The Pastor's Dilemma: Prophetic Voice or Pastoral Patience?

By W.J de Kock, ThD
Educational Consultant to Partners in Ministry
Professor of Practical Theology at Palmer Theological Seminary of Eastern University
11 minute read

There are two voices competing in your head. One sounds like Jeremiah—urgent, uncompromising, convinced that the house is on fire and someone needs to sound the alarm. The other sounds like Jesus with the woman caught in adultery—patient, attuned, refusing to rush judgment even when everyone's waiting for it. Both voices are right. Both are necessary. And most days, you have no idea which one you're supposed to listen to. Do you speak the hard truth now and risk scattering the sheep? Or do you wait, protect, shepherd gently—and risk watching the whole thing drift into irrelevance? It's the oldest tension in ministry, and it doesn't get easier with experience.

Here's the maddening thing: both impulses are biblical. Both are necessary. Prophetic truth-telling without pastoral patience becomes harsh and divisive—you blow up the church in the name of authenticity. But pastoral patience without prophetic courage becomes enabling and cowardly—you protect people from the very truth that could set them free. Jesus was both. He spoke hard truths to the Pharisees ('You whitewashed tombs,' 'You're snakes'), but he spent three years patiently discipling twelve confused fishermen who barely understood anything. Jeremiah burned with conviction, but he also wept for Jerusalem—his prophecy was born from love, not just judgment. The tension between these two isn't something to resolve. It's something to hold. And learning which voice to listen to in which moment—that's the work of a lifetime.

So how do you know which voice to listen to? Here's a question that helps clarify: Is this truth something the room is ready to hear, or is it something I need to say? That distinction matters enormously. If the room is genuinely ready—if you've read it carefully, if people are asking questions that point toward this truth, if the Spirit seems to be stirring something—then it's probably time to speak. You're not imposing the message; you're naming what's already moving in the room. But if nobody's asking the question, if you're the only one feeling the fire, if you're the only one seeing the need for change—then speaking might just be you venting your frustration in a way that scatters rather than gathers. That's not prophecy. That's just impatience dressed in spiritual language. Real prophetic moments usually feel like you're naming something people already sense but haven't said out loud yet.

Real discernment between prophetic voice and pastoral patience requires something most busy pastors don't make time for: silence. Not strategic silence where you're planning what to say next. Actual silence. You sit with the hard truth you're carrying. You pray. You ask God: Is this mine to speak, or is this mine to hold? You sit with your spiritual director or a trusted mentor. You ask them: What do you see in me right now—conviction or frustration? You sleep on it. You notice if it's still burning the next day, or if it was just the heat of the moment. You ask the simple question: If I speak this, am I doing it to help the church move closer to Jesus, or to help myself feel heard? This kind of discernment takes time. It's countercultural in a world that rewards quick decisions and bold declarations. But it's how you avoid being the pastor who speaks every prophetic impulse that crosses his mind, scattering the flock in the name of authenticity. And it's how you avoid being the pastor who's so paralysed by the desire not to hurt anyone that you never say anything true.

Maybe the real maturity isn't learning to choose between prophetic voice and pastoral patience. Maybe it's learning to hold both at the same time. You can be the person who speaks hard truths and the person who does it gently. You can name what needs to change and take time to bring people along. You can be the prophet and the shepherd. The trick is that you can't rush either role. Prophecy without patience becomes violence. But patience without prophecy becomes enablement. So you learn to do both slowly. You speak the truth, but you speak it in a way that people can actually hear it. You wait, but you wait actively—preparing the ground, reading the room, building relationships so that when the truth does land, it lands in soil that's been tended, not in hard ground that will just reject it. This is harder than being either a prophet or a shepherd. But it's also more faithful.

So when you're wrestling with whether to speak or wait, here are three questions worth sitting with. First: Is the room asking this question? If people are circling around the issue, if they're asking things that point toward the truth you're carrying, then the ground is being prepared. Second: Have I checked my motives honestly? Not 'Am I perfect?' but 'Am I speaking this because it serves the mission, or because I need to be heard?' Third: If I speak this, am I doing it in a way people can actually receive it, or am I just venting? Real prophecy isn't about getting the words out. It's about getting the truth into people's hearts in a way they can actually integrate it. Sometimes that means speaking boldly. Sometimes it means speaking gently. Sometimes it means speaking privately to one person instead of publicly to the whole room. The form matters less than the fruit. If your words are moving people toward Jesus, toward justice, toward becoming who God is calling them to be—then you've done the work right, whether it was loud or quiet.

The two voices in your head aren't enemies. They're dance partners. The prophet reminds the shepherd not to protect people from the truth. The shepherd reminds the prophet to deliver truth with mercy. Your job isn't to silence one voice. It's to let both of them speak, and then to choose which one gets to move your mouth in this particular moment.