There’s a powerful moment in the New Zealand film Whale Rider that captures a quiet but courageous kind of leadership.

Paikea, a young girl destined to lead, watches her grandfather Koro, a traditionalist elder, refuse to recognise her calling. Bound by centuries of cultural expectation, Koro cannot accept that leadership might look different in his generation. Yet Pai doesn’t fight him. She doesn’t argue. She listens.

Even as Koro refuses to see her, Pai continues to honour him. She shows respect, not rebellion. And in time, her patient presence and quiet persistence open a door that force never could.

This moment offers more than cinematic drama. It provides a compelling metaphor for the kind of leadership often required in the church today. When pastors lead change in the face of resistance or strong emotion, the impulse can be to either assert one’s authority, abandon one’s convictions, or retreat altogether in order to maintain harmony.

But leadership in these moments requires a different posture—one that is emotionally grounded, spiritually mature, and relationally attuned.

In my research on church change, I interviewed two New Zealand pastors, Bruce and Michael, who modelled this kind of leadership in practice. Both led significant transitions within their congregations. Both encountered resistance. And both discovered this crucial truth: listening to someone does not necessarily mean agreeing with them.

Bruce articulated it this way:

I'm not there to win them over. I'm actually there to make sure they feel like they are heard. And so that when we get to that [eldership or church AGM] meeting, or that important place, actually, they're happy.

In one example, Bruce visited a parishioner who was upset about him no longer wearing a clerical collar. He didn’t defend his decision or promise to change it. He simply listened—over tea and scones. The next Sunday, he still wasn’t wearing the collar—but the woman was less upset. Why? Because she had been heard.

Michael, who pastors two rural churches, had a similar experience. A long-time congregant was distressed at the proposed removal of a pew. Rather than justify the decision, Michael chose to visit her and offer a listening ear.

If you have that conversation, and you allow people to be listened to and understood, [although] not necessarily agreed with… Going to see people who are going to be really negatively impacted by the decision makes them feel seen and valued, and probably brings them on the journey a bit more than if they were just fully ignored.

This ability to hold space without capitulating is the core of emotionally intelligent leadership. It echoes Susan Hassinger’s “rollercoaster” model of change, which shows how people often resist not because they disagree with the logic, but because they are grieving a loss. Leaders who can stay grounded through that storm often find that rational conversation returns in time.

Viewed in this light, Whale Rider offers more than a story of intergenerational conflict. It becomes a cultural parable for transformational leadership. Pai’s approach is not transactional, designed to win approval or enact policy. It is relational, grounded in presence, respect, and inner conviction.

Church leaders navigating contested spaces might take note: listening is not a strategy to gain compliance, but a discipline of honouring the other. It reflects a theological vision of leadership rooted in incarnation—where presence precedes persuasion, and transformation often begins with recognition, not argument.

So the next time you find yourself facing resistance—a congregant dismayed by a proposed change, or a colleague pushing back—consider that your first task may not be to convince, but to accompany. To listen, not as a means to an end, but as a form of spiritual leadership.

Agreement is not the prerequisite for compassion. And leadership, in its most courageous form, often begins not with a speech, but with silence.

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— Nathan Hughes, Perohuka Coaching
https://www.perohukacoaching.com/

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