right and also not ready to be born yet. Pregnant women don't rush labour. Farmers don't harvest before the crop's ready. And wise pastors don't launch change before their people have the capacity to walk through it faithfully.
Meanwhile, 'not yet' doesn't mean you do nothing. It means you work underground. You gather your change coalition quietly—not as a launch team, but as listeners and discerners. You sharpen your 'case for change' in private, with trusted voices, until you can articulate it clearly and compellingly without any spin. You listen to the people on the margins—the ones who've drifted, the ones who are struggling, the ones who've been silent. You read the room not once, but repeatedly, noticing what's shifting, what people are actually saying versus what they're performing. You pray. You think. You let conviction deepen. This underground work is invisible. It won't look like leadership to people who measure ministry in announcements and action items. But it's the most important work you'll do. Because when the time is actually right, you won't be improvising. You'll be confident. Your people will feel that confidence, and they'll follow.
There's a beautiful paradox hidden in the idea of 'not yet.' When you choose to wait, you're actually demonstrating profound trust—trust that God's timing is better than yours, trust that your people have real wisdom about their own readiness, trust that a change pursued with genuine buy-in will be stronger than one that's imposed from above. And when your people see you willing to slow down, willing to listen, willing to say 'I don't have all the answers'—they trust you more, not less. Because they realise you actually care about them, not just about implementing your vision. You're not a CEO pushing a strategic initiative. You're a shepherd who's willing to walk at the pace of the flock. And that kind of leadership—patient, attuned, willing to be humbled by reality—is actually what transforms churches. Not the urgent stuff. The attentive stuff.
So here's your permission slip for this January: You don't have to launch that initiative yet. You don't have to answer the pressure with urgency. You don't have to pretend you have clarity you don't actually have. What you do have to do is listen. Really listen. Sit with your people, with your leadership, with God in prayer. Ask the hard questions about readiness and capacity and what people are carrying. Take notes. Notice what gets said and what doesn't. And then—when you're confident, when your people are ready, when the timing feels right—move. But move from a place of conviction, not anxiety. Move because you've read the room and you know it's time, not because the calendar says so. That's the sacred art of timing. And it's worth the wait.
So finish that flat white. Close the laptop. And trust that the best change you'll lead this year might be the one you're wise enough not to rush.