The Weight of Being Seen: What Pastor Jerry and the NSPPD Conference Taught Me About Leadership

By Giovanne Schachere

I didn’t fly to Atlanta looking for a breakthrough.

I flew there because the women in my family—my wife, my mother-in-law, and my sister-in-law—believed something life-changing was happening through the ministry of Pastor Jerry Eze. They’d been watching NSPPD faithfully. They wanted to see it in person. So we booked flights from Los Angeles and called it our first trip to Atlanta together.

I thought I was just tagging along.

I was wrong.

What I experienced in that stadium—the heat, the hunger, the worship, and the weight—reframed everything I thought I understood about leadership, faith, and the responsibility of being seen.

A Stadium Full of Faith

The conference took place at Georgia State University’s Center Parc Stadium. Giant screens. Full stage. Security everywhere. Thousands gathered. People flew in from every direction with one thing in mind: encounter.

They came with real belief. Real need. Real desperation.

They didn’t come passively. They came prepared to shout, to praise, to cry. They waved towels. They responded to every line.

“What God cannot do—does not exist.”

“I receive it.”

“Fire!”

The chants, the tears, the posture of the crowd—it wasn’t a regular service. It was something else. Something rare. Something spiritual, but also strangely familiar.

At times, it didn’t feel like church.

It felt like a worship concert.

When Leadership Becomes a Spotlight

People weren’t just looking for God.

They were looking at Pastor Jerry.

Not as a messenger—but almost as a source.

Some cried and screamed. Others gave up comfort and shade just to get closer to the stage, even with the sun burning down at 90 degrees.

It felt holy and haunting at the same time.

And then Pastor Jerry said something that shifted the entire moment:

“Don’t come here looking at me for your healing. I can’t bless you. It’s GOD that performs miracles. To GOD be the glory! Give your life to the Lord.”

He saw it happening. He felt the weight of people’s eyes. And instead of absorbing it, he released it. He pointed the crowd back to the source. Back to God.

That one moment stayed with me. Because I realized—maybe for the first time—what it means to be the one people are looking at.

The Mirror I Didn’t Expect

I’m not a pastor.

But I lead people. Every day.

I’m the CEO of two mission-driven companies—based in California and Washington—with staff across the country. We help people find stability, housing, support, and justice.

And for a lot of people, I’m not just an executive.

I’m a symbol of hope.

I’m the one they trust to pull them through.

The one they follow.

Just like that stadium crowd.

And I realized—while sitting in the middle of thousands—how easy it is for people to start believing in you… more than they believe in the purpose behind you.

That’s where it gets dangerous.

That’s where you lose sight of the assignment.

Worship, Identity, and a Shared Spirit

One more thing stood out to me that day: the crowd.

There were very few African Americans present—but thousands of Africans. And yet I felt completely at home. The way they prayed. The way they worshipped. The sound. The rhythm. The intensity.

There was no disconnect. There was no cultural gap.

There was only familiarity.

And it reminded me of something important.

We are not separate. We were separated.

African Americans are Africans who were taken, renamed, and scattered. Our worship is the same because our DNA is the same. The fire in the room was global, but the spirit was one.

That realization wasn’t just emotional. It was ancestral.

It brought clarity. And reverence.

My Quiet Decision

I didn’t leave the conference with a miracle.

or did I? I know I left with a mandate.

To lead differently.

To remain grounded.

To never confuse being looked at with being worshipped.

I lead people remotely, in different states, across different time zones. Sometimes I forget how many are watching. Sometimes I forget how much weight my words carry.

Not anymore.

Leadership isn’t about being admired.

It’s about being trusted with people’s belief—and knowing how to handle that trust.

Final Words

Atlanta wasn’t just a trip. It was a reminder. A redirection.

If you’re a leader—of a company, a movement, or even just a household—ask yourself:

Are people looking at you more than they’re looking through you?

Are you a vessel, or have you become a source?

Because once you start holding the glory…

You start blocking the one thing that was never meant to come from you.

And the truth is simple:

You are not the fire.

You are the altar it falls on.