Sometimes in leadership there are moments when no one is watching and everything is at stake.
Not because of faulty policies or missing metrics, but because our moral compass is quietly being tested. In these moments, we do not rely on politics or public opinion. We should rely on what we believe to be truth and moral principles that will benefit the communities we serve.
As someone who has led in both faith-based and secular institutions for more than two decades, I have learned that leadership is rarely defined in the spotlight. It is shaped in the gray areas, those dark places where values and pressures collide and courage often whispers rather than roars. For those leaders, the stakes may be higher in systems that were not originally designed with their perspectives or presence in mind. From these gray spaces, I learned that faith-based leadership is not about dogma or doctrine, but about insight.
Faith, for me, has always been an anchor. I use it to assess the tension between institutional demands and human dignity. It helps me pause before I act, reflect before I speak and evaluate performance through a human lens. Especially now, in a time when higher education is under ideological, financial, and political attack, we must ask: What underpins our decision-making when accountability disappears?
A few years ago, I found myself at one of these crossroads. The number of applicants is very tight. Budgets are tighter. Silent pressure from senior leaders grows Admit students who do not meet our standards. No one says this explicitly, but it’s implicit in every conversation: “Let the numbers count.”
My team worked tirelessly to bring in a strong group of freshmen, but we couldn’t close the gap without compromising. These students show promise, but our institutions lack adequate resources to support them. By acknowledging them it may seem like we are giving these students access, but in reality, we are giving them away.
I struggled deeply with this dilemma. The pressure to “just this once” is real. I have built my career on getting results, but I cannot betray the students we claim to serve. In the serenity of this decision, I chose to stay the course.
I had no idea at the time how this choice would shape me. It didn’t win applause. But it made me the kind of leader I could live with.
Leadership in higher education has always been complex. But today, it feels more fragile than ever.
The apparent dismantling of DEI, the silencing of courageous faculty, and the marginalization of students of color, immigrants, and international students have sent the morals of many campuses into freefall. While we cannot always point out these tensions politically, we must acknowledge them morally.
What we are witnessing is more than a crisis of policy; it is a crisis of conscience.
If there is no legal authority, who will protect students?
Without board directives, who will ensure inclusion?
When responsibility becomes optional, who speaks up?
Without a guiding light, organizations may make decisions that prioritize image over impact. In these moments, faith-based leadership is not about quoting Scripture or invoking theology. It is about rooting decisions in dignity, humanity and justice. It’s important to remember that our role is not just management; They are moral.
This kind of leadership also requires what I call “inner work.” It requires us to slow down in a culture of acceleration. Stop and reflect, even if your next decision is overdue. In my own journey, this has meant cultivating space for prayer, silence, and spiritual grounding. For others, it might mean mindfulness, meditation, or journaling. Practice is not important, posture is also important: Be willing to look inward before leading outward..
This is the discipline that prepares us for the gray work of leadership. In those quiet moments, when we have to choose between convenience and being right, it reminds us of who we are.
For women of color, the cost of courage is often higher. The gray areas we explore come under greater scrutiny. We expect to perform perfectly, stand for perfection, and resist silently. However, standing up for our values in the face of these impossible expectations is more than just leadership. This is resistance. This is testimony.
I’ve learned that some of the most powerful leaders don’t lead by title, they lead by presence. They embody stability in turbulent times. Many of them started by following, listening, and learning. They put service first. At its best, faith-based leadership is a return to this posture. A philosophy that puts care over control, humility over hierarchy, courage over convenience.
The challenge is not whether faith belongs in higher education. The question is whether we can assume leadership roles without it, especially now.
This is not a call to religious belief. This is a call for reflection. A call for a return to the moral inwardness higher education was once known for in students and leaders. The call is to build not only institutional credibility but also institutional character.
Insight can help us pause when the world needs urgency. It reminds us that justice isn’t always expedient, compassion isn’t always reflected in key performance indicators, and leadership isn’t just about who follows you, it’s about what you refuse to compromise.
So when pressures mount, budgets are cut, policies shift, and responsibilities diminish, we must ask: What else must we protect?
Higher education needs more than bold dreamers. It requires quiet stewards. Leaders who can sit in the gray areas and still choose the light. Leaders understand that faith is not the opposite of reason but a companion to moral clarity.
Because when the spotlight fades and the metrics change, what remains is the integrity of our decisions and the dignity of those we serve.
