Why Pastors Guard Their Inner Circle
On Fellows, Frenemies, And The Friends You DM Wild Stuff To On Insta
Having a platform is wild. You get momentum, followers, buy-in from people who want to be part of the mission—or at least close to the spotlight. And their motives? A glorious buffet: some healthy, some delusional, and some so opportunistic it feels like they skipped seminary and majored in leeching.
A good leader learns to enact filters.
One of the best filters? Stacking chairs.
When I got invited to Hillsong NYC, it wasn’t because I lobbied or politicked—I was personally asked by Joel Houston. But once I got there, it didn’t matter who invited me. I had to pass through Sydney’s quality control, which didn’t know me from Adam. Back then, UNITED was a big deal. Like fan-mail-with-bodily-fluids level of big. So they threw me on the crap jobs—classic grunt work. A kind of hazing.
And honestly? I respected it.
Because hazing is a filter. It’s the same reason the Navy SEALS do hell week. It’s not cruelty—it’s clarity.
Is this guy gonna run when life gets hard? Can we shoot straight with him? Will he fold when the pressure comes?
You can’t build with someone who can’t take a punch—figuratively or spiritually. And you definitely can’t lead with someone who runs to HR the moment conflict gets real.
This is why leaders must curate their inner circle. Not based on flattery or résumé, but on resilience.
Can you handle the weight? Can you stay in the room when the shouting starts? Can you take correction without collapsing into a puddle of offense?
Now—here’s the part that needs to be said carefully:
Certain environments demand blunt-force honesty, not coddled conversation. And in my experience, not everyone thrives in that. Some men wilt. Some women thrive. But in general, most organizations overcorrect by shielding everyone from heat instead of training them to carry it.
That’s how we got HR departments—not because someone wanted justice, but because someone couldn’t handle tone. HR exists because someone got their feelings hurt and needed a bureaucratic bat-signal.
And yet, the irony? The real world doesn’t care about your tone preferences. Responsibility is heavy. Leadership is emotionally violent. Sometimes you need to hear,
“Finish the drywall or don’t show up tomorrow.”
Not because someone’s being abusive, but because someone cares about the work more than your feelings.
If you’re going to build anything real, you need people who can take hits without interpreting everything as trauma.
Not everyone can be in the core.
Not everyone should be.
And leadership isn't a cuddle puddle. It’s a fire.
And some people—regardless of gender—just aren’t fireproof.
Hillsong NYC had a “last man out” policy at all of our venues. This meant that a male staff pastor had to be the last person out of the building, just to prove to our volunteers that nobody out worked staff.
It was never a woman. They went home early. lol.
The girls used to say to Carl:
“How are we ever gonna learn to preach or be in the inner workings of leadership if you don’t mandate it? We don’t hang out with you the way the other boys do, Pastor…”
Yeah. That’s right.
You don’t hang out with the pastor at midnight.
Because a) it’s wildly inappropriate, and
b) you’d cry.
And not for spiritual reasons. You’d cry because someone would make a joke—a not-very-nice one, probably—and it’d be about you or one of your friends. And we wouldn’t even fully mean it.
But also… maybe we would.
That’s how boys are. That’s the language of brotherhood. Sarcasm and savagery wrapped in loyalty. It’s violent affection.
Pastors guard their inner circle because sometimes they just need to be a dude. Not sinful. Not reckless. Just… unfiltered. They need a locker room, not a LinkedIn.
And for that, you need a brotherhood.
I’ve got my guys.
Men I am truly known by—past the ministry branding, past the performance. We send each other the most theologically offensive memes you’ve ever seen. We say the craziest stuff to each other. I’d take a bullet for them. I’d bury bodies. I’ve buried bodies.
I still have the shovel.
You know who you are:
Chris Palmer. Thomas Hansen. Tim Douglas. Matty Crocker. David Kuwabara. Jeremy Ortiz. Joel Houston. Aaron Hollinger. Chris Davenport.
Some of you I can’t name here.
But you’re in the mafia.
We keep each other sane.
We rebuke each other, roast each other, rescue each other.
That circle is sacred.
And it needs to be protected. But it’s also always growing. I need more brothers!
In life you’ll end up surrounded by three kinds of people:
Fellows, Frenemies, and Friends.
FELLOWS
These are your co-laborers.
You might spend more time with them than your actual inner circle. But with them, you keep things zipped up and tight. Not because you’re fake—but because you’re wise.
Why? Because they don’t have faith for what you have faith for.
It’s a Romans 14 thing. We’re not talking about sin. We’re talking about scruples.
Some of them are the “weaker brother.”
Easily offended. Chronically cautious.
They’re watching your wine pour like you just sacrificed a goat.
Bless them—but don’t bare your soul.
FRENEMIES
These are the ones you know are talking crap.
You hear it. It gets back to you. Always does.
They’re the conference fake-smilers, the DM screenshotters, the podcast subtweeters.
But you smile. You play nice.
You work the room like a Cheshire Cat—because Jesus said be wise as serpents, not sulky as lambs.
You don’t trust them. But you don’t shoot them either.
You just never turn your back.
FRIENDS
These are your Jonathan-and-David types.
Your souls are knit.
You are on mission together. You know each other’s dirt—and hold it in covenant, not in leverage.
They show up when the crowds leave.
They hold your arms up when you can’t fake it anymore.
They know your tone, your tells, your theology—and still love you.
I’ve learned hard lessons over the last fifteen years.
I’ve let the wrong people in.
I’ve trusted fast, risked big, and gotten burned.
I’ve been betrayed by people I defended.
And I’ve been surprised by brothers I never expected.
But that’s the furnace where real friendship is forged.
And when you find the real ones?
Never. Let. Them. Go.
Here are Five Principles, With Historical Examples, to Consider When Picking Your Inner Circle:
