Leaders RSVP | Season 1, Episode 7
The Right Call: Wisdom. Simply Applied.
Servant Leadership Part II: The Invited Invite
Host: Jeff Cockrell
My brother called her "an includer." My mom's friend was a nice lady — big personality, maybe a bit overbearing. Every time she heard of some social function that my mom was hosting, she would say, "Oh! I'll bring a cheese ball," and then invite herself and interrogate my mom — or whoever happened to let it slip — about the details so she could appear "in the know."
The problem was she wasn't always invited. My mom didn't want her at every coffee, every breakfast, every bridge party, every lunch, or every dinner she hosted. But she didn't want to hurt her feelings either, and this put a real strain on their relationship.
I know it sounds like a small thing. What if it doesn't stay small?
For instance, Absalom was David's third son. He was gifted, charismatic, the most handsome man in all of Israel. He genuinely grieved a real injustice. His father's court was backlogged and broken, so he stood at the city gate every morning. He listened. He empathized. He shook hands. He made people feel seen. The people loved him.
Then he staged a coup that nearly destroyed his father's kingdom, his family, and Israel itself — because everything was in service of one thing: the throne. He was not waiting to be invited. He was engineering his own ascent — beautifully, persuasively, with language that sounded a lot like servant leadership.
Our previous six episodes have brought us to this point. We're now moving into the servant who leads. How does a servant end up in leadership at all? We get this wrong, and we're just Absalom with better branding. The question — really, the question that cuts through everything — is: Where are you facing?
So welcome to Episode 7 of The Right Call: Wisdom. Simply Applied. I'm your host, Jeff Cockrell, and today we're taking a step into leadership. How does a servant become a leader without losing their servant identity? That may be the most important question we can ask.
Shortly after midnight on June 5, 1944, Allied troops boarded ships in preparation for Operation Overlord — the largest amphibious assault in history. D-Day was scheduled for early morning, June 5, 1944. In a few hours, they would land and begin driving out the German troops who had occupied France.
But there was a storm in the channel. The weather was bad. So Eisenhower waited as long as he could. Then he made the call — D-Day was postponed.
That meant 160,000 troops were stuck onboard ships for an additional 24 hours. They hadn't even intended to be there overnight. 160,000 soldiers, sailors, and airmen were frustrated. They were cramped. They were champing at the bit to get over there and get it over with.
But they all waited. No one decided, "I think I know better." Not one ship's captain decided to go over early and start bombarding the coast. No airman thought they should go over and drop a few bombs. No paratrooper commandeered a plane and jumped early.
I know this seems stupidly obvious — so much so it's probably laughable. But think about today's culture. If we feel called to something, we pursue it. Passion is what matters. Desire is direction. And if our motives are good — if we genuinely want to serve — then stepping into leadership is just good stewardship of what God has put in us.
It doesn't matter if God is working on someone else to grow them. Doesn't matter if our supervisor is giving the opportunity to a different person in order to help them grow. If we think it's right, then we should act.
That sounds right. It's also exactly backwards for a servant. It's like sending an RSVP for an invite we don't have.
A servant doesn't deploy himself. Desire does not authorize action. Assignment authorizes action. And this holds even when the desire is completely clean. Even when the leadership we're pursuing would genuinely benefit the people we'd lead. Even when we're right that we're the best person for the role.
Because taking what isn't offered shifts something in our identity. It changes us. Even with pure motives — even if the motives stay pure through the whole process — the act of taking a role that wasn't offered means that our identity has changed. I don't know what it is now, but it's no longer servant. We've substituted our judgment for our master's judgment about where we should be deployed, and even our best intentions can't unring that bell.
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So how did we get here? If acting without the invitation is what breaks servant identity, how did an entire generation of Christian leaders come to believe that stepping into leadership on their own terms is not just acceptable — it's actually virtuous?
Robert Greenleaf gave us the answer in 1970. His servant leadership framework is the model most of us have been trained on. It dominates business schools, leadership development programs, Fortune 500 training. And what it teaches is genuinely admirable: lead with a servant's heart. Prioritize the growth and well-being of our people. Make sure the people we serve become healthier, wiser, more autonomous.
But Greenleaf's model does two subtle, and dangerous, things for a Christian leader.
First, it self-authorizes the transition to leadership. Greenleaf describes a servant who feels they can serve better from a leadership position, and that feeling is the trigger. The servant makes a conscious choice to aspire to lead. No one invites them. No one assigns them. Their own assessment of where they'd be most effective is the authorization. For a servant with a master, that's not initiative — it's actually mutiny. And when we make that choice, we've left that master behind.
But it also gives us a new master, a new allegiance. Greenleaf's "best test" of a servant leader is entirely about the followers. Are they growing? Are they becoming healthier, wiser, more autonomous? That is a worthy question. But notice what's missing. There is no test for faithfulness to the master we're supposed to be serving. No test for alignment to the mission we're supposed to be executing on. The object of service has shifted from the one who sent us to the ones we're leading.
And for a Christian servant, that's a fundamental reorientation — and it's the wrong one. We can serve our followers beautifully and still be completely out of step with our master's assignment.
Nobody asked us to lead — we just invited ourselves. Nobody asked us to serve them that way — we just started serving on our own terms. And the model calls that virtue. After all, we brought a cheese ball to our own leadership party.
When the entry point is wrong, everything built on it is compromised. And when our focus is off, we're headed toward failure or burnout.
Absalom had the gifts. He had a legitimate grievance. And he had the people's trust. He engineered his way to leadership and was focused on his followers, and it destroyed him, nearly destroyed his father, and nearly destroyed the kingdom of Israel.
David had the same calling — an actual anointing from God — and then waited years. He served a king who was actively trying to kill him. He refused to take the throne by force, even when Saul was standing directly in front of him, vulnerable — twice.
Same throne. Opposite entry points. One preserved his identity. The other lost everything.
Well, if desire doesn't authorize action, how do we legitimately end up in leadership while maintaining our servant identity?
Surprise — there's a protocol. And it shows up all through Scripture.
It starts with the offer. Isaiah 6:8 — he raises his hand and says, "Here am I, send me." That's not ambition. That's availability. He doesn't say, "Hey, look, I've assessed the situation, and I am the most qualified." He says, "I'm here. I'm willing. You decide what to do with me." The offer is the servant raising a hand — and then leaving it raised.
Next: move on your assignment. When the invitation comes — whether it's God's direct call, whether it's your supervisor who opens a door, or maybe an opportunity that you didn't engineer — when it shows up, you move. Desire sparks prayer; permission authorizes action. Nehemiah prayed for months about Jerusalem's walls. He prepared his request. He did his due diligence. He wasn't letting any grass grow under his feet. He was working. But he didn't move until Artaxerxes asked him why he looked sad and opened the door for him. The desire was there the whole time. The action waited for the assignment.
Then: submit. And if you're redirected, submit. This is the one that separates real servants from people who just like the language. Willing servants will get corrected. They'll have their direction changed. They'll receive guidance.
Paul was headed for Asia — solid plan, good intentions — and the Spirit blocked him. Nope. So he's like, all right, well, I'll go to Bithynia. And the Spirit blocked him again. Nope. Then he gets a vision of a man in Macedonia. And the result — Philippi, Lydia, and the Philippian church. One of the most fruitful chapters of the early church came from Paul being told "no" twice and saying "yes" to the detour. The master reroutes. The servant adjusts.
Underneath it all: keep asking. The hand stays raised. Nehemiah didn't pray once and move on. He prayed for months. The offer isn't one and done — it's a posture. Knock and it shall be opened — not ring the doorbell and run. We keep showing up. We keep making ourselves available. And when the assignment comes, we're ready — not because we engineered the moment, but because we never stopped offering.
A great example of the servant's protocol in action is General George C. Marshall, Chief of Staff of the Army. He wanted to command Operation Overlord. He was the most qualified person alive for it. FDR knew it. Everyone knew it. FDR even implied the role was his. But when Roosevelt asked him directly, Marshall would not lobby for it. He told the President the decision was his to make. Marshall would serve wherever he was assigned.
FDR gave Overlord to Eisenhower. And Marshall stayed on as Chief of Staff — and stayed on as one of Eisenhower's biggest supporters.
That's the servant's protocol in action.
Offer — Marshall made himself available and never hid that he was willing.
Move on the assignment — his assignment was Chief of Staff. That was the role. And he totally transformed the U.S. Army and created the organization that won the war.
Submit to the redirection — he wanted to command the biggest military operation in history. Arguably, it was owed to him. And when it went to someone else, he adjusted without bitterness.
Keep asking — he kept serving faithfully, and was later invited to be the Secretary of State, where he created the Marshall Plan — the thing that rebuilt Europe and stopped the spread of communism westward. Arguably a bigger legacy than commanding D-Day.
And the other lesson that comes out of this: a good master is just and rewards his good and faithful servants.
Now here's the thing. If you're listening to this, I'll bet there's somewhere in your life where you are "waiting on the Lord." And maybe there is some leadership you think you're supposed to step into, but you're not sure. So the real question is: how do we know if we're waiting on the Lord, or He is waiting on us?
Remember, at our core, we're servants. We're always serving something. Always. Even when we think we're standing still, something has our allegiance. And here are four questions that can help us figure out what's really going on.
One: What master is served by waiting? If we're honest — really honest — is our waiting serving God? Or is it serving our own ego? Maybe it's protecting us from a fear. Or it's salving our wounded pride. Or maybe it's the comfort of not having to risk failure. Waiting feels spiritual, and it certainly sounds obedient. But if the thing being protected by our inaction isn't God's agenda, then it's somebody else's — and we've found another master, maybe without even realizing it.
Two: What idol is challenged by taking action? This is often a harder question. If we imagine ourselves actually stepping through the door — accepting the assignment, taking the risk — what pushes back? What tightens in our chest? Because that resistance is serving something. If moving forward would dethrone our need to be recognized first, or our fear of looking foolish, or our insistence on being asked the right way — then what's keeping us still isn't patience. It's an idol that we don't want to displace.
Three: How are we waiting? There's a difference between a servant who is restless in his master's direction and one who's just gone passive. A restless servant is growing. They're working. They're doing the hard, unglamorous thing that's right in front of them — even helping the person who got the role they wanted. A passive servant has checked out. They may still be showing up, but the energy is gone. The face is turned. Restless waiting is an act of service. Passive waiting is just self-protection with a spiritual name.
Four: How are we keeping our hand raised? Our offer still has to stay on the table. Are we still praying? Still preparing? Still making ourselves available — visibly, actively, not just in our own heads? Or did the hand come down somewhere along the way, and we didn't notice? Because if we're not still offering, we're not waiting on the Lord. We're just waiting.
These questions aren't easy. They're not supposed to be. But answering them honestly will help us do the most important thing a servant can do — keep us focused on the master that we should be serving.
Because there are really only two directions a servant can face: toward their master, or not. And when they're not facing toward their master, there are also only two directions — inward and outward. And we can often tell which is which by what it looks like on the outside.
The inward-facing servant has stopped looking to serve. It might start with something legitimate — a real hurt, a genuine injustice, an opportunity that went to someone less qualified. But somewhere along the way, the response became the identity. Now they're disengaged. They've pulled back — maybe not a lot, but enough. Often, they're doing the minimum. They've withdrawn from the people and the mission they used to care about. And it feels like self-protection — nursing an offense, rehearsing a grievance, waiting to be noticed or vindicated. They may call it patience. They may even call it discernment. But the hand came down, and the offer is off the table. And the longer their face stays turned inward, the harder it is to turn back.
Now, a servant facing outward — but not toward their master — is harder to spot, because it looks like leadership. They're active. Producing. Serving people. Getting results. From the outside, it might look identical to facing the master. But the orientation has shifted. They're serving their followers, not their master's mission. They're building something, but it's something they chose, not something they were assigned. It looks like initiative. It may feel like purpose — and that's actually what makes it dangerous. There's no obvious pain to signal something is wrong. No bitterness. No disengagement. Just a slow, invisible drift from "Here am I, send me" to "Here am I, watch me." That's Absalom at the gate. That's a servant who left their master and found a new audience to serve — and brought a cheese ball.
A servant facing their master is restless — but restless in their master's direction. They're growing. Doing the work that's right in front of them, not the work they wish they had. They might even be helping the person who got the role they wanted — and doing it without resentment and with enthusiasm, because the mission is bigger than the position. And their hand is still raised. Their offer is still on the table. It feels like tension — but it's a good kind of tension. The kind that says, "I'm ready and I'm willing, but it's not my call." There is discomfort in it, but no bitterness. They can wait, because the waiting itself is an act of service.
So the question about leadership is never whether or not we're qualified for the job. In fact, a good master usually doesn't wait until we are ready. They push us to grow when they are ready. And it's not even about whether our motives are pure.
The question is: Were you invited into leadership?
Because a servant leader who takes leadership without the invitation may have started leading, but they've stopped serving. They stopped being a servant. It doesn't matter how good it looks. It doesn't matter how many people are benefiting or how successful we are. If the entry point is wrong, the identity has shifted.
But a servant invited into leadership — who offered, waited, kept their hand raised, stayed vigilant, stayed busy, maybe was even redirected — that servant can do something that a self-appointed leader can't do. They can invite others. The invitation they received can be extended. The legitimacy of that can be extended to others — because they were invited. The invited invite. That's the chain. That's what makes it real.
So this week, do one thing. Look at where you're serving now — not where you wish you were, but where you actually are. And ask yourself two questions:
Where am I facing?
And is my hand still raised?
If it is — keep it there. The invitation is coming.
If it's not — put it back up. We want to be waiting on Him, not keep Him waiting on us.
And if you're interested in hearing the episodes that have led us here, you can find them on Spotify. In our next episode, we're going to dive into what it looks like to lead as a servant. And if this episode has resonated with you, please like or subscribe and forward it to someone who needs to hear this.
Until then, thanks for listening. Lead faithfully.
