This is the one.

The big idea that will spark the glorious explosion.

Can’t you just picture it? Dozens… maybe hundreds (?!) of people will show up.

We might not have enough food.

Or chairs.

They can sit on the ground. It’ll be fine.

This place will be so full of the Holy Spirit, they won’t care. It’ll be like a revival. It’ll be full of energy and laughter. And love!

We’ll put on a show.

This is the one. This is the event that changes it all.

Gosh, I hope so. I’m rooting for you.

I have a funny feeling, though, that you know what I know: The perfect church growth event is a white whale.

It is a quixotic Sasquatch.

The perfect church growth event is a mirage. It always seems to shimmer just over the next hill.

It is the Holy Grail.

The search goes on.

I love me a fun event! Don’t get me wrong. I’m far from poo-pooing your church growth event idea.

I’ve just touched that hot stove a few times before. And it’s time I learned my lesson.

I’ve planned what I thought would be perfect events. Advertised them loudly. Dreamt of overflowing attendance. Had stars in my eyes.

And then felt the emptiness of empty seats and empty budgets and empty results.

And then I’ve quickly started planning the next white whale event that would show them all!!!!

Ugh. It’s exhausting.

But don’t get me wrong.

Big church events are awesome. Go for it. Do it. You might find the Sasquatch after all. You might know the secret to the Holy Grail of church growth events. (If you do, drop it in the comments, please.)

But I’ve started adjusting my expectations and rethinking the purpose of “The Big Church Event.”

Part of the problem with “Big Event” mentality is that it is about us… not about them.

The big event is meant to say, “See?! Our church is different and wonderful! Don’t you see us?! Look at us!”

And that instinct isn’t wrong. You should be proud of your sacred community. Show it off! I got no problem with that.

But turn your attention away from the church for a moment.

And turn it toward your neighbors.

Most people aren’t desperate for a perfect church. They’re desperate for a less lonely Tuesday. They’re desperate for someone to remember their name. They’re desperate for belonging. They’re desperate for rest. They’re desperate for personal attention and care. They’re desperate to know they matter to someone. They’re desperate to be known and remembered.

And they aren’t sitting in their living rooms with too much trust in institutions but none nearby. Quite the opposite. Churches are on every corner and lots of folks take pains to walk the long way around them.

Church events are for two groups of people…

1. People who already trust the church.

2. The rare people brave enough to risk showing up, and who should be cherished and thoughtfully cared for.

It’s important to note that I didn’t list MOST people.

MOST of your neighbors will not be at your big church event. It doesn’t seem like it’s for them. It seems like it’s for you. It’s very easy to skip. Even if they know about it, it’s unlikely they’ll feel a need to come.

MOST of your neighbors would prefer something a bit more comfortable.

The good news for MOST of your neighbors is that if they show up at a big church event, they can remain relatively anonymous and safe. They’ll be unlikely to be engaged in anything beyond polite banter and friendly smiles. The bad news for MOST of your neighbors is that they will be very unlikely to build a new relationship at the event.

Now… do I think some “big church events” have value? Absolutely!!! As a low-risk opportunity for members to invite people they already know well to experience church in a non-worship (aka lower-risk) setting… events can be really great. But that requires a congregation committed to inviting people to the event.

Another note… for the big holiday events… the Easter Egg Hunt and the Santa Claus photo shoot, etc… these can be great IF congregants are prepared to build real relationship, learn about newcomers, and truly get to know visitors so we have a chance to walk with them in their life (or at least find out how we can serve them in the future).

OK. I’ll stop there. This post is not meant to discourage you from “big events.” Gosh, I’m planning some right now for the local churches I serve and for BETWEEN.

This post is simply meant to keep those events in perspective. To remember what they’re best at and what results they’re likely to produce.

I believe the slow work of growing sacred communities is best rooted in deep, faithful relationships. And events sometimes come up big in the budget but a bit short in the relationship department.

I had this simple little interaction at a church conference earlier this month that I want to tell you about. I ended up $50 poorer with a big smile on my face.

We’re sitting at dinner. Not a fancy conference dinner… more like a camp-ish retreat-y setting. Spaghetti served on trays that we took to round tables in a big wood-paneled room. Everyone is church-y. Pastors, ministers, some academics… they were all, in one way or another, associated with campus ministry.

It’s the last night of the conference. Wonderful in every way so far.

The executive director of the organization hosting the event is beloved. She does a fantastic job of representing all the stakeholders while patiently and faithfully leading the organization forward into the future. Based on what I could tell, everyone just thinks she’s the bees knees.

Anyway, we’re sitting there eating our spaghetti and garlic bread and salad bar fixins. Drinking our conference coffee.

A man stops by the table. Tall guy. His name is Rob. He was a masterful facilitator in an earlier session that I really enjoyed. And he and I had spent 20 or so minutes earlier this afternoon about his thriving ministry experiences in Illinois and the Pacific Northwest.

He calmly interrupts our table. Not with a word salad full of apologies. Not with a cowering snivel. Not with charming banter. Not with an “excuse me” or a “so sorry to interrupt.” Nope. He just arrives confidently, joyfully.

We all turn his way.

He says, “I’m leading the effort to thank Gini,” (the beloved exec I mentioned earlier). “She’s done a phenomenal job and we all agreed she needs a proper thank you. I’m taking donations. Cash is great, or here is a QR code for Venmo.”

As he hands his phone displaying the QR code to the table, he doesn’t say anything else. Just confidently, joyfully, selflessly smiles.

The whole table made a donation. In under 90 seconds he had moved on with a simple, “You all are so wonderful. She’ll appreciate this so much.”

I turned to a table-mate — a guy named Joseph who is a fundraising guru (and who was at the conference representing a large foundation). I said, “Wow. That was really good.”

Joseph responded, “Wasn’t it? That was textbook. A seamless, non-anxious ask.”

A seamless, non-anxious ask.

Pause on those sacred words for moment.

Seamless. Non-anxious. Ask.

Church growth efforts could learn a thing or two from this little interaction. Or, perhaps I should say, MY church growth efforts could learn a thing or two from this little interaction.

I’m a nervous asker.

I’m an overly polite inviter.

The brow sweat of my anxiety outshines the kindness of my invitation almost every time.

If I looked back over even the emails I’ve sent to folks inviting them to engage more deeply in the ministry I lead, I’d see evidence of my wishy-washiness. My nervous space-filling. My offering-five-options-in-case-you-don’t-like-what-I’m-really-asking-for.

I hate being rejected. So I apologize before I even start and then hedge every ask with multiple off-ramps so nobody feels bad.

I’m terrified of no.

“So sorry to bother you. Would you please consider, maybe, doing this one thing? If not, that’s ok. And if you’d rather do one of these three other things, or even nothing at all, those are all ok too. Just let me know. Or not. That’s ok too. Sorry again for bothering you.” —Me

That sounds so different than…

“Follow me.” —Jesus

I haven’t counted. But I found someone on the internet who did. And they suggest Jesus offered that calm, confident, clear, non-anxious invitation 21 times.

Follow me.

He never begs for followers. And he never couches his invitation in pleasantries or apology.

Follow me.

As I think back to Rob at the conference — his gentle approach and his calm, clear, confident, non-anxious invitation — I can’t help but imagine that’s how Jesus seemed too.

One thing I’ve learned from my friends in fundraising that I believe applies to growing a ministry or a local church: you get better at asking the more you do it.

As you consider asking someone to take the next step into their journey of spiritual community, I hope this is helpful.

I personally want to get better at asking things like…

“Will you help me create the future of BETWEEN?”

“You’d be a great local ambassador for BETWEEN. Will you serve your community in that role?”

“I hope you consider yourself a member here. You belong.”

“Your church would be a perfect companion church for BETWEEN. Will you consider it?”

Recently, in the span of one week, I had two encounters with the institutional church that… disappointed me, frustrated me, and sucked the wind out of my sails.

[Weep silently with the rest of us if you know the feeling.]

I know, for sure, that I’m not alone.

I sense that many of this small band of folks who read this blog are people who have received scowls in response to their forward-thinking and innovative ideas for the church.

You’re the kind of people who have said, “What if we try this?!” Only to receive grumbles in return.

You’re the kind of people who have said, “I have a big idea!” Only to be made to feel small.

You’re the kind of people who have said, “Let’s GO!” Only to have been told you’re too fast, too loud, and too different.

It’s no wonder to me that the data folks and the research-y people keep claiming the local church is dying.

But, somehow or another, you all are still here. You are “yes” people. You still believe in the future of the local church, despite the naysayers and the curmudgeons.

And I still believe in the church too… because I believe in you.

Let me remind you as I’ve had to remind myself this week:

When Jesus is accused by the Pharisees of healing on the sabbath, he doesn’t apologize and quit. He reminds everyone of what is most important in God’s eyes, and he keeps on keeping on.1 (Mark 3:1-6)

Or a bit earlier in Mark, in the midst of a series of confrontations Jesus has with the institutionalists… as he is accused of breaking another of the Sabbath laws of the time, “Then he said to them, ‘The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath.’” (Mark 2:27)

I think Jesus believes in you too.

Jesus was an innovator, like you. Jesus was a disruptor, like you.

Like you, Jesus wasn’t interested in dismantling or destroying institutions… he was interested in reminding them why they existed.

He chose the people in front of him.

Again and again.

Jesus kept doing the work.

When the world said “no,” Jesus kept saying yes.

When some guys started lowering their hurting friend into a room with Jesus from the ceiling, Jesus didn’t scold them for a lack of decorum. Jesus saw their faith. He said yes.

When children interrupted Jesus and his disciples’ busy schedules, just hoping to feel a connection with him, Jesus said yes.

When Mary of Bethany poured expensive perfume all over Jesus, and the others in the room were aghast at her waste, Jesus said yes.

When the crowd in Jericho is scolding a suffering and shouting Bartimaeus to “be quiet,” Jesus stopped. “Call him,” he said. Jesus said yes.

When the disciples looked at a hungry crowd and said, "Send them away," Jesus said, "You give them something to eat." Jesus said yes.

Over and over and over, Jesus says, “Yes.”

Blessed are you who are trying to grow your church or your ministry, but you keep encountering the big “no” machine of institutional protectionism. For yours is a company I would like to keep. And I believe Jesus would too.

I’m struck by a memory of a Christian event I attended almost a year ago. It was a large national gathering of innovative people starting new church expressions. These were experimental people. These were true believers and real “yes” folks. These were people doing incredibly hard work for absolutely zero financial gain.

After one of the sessions, I found myself in a wonderful conversation with one of the attendees. It took only about five minutes of me listening for her tears to start flowing. She was so worn down… not by the ministry, not by the feeding of her community and the spiritual nourishment of so many people she was serving… she was worn down by the processes, the sluggish pace of denominational politics, the constant “no” machine, and the subtle cues offered to her over and over that she was never quite enough in the eyes of the institutional authority figures.

I’ve received those cues too. Maybe you have as well.

And yet here we all are. Saying “yes.” Hoping. Believing.

I’m guessing you already know this, but I should say it anyway… I’m not suggesting that rules, policies, or polity are bad or should be circumvented. Here’s the irony. I’m actually kind of a polity nerd. I like that stuff.

But Jesus was kind of a nerd too. He didn’t hate “the law.”

“Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them.” (Matthew 5:17)

May you and I and other “yes” people keep on keeping on when it comes to making the promise of “on earth as it is in heaven” real. Keep imagining. Keep innovating. Keep experimenting. Keep running, and working, and saying “YES!”

As I write this, I’m almost finished reading Theo of Golden by Allen Levi.

I love it.

No spoilers, I promise. But one of the story’s central threads involves a kind-hearted older man who becomes enchanted by hundreds of pencil sketches hanging on the wall of a small-town café. Every drawing is a portrait of someone from the community—a janitor, a musician, an attorney, a mother. Ordinary neighbors.

The old man begins buying the portraits one by one, then quietly giving each drawing to the person whose face it captures.

It’s a story overflowing with sacred human connection.

(And yes, if you love this book, I hope you’ll read Cathedrals of Connection next. Shameless plug.)

But the novel also gave me an image for something I’ve been trying to help churches imagine.

Does your church have... a list to love?

A list of people you know (or know of), who aren’t members of your church, but who you can walk beside and nourish?

Do you have a list of neighbors you can bless?

A different, and not altogether wrong, way to think of this list is as a collection of names and contact information of people you hope might join your church/ministry someday.

But if you only see the list that way, it can feel a little self-serving, a little transactional, and a little bit like a soulless task. That’s why instead of asking ministry leaders about their visitor list or their prospect list… I love to ask church/ministry leaders… Can you show me the list of neighbors you know… the neighbors you have a chance to love?

Imagine stepping into that cafe in the novel. You look around the walls and see artistic sketches of the people who walk your streets and eat at your restaurants. The complicated, layered, beautiful faces of the folks who ride your bus and shop at your grocery store. The people who bag your groceries. The woman who walks her dog past your church every morning. The dad who coaches Little League. The college student who is always working at the coffee shop. The teachers who teach your kids and the dentists who clean your teeth. Your neighbors.

Imagine seeing all those faces. You stand there studying one face. Then another. Then another.

And instead of wondering, How can we get them to church?

You wonder, How can we walk beside them this week?

This is the slow work of sacred community.

This is how churches grow.

This is how neighbors are best loved.

One at a time.

Human to human.

Serving them.

Showing up for them.

Nourishing their spirit.

Practically, this be as simple as a spreadsheet.

(A café covered in hand-drawn portraits is beautiful… but admittedly difficult to organize.)

I’d be happy to show you this example.

There are software tools available too (hint: most church software programs aren’t actually made to do this — they’re made to fundraise and count current members). I can tell you about this one1.

Honestly, you can start with a crayon and a napkin if you want. The format of your list matters far less than the stories and souls on your list.

It becomes a lot easier to love your neighbors when you know who they are.

It becomes even more likely that you’ll love your neighbors when you keep track of your encounters, you keep notes about their story, and you have a system for thinking about how to serve them next.

The story of Nicodemus coming to Jesus under the cover of night... full of curiosity and wonder... is one of my favorites. You’ll find it in John 3. (I really loved this sermon I shared about it.)

I know I’m not alone in loving this story. There are a lot of polite Christians who like the story because...

a) Jesus is a strong teacher

b) It includes the famous “God so loved the world...” line

c) It includes lots of beautiful language, and

d) I think there’s a snarky way to interpret the story that makes some believers feel holier-than-thou.

(That’s not how I read it).

I love the Nicodemus story for a very different reason.

I think Nicodemus is the hero.

Jesus is cool too, obviously.

But Nicodemus takes a huge, courageous risk.

Nicodemus risks scandal. Nicodemus risks awkward confrontation. Nicodemus risks being in the wrong place with the wrong person asking the wrong questions.

Nicodemus risks going first.

And that matters a lot.

For faith to flourish, someone has to risk going first.

And in the same way, for churches and ministries to grow, someone has to risk going first.

Growth requires the holy discomfort of taking that risk.

But it’s hard to go first.

Comfort is heavy.

Not going first is like a cozy weighted blanket.

Not going first has extra gravity.

Not going first keeps us quietly and safely away from each other.

Nicodemus breaks through the heavy gravity of his world.

He, a Pharisee and religious leader whose in-group was probably gossiping and whispering “Keep away from that rabblerouser,” sneaks through the night to risk going first.

He takes the risk.

There are people in your community (and mine) that we assume aren’t looking for church, don’t want sacred relationship, or are a definite “no” if we asked them to coffee.

There are folks we know of who might intimidate us or confound us or befuddle us.

There are people who are actually just waiting for someone to risk the holy discomfort of going first.

You know what’s easier for me? Easier than going first?

Hoping they’ll find the website.

Hoping they’ll show up to an event.

Hoping they’ll love a mass email.

Hoping they’ll Google one of our keywords.

Hoping they’ll text me.

Hoping they’ll respond to an advertisement.

Hoping they’ll hear about us through “word of mouth.”

Hoping I won’t have to go first.

But someone has to go first. And my neighbors deserve my courage.

God, help me to crawl out from my comfortable weighted blanket... sturdy my heart and steady my voice... send me out in the world. Be with me as I go first.

As I was boarding an airplane recently, I overheard the pilot tell the crew how many people were on board.

I stepped onto the plane, smiled at the flight attendant in her charming neckerchief, and took my complimentary disinfectant wipe, I heard the pilot turn back toward the crew members and give the report.

“119 souls on board,” she said.

I love that little piece of aviation jargon. I think they say it on ships too.

They call the people… souls.

We are more than passengers. More than customers. More than cattle being herded about a flying tube. More than cargo. More than objects.

Souls.

Some cursory research taught me that this probably isn’t a spiritually-inspired choice of language. As I understand it, it’s more about efficiency — instead of saying there are 109 paid passengers, one pilot, one co-pilot, six crew members, one jump seater, and one lap child (which would take a long time in an emergency situation), they call all the living humans aboard… souls.

But there’s something about that term that makes your eyes open a little wider, isn’t there?

Especially in the context of a giant metal tube that hurls you and some fellow humans through the atmosphere at 500 miles per hour at around 30,000 feet above sea level. Calling us all “souls” underlines the gravity of our traveling choices.

A brief glimpse at your own mortality will change how you see people, I suppose.

Let me pause here, though, because I’m writing about “souls” in the context of a “church growth” blog. So a whole lot of folks are wincing with every sentence, just waiting for me to describe our shared responsibility to “save” each and every one of those souls from eternal damnation.

That is not what this post is about.

I don’t personally think it’s our job to save souls. I think it’s our job to see them. To know them. To walk with them. To nourish them.

If eternal salvation is necessary, it’s above my pay grade.

I’m writing about “souls” in the context of church growth to turn the attention of our leaders (including me) and our systems (including mine) to the depth and brilliance of every human we encounter.

C.S. Lewis shouts at us from the past, “There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal.”

The people we encounter in church growth contexts are not ordinary people. They are extraordinary souls.

They certainly aren’t just leads, numbers, prospects, or potential members.

These are souls that show up… as visitors. These are souls… who click on our social media posts. These are souls… who drive past our signs in the front lawn of our church. These are souls.

They don’t care what sub-denomination of your denomination that has split three times since the 70’s you belong to. They are lonely and longing.

They don’t care about your well-worded, polite, milquetoast mission statement on your website or the bullet points in your brochure. They are seeking stories to confirm they’ll be loved as they are.

Here are a couple examples of what I’m getting at.

We sometimes think about “young families” categorically as a single golden goose. But there is no such thing as “young families”; there are only real humans.

We sometimes think of “visitors” as visitors, but there are no visitors, really. There are only people who have courageously, with trembling hearts and sweaty palms, entered our space hoping to be noticed for the real, beautiful, wonderful, human souls they are.

And every soul needs to be held gently. Every soul needs to be attended to personally. Every soul longs to be known. To be seen. To be nourished.

Every soul needs to be ushered into sacred community one by one.

So…

Who is ushering each soul?

How are you keeping track of each soul’s journey?

Are you checking on each soul you’re accompanying each week?

Is each soul individually considered, invited, listened to, and loved along a clear journey to the right way for them to find belonging in your church ecosystem?

Every soul needs to be ushered into sacred community one by one.

That is the slow work.

The subtitle of this piece reads, “Church growth begins when numbers become names, names become stories, and stories become sacred.” This is so important… but I must admit it’s something that I struggle with. In my own work to grow BETWEEN and to help the local churches I support with growth, I so often fail to focus on the sacred stories of people. I get so excited about strategy and numbers and systems and scale.

As I’m writing this (strategic think piece about church growth), I’m behind on personal outreach to people who depend on me for ministry. I’m lacking in simple check-in text messages and phone calls. I’m light on coffee meetings and follow-up emails to people who I know could use some sacred connection right now.

That is the slow work.

I need to realign my priorities to ushering each soul. Instead, I’m typing on Substack to avoid doing the work that requires my heart to open fully.

If I consider the model Jesus provides for us… he rarely wrote think pieces. The gospel stories don’t include much about his strategy meetings and systems optimization.

But I don’t think he’d shame me for this. I think he’d sit beside me and notice me doing the internal work of figuring out how to truly share the good news with people. He’d place his hand on my shoulder and encourage me to reach out to someone right now.

To consider the souls I can reach.

To open my heart fully.

He’d gently point me back toward the next person.

The next text. The next call. The next cup of coffee.

The next soul on board.

That is the slow work.

“It’s not that hard.

Parenting. I mean, jeez. It’s not that complicated. Just set a good example, provide accountability, and love them.

Gosh. What’s the big deal?”

I hope I never would have said these things when I was young and childless… but who knows. I was immature and inexperienced there for a while. I was a little cocky.

Now? No. I would not say that stuff now. That would be absurd.

I’m an experienced parent now. I realize these are beautiful, complicated human beings we’re raising… in a beautiful, complicated world filled with other beautiful, complicated human beings who encounter and influence our children daily.

From a distance, as a young man, parenting looked like a step-by-step recipe that you simply needed to not screw up. But up close, parents know it is more like baking a cake with your eyes blurry from tears, your hands full of grocery bags and school supplies, the flour hiding behind the couch, the eggs refusing to be cracked, the frosting having very strong feelings, and the sugar asking to borrow the car to go on a date with some guy named Stew.

Humans are beautiful and complicated.

And humans are the key ingredients required to grow a church.

So if at one point in my younger life, I stood comfortably on the sidelines opining about how simple it should be for local churches to grow… please forgive me.

I didn’t yet know.

It’s hard.

It’s beautiful and complicated.

Because it’s human.

I’ll avoid the risk of overcooking this baking/parenting metaphor… and I’ll say what I’m trying to say.

Church growth is messy and hard because humans are messy and hard and human relationships are messy and hard. And it’s in the mess that growth transpires.

These finicky, frustrating, wonderful human relationships we must work within require work and patience. They require follow-up and intention. They require care and gentle adjustments. They push us beyond our dualistic, step-by-step, task-oriented ways of thinking. They are mysterious and sacred. They are alchemical and enchanted. They are anything but simple.

So the faithful instruction about church growth ends up being a frustrating instruction, I think: You have to spend as much time in the mess of human relationship as possible — only there in the complication of real human connection can any nourishing results begin to rise.

By far one of my favorite topics to discuss with church and ministry leaders is this: How could we notice and encounter more neighbors?

I’ve written on this topic before (49 Ways Your Church or Ministry Can Love More Neighbors), and I’m sure I’ll write about it many more times. I could talk and brainstorm for hours and hours about new, creative, thoughtful ways to show up in the lives of our neighbors (as opposed to hoping they will show up in our church buildings and events).

But a memory came up for me today, and I wanted to share it with you…

Have you ever learned about something called desire paths?

When I was in college, I remember our giant, green, grassy quad. It was perfectly laid out with clean concrete sidewalks along the sides and crossing in a few aesthetically pleasing spots. The university designers and architects had created a beautiful, geometrically balanced, symmetrical layout of walking paths. Rectangles and triangles. Perfect.

But over time, the students, faculty, and staff had worn some other pathways through the expertly manicured and fertilized green, green grass. They’d blazed shortcuts from building to building. They’d cut right through the neatly organized institutional walking system with their very human actual lives.

These worn-down shortcuts have a name. Desire paths.

The humans won out over the institution, eventually. My college paved over some of these desire paths, breaking up the symmetry of the quad with compassionate sidewalks that actually aligned with the lives of the students.

This has been a parable about church growth.

But you probably already knew that.

Your neighbors are walking down the very real dusty paths of their lives. While the pristine sidewalks of our institutional expectations are becoming more and more untrodden.

And so… how do we compassionately meet our neighbors in the midst of the lives they’re actually walking in? How do we stop hoping they’ll walk on our perfectly aligned sidewalks, and instead start showing up to smooth out the paths they’re already on?

Jesus did this well.

The Samaritan woman was just doing her normal life. Just getting water. He met her there.

Then there’s the road to Emmaus. Two disciples are walking down an actual dusty road — away from the temple. Jesus meets them there.

Fishermen casting their nets by the sea? Jesus meets them there.

A short man climbing a tree? Jesus meets him there.

And then when Jesus sends the disciples out to share the good news, he doesn’t say “Go build perfect temples so people can find me there.” He tells them to go out into nearby towns, to living rooms, street corners, and front doors. Meet them there.

Look for the well-worn paths created by the actual lives of the real people in your neighborhoods. Meet them there.

Healthy church & ministry growth — the kind that is loving, non-manipulative, selfless, and sustaining — requires wide wisdom and the perspective of the whole. This is why I write about sacred community building being “slow work.”

There are no shortcuts.

There is not one lever to pull that will fix everything.

There aren’t just a couple of social media tricks… or just a few tweaks to the Sunday worship experience that will lead to a thriving church or ministry.

The hands and the heart of your church or ministry must be aligned with the eyes and the ears and the soul of your church or ministry. The whole body is where wisdom lies.

Paul’s metaphor in 1 Corinthians holds. He writes of the early church with a beautiful systems-thinking mindset, “there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.” (1 Corinthians 12:25-26)

With that in mind, I’ve been asked by churches and ministries I care about to help them think holistically about growth… not as one tactic, one program, or one leader’s responsibility… but as the long-term, slow work of tending the whole body of sacred community.

The answers are not ready-made.

Good answers to the growth question only come from sacred conversations that consider the whole body. So the conversations that follow these ten questions are where we start building a slow, sacred community growth strategy.

1) Why do you want to grow?

Identifying your motivation matters. If you are driven to grow your ministry by self-serving reasons, you’ll likely get it wrong — and may hurt people along the way.

Don’t grow because your institution is scared. Don’t grow because your ego needs a win. Don’t grow because your budget demands more bodies. Don’t grow because the church or ministry down the road has more people showing up.

Grow because your neighbors are lonely. Grow because your neighbors are hungry. Grow because your neighbors are searching for meaning, belonging, transcendence, and care. Grow because your ministry is a gift for people who are ready for it. Grow because sacred community should not be hidden from people who long for it. Grow for them.

And if your growth ever stops feeling like love, stop and ask better questions.

2) What are you inviting people into?

Before you invite people, get clear on the gift you are offering. What is the story? What is the promise? Who is it for? What kind of sacred community are you opening a door into?

Clarity matters. Not hype. Not branding tricks. But honest, human language about who you are, why you exist, who you serve, and what kind of belonging you are opening the door to. If people can’t understand the gift, they probably won’t know how to receive it.

Too many churches or ministries are unclear about why they exist or what the point of their togetherness is. Yes… Jesus. But there are a lot of variations on that, obviously, so being clear is being kind to your neighbors.

3) How will you tell your story in ways that make trust-filled connection more likely?

Your ministry or church has a beautiful story to tell. That story, when told right, should result in deepened trust and beautiful human-to-human connections.

Marketing, when done well, is not manipulation — it can truthfully help people understand who you are, what you value, and why they might feel safe taking a next step. Your public story should soften the ground for authentic relationships, not replace them.

And all of your marketing efforts should point people toward each other. A church or ministry is not a brand or a building. It is the way your beliefs come alive in the space between people. So every marketing effort — whether it’s social media, a sponsorship, a booth at a local festival, direct mail, outdoor advertising, fliers, or any of the hundreds of “marketing tactics” we could imagine together — every marketing effort should lead people toward real moments of sacred human connection.

4) Who does the work?

Growth rooted in sacred connection cannot be carried by clergy alone. A single leader can not hold all this weight well.

As Jethro told Moses, who was taking on too much by himself, “The work is too heavy for you; you cannot handle it alone.” (Exodus 18:18)

Most churches and ministries need roles they have never clearly named: storytellers, inviters, connectors, follow-up people, event hosts, data stewards, hospitality leaders, social media voices, community listeners, neighborhood bridge-builders, and people who simply notice who is missing.

Most churches and ministries have outdated shared-work structures that could benefit from reexamination (i.e. an Outreach Committee charged with marketing tactics, but few other defined roles to take on any of the other growth-oriented tasks).

Clergy matter deeply. But clergy should not be the only ones carrying the work of connection.

If growth is about sacred mutuality, then the work must be shared. The community needs people who can tell the story, create the gathering, remember the names, make the introductions, follow up with care, and help the next person belong.

A church centered on sacred connection does not ask one pastor to be the whole body. It helps the whole body practice love.

5) How will you prepare the hearts of your current members to seek out sacred encounters?

In order for a church or ministry to grow outward, its people need to be formed inwardly. They need to be reminded, again and again, that sacred connection is not a side project or a growth tactic. It is the way of Jesus.

Part of the reason so much church growth is transactional in nature is that it is framed as a side task. A to-do item. “Get more people in the door so we can do church.” But I believe healthy, growing churches see sacred encounters, deepening relationships, and the practice of knowing our neighbors, walking with our neighbors, and nourishing our neighbors as exactly what it means to do church.

Current members need help practicing curiosity, courage, generosity, hospitality, attention, authentic vulnerability, and follow-up. They need to learn how to notice the lonely, welcome the unfamiliar, make introductions, ask better questions, and believe that sacred encounters can happen anywhere.

A growth strategy that skips the formation of the current community will likely become staff-driven, program-dependent, and exhausting.

But when the people themselves begin to believe that the space between them and their neighbors is sacred, growth becomes less about adding one more thing to the calendar and more about awakening to a shared way of life.

A church does not grow because a few leaders care about growth. A church grows when the whole body begins to practice love outwardly.

(Wondering where to start this work? I’ll humbly offer this.)

6) How will you notice and encounter more neighbors?

You cannot walk with, love, feed, or nourish people you have not yet noticed. Many ministries are surrounded by spiritually hungry people they have never learned how to see. You’ll have a zero percent chance of loving the neighbors you have never met and that you don’t know exist.

Churches and ministries often assume connection begins when someone walks through the door or shows up at a big church event. But sacred encounters often begin somewhere else: coffee shops, grocery stores, campus lawns, service projects, shared meals, social media comments, personal texts, one-on-one conversations, neighborhood events, and moments of real need.

Jesus did not wait in the temple for people to come find him. He moved through towns, walked dusty roads, sat at humble tables, showed up thirsty to wells, found fishermen on the shore, sat on hillsides... He noticed people along the way, in the crowd, and even climbing trees. His ministry was not static. It was encounter.

The first work of growth is outward attention. Building multiple pathways of sacred encounter that reach out into the community and allow for new people to be noticed and known — this is the most important task for most churches or ministries that want to grow.

7) How will you remember people with care?

In other words… How will you tend and track the depth of relationships forming between our community and our neighbors?

A names list of neighbors and new connections should not merely store contact information. It is not a sales tool. When done well, it should help you remember names and interactions, notice where trust is growing, identify needs, and follow up with care.

If the space between us is sacred, then we should steward it with tenderness. We should have rhythms in place to remember the people we have encountered and intentionally show up for them with love.

People are not data points. They are not leads. They are not projects. They are beloved human beings whose stories have been entrusted to us.

A church or ministry that wants to grow should be able to answer these questions about the people who are not yet members: Who are we remembering? Who are we following up with? Who is becoming more connected? Who might be slipping through the cracks? Who needs care? Who needs an invitation? Who needs to be seen again?

Because sacred community is not only created in the first encounter.

It is created when someone realizes: They remembered me.

8) How will trust grow between people?

In other words, what will be your strategy for relationship building? When you get to know a neighbor, how will you walk with them toward a long-term, trusting relationship so that, together, you can discern what kind of belonging, participation, friendship, or shared life is actually right?

Events matter. Worship matters. Programs can matter. But sacred community is formed through repeated, trustworthy encounters, filled with care, over time.

A faithful growth strategy asks: how will people move from being welcomed to being known, from being known to being connected, from being connected to becoming part of a web of mutual care?

A faithful strategy considers the stages of relational depth (ie. stranger —> known —> explorer —> participant —> communer) and matches those with appropriate, safe, thoughtful interactions.

The goal is trust, mutuality, and sacred connections — not a sales pitch about the church/ministry or a rushed invitation to “COME TO OUR CHURCH!” for someone that might not receive that well.

The invitation should match the relationship. Some neighbors will cherish one-on-one coffees, phone calls, or text messages. Others will value small group outings, casual life experiences, or friendly meals with a handful of folks. Eventually, when trust has grown, traditional church events and worship are beautiful ways to share the gathered spirit. Trust grows when the invitation matches the relationship.

9) When trust has grown, how will you invite people into a deeper form of belonging?

Don’t leave people in vague warmth.

Lingering as an un-embraced participant on the edges is not a great way to feel loved. Offer clear, gentle next steps into belonging, contribution, care, and shared life.

Let me be clear: this is not an altar call. This is not a coercive invitation that pressures a neighbor into proving commitment, pledging loyalty, or becoming a number in our institutional success story.

Coercive invitations pressure people to perform belonging.

Sacred invitations help people receive and practice belonging.

A coercive invitation requires our new community members to… Decide now. Prove yourself. Cross the line. Join us. Agree with us. Be counted. Make us feel successful.

A sacred invitation invites our new community members to know… You are already loved. There is room for you. There is a place for you. Take it freely, when you are ready. If this isn’t the right place for you, that’s totally OK with us. We would be honored to walk with you in whatever way is faithful and good.

There are moments when a personal, love-filled invitation into a clearer form of belonging is not only appropriate — it can be transformational.

That invitation might be a new member class. It might be a small group. It might be a leadership role. It might be a simple gift or symbol of belonging. It might be a handwritten note. It might be a collective blessing. It might be an invitation to help create what comes next.

These threshold moments matter.

For many people today, however, formal religious invitation is charged with cultural expectations, baggage, and harm. So these moments need to be held softly. If people experience the invitation as a requirement of doctrinal alignment, guilt-driven obligation, or institutional loyalty, we have probably moved too fast or asked too much.

The point is not to trap people. The point is to help them know there is a door.

A community that never invites people deeper may feel gentle, but it can also become vague. And vague warmth is not the same as belonging. If people are beginning to trust you, honor that trust with a clear, loving, pressure-free invitation into shared life.

Not because you need to count them. Because they deserve to know there is a place for them.

10) How will new people help co-create the community they need?

Sacred community is not a product people consume. It is a life people help make together.

Growth deepens and lasts when new people are not merely welcomed into what already exists, but invited to help shape what is becoming. Engaged. Re-invited and re-ignited over and over into the mutuality of community.

Ask them to offer care, share gifts, tell stories, host conversations, make introductions, notice others, and help the next person belong. A role. A task. A job. A way to put their divine gifts into practice.

I believe that people will not only “join” your sacred community, but help co-create it when they…

• Have a small group of close friends within the community.

• Have a role to play for the community.

• Have a story to tell about why the community matters to them.

These questions are not meant to provide easy answers.

They are meant to lead to sacred conversations.

The wisdom is not hidden inside this resource. The wisdom will emerge in the room — among the people who care deeply about your church or ministry, who know its stories, who carry its hopes, who understand its wounds, and who are willing to listen for what the Holy Spirit may be saying now.

Let these questions slow you down. Let them open honest conversation. Let them help you notice what needs care, clarity, and love.

I’m on your team. I’m standing alongside you.

The slow work of sacred community is not easy. These are the exact same questions I continue to let work on me, on BETWEEN, and on the churches and ministries I’m directly involved with.

There are no perfect answers. But there are beautiful people like you who want to share sacred community with others.

There are neighbors who need what your community has been given to share.

There is holy work to do.

May it be so.

I’ve been trying to come up with a clever way to write about this. But I’m a little stuck.

So I’ll just say it.

When I’m writing about growing churches and ministries, I’m not writing (solely) about getting more people to worship on Sunday.

I don’t only care about “butts in pews.”

Attendance is a helpful but incomplete piece of data. I want to think more broadly about how we count growth.

If church is not just what happens on Sunday morning in the sanctuary. If it is more than the events. If it isn’t only about generous financial exchange. If it isn’t about the old model, what’s the new model?

And friends… I’m not trying to write a theology of church life. I believe The Church is the body of Christ (and we can exchange sermons on that topic another time if you’d like). I believe discipleship and transformation are laudable goals. But that’s not what I’m writing about here.

This is a practical question.

If you’re trying to grow your church, what are you counting? Beyond attendance. Beyond tithes. Beyond baptisms?

How can we come alongside our neighbors without requiring them to come inside the institution?

How can we create space for transformation without necessitating existing institutional integration?

How can someone be a part of our church without necessarily setting foot in our church?

Let me propose an answer. I believe someone can belong to our faith community if these three things are true. They…

• Have a small group of close friends within the community.

• Have a role to play for the community.

• Have a story to tell about why the community matters to them.

There are some people they know and who know them within the faith community. They have a little pocket of friendship, comfort, and trust (which is how community actually works, by the way — little groups make up big groups).

They contribute in some (even very small) way. They have a task, a role, a job. Even if it is very tiny. Even if it is reciprocating kindness or sharing gratitude. They contribute to the community.

They tell the story of belonging to the faith community. Even if only to themselves. They’re proud of be a part of the cause, the group, and their understanding of what your church or ministry is.

I don’t know if that’s helpful to anyone, but it’s what I’ve been thinking about for my own work. For the local churches I support and for the ministry I lead… these are the things I’d like to measure.

Of course discipleship is the goal. Of course baptisms are beautiful. Of course attendance and participation in the biggest aspects of the church are wonderful.

But I am of the belief that we need lower barriers of entry and longer tables. We need to offer grace without condition. We need to make space for people no matter where they are in their life. For church to be what we believe it to be in our heart, we have to identify better ways to measure it

I was going to call this “The Lapel Pin Principle,” but I’m not sure if that concept makes sense.

See… I have this little trinket box full of lapel pins.

I’m probably the only person who actually really likes lapel pins.

I’m not even sure where all of mine came from. They’ve just kind of accumulated over the years.

I belong to a few organizations that issue them as tokens of membership and official belonging.

I have one that I think was given as a gift to conference attendees to commemorate the 10th anniversary of 9/11. I don’t ever wear that one, but it seems like one I should hold onto.

I have an old Chicago Cubs pin that used to be on a hat I wore when I was a kid. I love that one. It is at least 40 years old.

I have a few from St. Jude Children’s Hospital. They share them with volunteers and I used to spend a lot of time supporting that incredible organization.

And I’ve got a few other random ones.

I’m not really a collector of trinkets and knick knacks. I think I just love lapel pins.

They feel, to me, like a little formal, public symbol… worn subtly and preciously right by my heart… representing something deeper and more meaningful than what they might seem to be on the surface… symbolizing something I am proud to be associated with and want to contribute to.

They aren’t jewelry.

They aren’t showy.

They aren’t particularly valuable.

Anymore, the only ones I wear are the ones I had designed for people in the faith community I help to lead. These little BETWEEN pins. And the real reason I wear them is so that if/when someone asks about them, I can take the pin off and hand it to them as a gift as I tell the story of BETWEEN.

I know it’s not normal for a church to offer lapel pins to its members. That’s not what I’m suggesting.

But as I think about church growth, this Lapel Pin Principle idea comes to the surface for me.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if more of your neighbors would cherish a symbol of your church community?

I don’t necessarily mean this literally. It’s more of a parable-ish principle.

So many neighbors don’t want to come to Sunday worship. Maybe your church schedule doesn’t work for them. Maybe they’ve been hurt by church before. Maybe there are any number of reasons the default participation model of your church simply doesn’t work for them. Does that mean they don’t deserve the good news of togetherness and resurrection? Should that mean they can’t benefit from your church?

Would you give them a lapel pin? And would they accept it with warmth?

Hypothetically?

Parabolically?

Metaphorically?

That’s the question.

If you had a special lapel pin that symbolized your beliefs, your love, your ministry, your hopes, your care… would you give it to them once they understood its meaning… and would they accept it with warmth?

The Lapel Pin Principle is this: growth is happening when people are meaningfully connected enough, proud enough, and invested enough that they would gladly carry a symbol of your community into the world.

Again, the pin is not the point. The belonging is the point.

Anyway… all this is to ask in another way… do you know what you actually want to count when it comes to church growth?

I started writing this because I was on a Zoom call with this really forward-thinking pastor in Florida recently. He and I were deep in creative conversation about new ways to think about church.

Near the beginning of the call he said something smart that made me write this:

One of our biggest problems is that we do not have an alternative legitimate way to talk about church growth beyond “butts in pews”(Sunday attendance).

Of course we could also talk about…

• Active donors

• Baptisms per month

• New members

…and the like. But if I asked your church leaders how big their church is, they’d almost all likely answer with, “We have about _____ people every Sunday.” (And the number they’d give me would almost always be a little inflated).

So, then, this smart, creative Florida pastor — who leads the only affirming church in his county — and I started trying to imagine better things to count.

If counting Sunday attendance ain’t it.

And counting donations ain’t it.

And counting baptisms can be a little manipulative.

And counting “new members” likely means that they’re coming to Sunday service and so it’s just another name for the same thing.

Then what should we count when we’re talking about church growth?

Lapel pin wearers? Maybe.

People who meet the three simple criteria I suggested at the beginning of this piece? Maybe.

I don’t know for sure. I think every church has to decide for themselves. These were just kind of some notes to myself that I decided to publish. I wonder what you think…

What do you count when you think about “church growth”?

Not long ago, I had an interaction with a pastor that stuck with me.

The pastor expressed a totally understandable feeling… I really am not judging what I heard or hating on it in any way. But I think I was just shocked to actually hear it said out loud.

They shared how afraid they were of losing members to another church.

“I don’t want our people to leave and go to _______ Church.”

Gosh. Yes, of course. That is a completely reasonable concern. We work so hard to care for and provide safety and spiritual nourishment for our congregants. Losing them would really hurt. It would hurt our feelings, it would hurt our group dynamic, it would hurt our souls, and it would hurt our financial wellbeing.

But that statement stuck with me.

There’s something inherently broken about our systems when we feel like this.

Hear me clearly: I’m not saying there’s something broken in us for feeling this way. I’m suggesting that we might be caught in a system that makes that feeling inevitable — and that system is where I’d like to focus our attention.

It’s a system of scarcity. One that competes for souls in a competitive marketplace.

It’s a system of desperation. One that is chasing the floor of survival; grasping to make budget, keep the lights on, and not have to fire the new admin person.

It’s a system of institution. One that is focused on protecting itself instead of serving outside its walls.

It’s a system built on fighting over crumbs. A system that says, “But there are only a handful of loaves. So few fish.” A system that refuses to believe that we could possibly feed the thousands.

It’s a system that hoards manna. Even when we’re promised more. We hoard and hoard just in case.

So many ancient stories in scripture remind us that these are very normal, understandable, human responses. This is a very human system.

Over and over we see this feeling of fear and scarcity built into the default systems of our world.

John the Baptist’s followers were worried that this Jesus fella was stealing all their baptisms. (John 3:26) But John the Baptist puts them at ease when he says, “No one can receive anything except what has been given from heaven.” (John 3:27)

The church in Corinth struggled with division and a feeling of competition too. Some were saying “I’m with Paul.” Others, “I’m with Apollos.” And Paul had to remind them, “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth… only God… gives the growth.” (1 Corinthians‬ ‭3‬:‭4‬-‭7‬)

There is plenty.

Now, let me be clear about something. This is not meant to be an argument for poaching congregants from the church next door. That’s the same greedy system at work.

This is an invitation into the abundance that the ancient stories speak of.

But let me shift from the truths of ancient Bible stories to the truth of contemporary data.

In other words: Math.

The manna story, the fishes and loaves stories, John the Baptist, and Paul were all naming a truth that is just as relevant today as it was in the time of the ancients.

There is plenty.

And the plenty live just beyond the fearful walls we think are protecting us.

And the plenty can be counted.

Listen, I know every neighborhood is different and every church has real challenges and limitations. But as a whole, while we’re trying to get the Smiths from First Church to become the Smiths from Second Church, the real issue is that millions and millions of spiritually open people are not walking into any of our buildings. And they are languishing alone praying for a safe, spiritual home. Praying for a sacred community that will allow their soul to flourish in curiosity and wonder. They are praying for non-dogmatic, inclusive homes for their spirits to thrive.

Oh yeah. I promised math.

According to Pew Research Center’s newest Religious Landscape Study, roughly two-thirds of Americans (around 179 million adults) do not attend religious services at least once a month.

That does not mean they are spiritually dead. In fact, we know that the vast majority of Americans are very much spiritually alive. Pew also found that 83% of American adults believe in God or a universal spirit, 86% believe humans have a soul or spirit, and 79% believe there is something spiritual beyond the natural world.

So the issue is not that Americans have all become cold, hard, soulless machines.

And the issue is also not that most Americans already have their church home.

The issue is that millions and millions of our neighbors are longing for deep community, are curious about spirituality, and are likely feeling lonely, disconnected, and lost in a frighteningly divided society.

The real opportunity is not poaching the already-churched. The real opportunity is learning how to build trust with the spiritually open, institutionally disconnected, and relationally hungry.

There is plenty.

There is plenty.

We can stop being afraid.

I don’t want my neighbors to join my church.

I’m going to say that again.

Very clearly.

Right here. In a blog about church growth.

I do not want my neighbors to join my church.

I want my neighbors to feel less lonely.

I want my neighbors to know they are loved.

I want my neighbors to be fed — body and soul.

I want my neighbors to have a safety net for when things fall apart.

I want my neighbors to trust their neighbors.

I want my neighbors to have a group that makes them feel like they belong.

I want my neighbors to have people to wonder about big questions alongside.

I want my neighbors to have support with the hard stuff of life.

I want my neighbors to feel rooted, at peace, and spiritually vibrant.

I want my neighbors to know the good news of sacred mutuality.

If joining our church accomplishes these things for my neighbors… that’s wonderful! Those are the reasons I love my church. But I truly care far more that my neighbors have a life filled with these things than I care about them joining our church.

I was sitting next to my friend, Pastor Alex, at lunch the other day. He was telling me all about this “Impact Week” that he was leading at his church. A team is spending 3 or 4 days of an upcoming week going around their neighborhood and helping with lawn work or home repairs. Then they’re doing a block party at the end.

I loved the idea, but what I loved more was how Alex described the “why” behind it. He said, “It’s getting harder and harder for people to trust their neighbors. I don’t care if any of these people we help come to our church. I just want them to know they can trust us.”

In a world full of reasons telling people they should not trust their local church (or any institution… or anyone at all), what a beautiful reason to reach out.

I just want them to know they can trust us.

Your motivation matters.

If you are doing outreach that is loaded with a secret objective to fill your pews… your neighbors can smell that from a mile away.

If your neighborly love is transactional, it isn’t love.

If your caring outreach has a conversion quota, it isn’t care.

Jeremiah’s words were first written to displaced exiles in Babylon—a people living in a far more painful context than most of our churches inhabit. But the instruction still challenges us today…

“Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.” (Jeremiah 29:7)

Seek the shalom of the city.

Go spread shalom. Spread peace.

But, of course, shalom is bigger than polite peace. It means wholeness, welfare, flourishing, and communal well-being.

And yes, get to know the people whose shalom you seek. Know their names. Follow up with them. Build relationship. Care.

But don’t do it so that you can get them to come to church. Care because we’re called to care. Care because instead of defining success by the numbers in the pews, you’ve instead chosen to define it by the number of neighbors who know your congregation and trust you as a collective fueled by eternal love.

Your community is filled with neighbors who may or may not need church, but they almost certainly need connection. And if your church becomes known as a people who can be trusted—people who show up, remember names, repair what they can, share what they have, and love without hidden invoices—then maybe, over time, some neighbors will want to know more.

But even if they don’t… the love was still worth it. And the love was the point all along.

You meet someone in the grocery store parking lot. Admiring a sunset together while holding your bags of groceries.

You both laugh. It’s a funny encounter, but a delightful one. These kinds of things should happen more often.

And because they don’t happen nearly enough, you’re not very practiced at the situation.

So… you innocently, but awkwardly blurt out..

“YOU SHOULD COME TO MY CHURCH!”

The air around you gets stale. The clouds block out the last of the sunset.

They say with a forced smile, “Maybe. Thanks.” And they slink into their car.

Your grocery bags feel heavier.

Oof. That wasn’t great.

Here’s what I know: The “panic ask” doesn’t work very well.

When you or any member of your congregation asks someone “Would you like to join me at church?” …that is a heavier question to receive than it is to deliver.

As the asker, it’s an easy question. Because for you, church is safe and joyful and healthy and already understood.

You know whether or not your church is the “good kind of church” or “the bad kind of church” (in your mind, based on your needs and fears and biases).

You know people there. It’s not a building full of strangers worshiping who knows what in who knows what kind of way.

You know what to expect. You know if it’s a 45-minute experience or a 4-hour experience. You know if it’s formal or casual. You know if it’s political or boring or angry or fun.

They know none of this. Whether they’re someone you just met at a grocery store parking lot or they’re your long-time neighbor… your invitation to church is a heavy, risky, high-pressure ask with no clear upside and very little opportunity for a graceful “no thank you.”

The “panic invite” comes purely from that big, beautiful heart of yours. But it has a small probability of success.

There is a better way. It is slow. It is patient. It is loving. It is considerate and compassionate.

I know you’ve been taught to “Invite people to church” over and over. And there are good intentions there. I just want to encourage you not to jump straight from…

pleasant human encounter —> lifelong co-worshippers.

If you meet someone and feel a real spark of connection, the next faithful step is not always to invite them to church. Sometimes the next faithful step is to say, “I’d love to continue this conversation sometime.”

Maybe something like…

“This was really lovely. No pressure at all, but would you be open to exchanging numbers? I’d enjoy continuing the conversation sometime.”

Or…

“I don’t want to make this weird, but I’ve really enjoyed talking with you. Would it be okay if I texted you sometime?”

Then maybe set an expectation that is friendly and makes the whole encounter low-risk…

“I’ll send you a quick note. No pressure to respond quickly—or at all.”

Instead of worship as the first ask, invite them to:

• coffee

• a walk

• a community service project

• a book conversation

• a neighborhood gathering

• a casual dinner

• an open house

• a low-pressure church social event (ideally off-site)

• a “meet one other friend” coffee

• an online reflection or blog post

• a text exchange

The first invitation should be relational, not institutional.

“Come to my church” asks someone to enter your world.

“Can we keep talking?” offers to meet them in theirs.

Here are 25 other things you could say besides blurting out, “You should come to my church!”

1. “This has been really lovely. Would you ever want to continue the conversation over coffee?”

2. “I don’t want to make this weird, but I’ve really enjoyed talking with you.”

3. “Would it be okay if I sent you a quick text sometime?”

4. “I’d love to hear more about that if you ever want to talk again.”

5. “No pressure at all, but I’d enjoy staying connected.”

6. “You seem like someone I’d like to know better.”

7. “Would you be open to exchanging numbers?”

8. “I know we just met, so feel free to say no—but I’d be glad to keep in touch.”

9. “There’s actually a small group of thoughtful people I sometimes gather with. It’s very low-pressure. I wonder if you’d enjoy it sometime.”

10. “I have a few friends who love conversations like this. Maybe we could all grab coffee someday.”

11. “I’m part of a community that cares a lot about this kind of thing, but honestly, I’d rather just get to know you first.”

12. “Would you like me to send you something I wrote/read recently that connects with what we were talking about?”

13. “If you’re ever looking for thoughtful people to talk with about faith/life/community, I know some good folks.”

14. “I’d love to introduce you to a friend of mine who thinks about this too.”

15. “Would it feel okay if I checked in next week?”

16. “This conversation mattered to me. Thank you. How can we do this again?”

17. “I’m trying to be better at not letting good conversations disappear. Could we stay in touch?”

18. “I don’t want to rush this, but I’d be happy to talk again sometime.”

19. “There’s no agenda here—I just really enjoyed meeting you.”

20. “If you ever want to grab coffee, I’d be glad to.”

21. “How do we make conversations like this happen more often in our lives.”

22. “I have this event coming up I’m volunteering with. We’re doing some good for the community. Would you have any interest in something like that?”

23. “I’m trying to be better at building community. Could I send you an invite if we ever host something casual and neighborly?”

24. “What kind of community are you looking for these days?”

25. “What would feel like a good next conversation for you?”

Low-pressure invitations create high-trust communities.

Urgency kills safety.

Sacred belonging flourishes where people feel free.

I just went through a season when I felt dried up and desiccated as a ministry leader.

I just couldn’t figure out what to do next.

We had built this big, beautiful, exciting waterfall of a faith community. One that flowed freely in the early years. Rushing living waters into the lives of the people we served… and into mine.

But lately — and yes, this is a bit of an exaggeration — it felt like the flow had dried up to a trickle.

A drought must have hit upstream.

Everything felt stagnant. And stale.

I’m sure other church leaders and community leaders feel this way sometimes too. I don’t think I’m alone.

So I did what leaders do when we’re scared and stuck.

I stared at the machine we had built.

I looked at our list of programs and services. I looked at our website. I looked at our social media. I looked at our advertising. I looked at our sermon content. I looked at the long list of ideas I had for doing more, more, more.

And none of it felt like the secret to unlocking the waterfall again.

None of it felt like the prayer that would bring a deluge upstream.

Then I looked down into the river and saw my own reflection staring back at me, screaming…

“IT’S ABOUT RELATIONSHIPS, DUMMY.”

Oof. There it was.

Ministry cannot be done only at scale.

The systems matter. The content matters. The programs matter. The events and marketing and mailings and ads can all matter.

But the moment those things outweigh the relationships… the humanness… the sacred connection… that’s the moment the environment gets out of balance.

That’s when the drought begins.

So I decided to go back to the basics.

Make phone calls. Do coffee meetings. Send personal notes. Ask real questions. Listen.

One person at a time.

And I started encouraging the other leaders in our ministry to do the same.

Make phone calls. Do coffee meetings.

It sounds almost embarrassingly simple.

Which is probably why I keep forgetting it.

I confess that I prefer the crowd.

I like the big picture. I like the big numbers. I like thinking about hundreds and thousands and maybe even millions of people somewhere out there.

I love scale.

But then I read this line from Luke’s Gospel:

And I’m brought back to reality.

Jesus is surrounded by a crowd. There are people everywhere. Noise everywhere. Momentum everywhere.

And then he stops.

He looks up.

He sees one man in a tree.

Not a demographic. Not a target audience. Not a growth opportunity. Not a number.

A person.

Zacchaeus.

And Jesus calls him by name.

“Come down. I’m coming to your house.”

That is the part that keeps knocking me on the head.

He is just like, “I’m coming to your house.”

How simple and clear is that? It’s so human. So beautiful.

Jesus does not reject the crowd. He does not despise scale. He does not ignore the movement forming around him. But (and this is important), the crowd reveals the person.

The many lead him to the one. The public moment becomes a personal one.

The scaled ministry becomes a personal one.

That is the slow work.

And it’s the work I keep trying to shortcut.

I keep wanting one message to reach everyone. One campaign to create belonging. One program to generate community. One great idea to break the dam and flood the whole river.

But sacred community does not truly flow from scale. It flows through relationship.

One name. One phone call. One coffee. One honest question. One person feeling seen.

So yes, build the website. Send the emails. Post the sermons. Run the ads. Launch the app. Use the tech. Create the programs.

But don’t mistake the channels for the ministry.

The ministry is still Zacchaeus in the tree.

The ministry is still the person hoping someone will look up.

The ministry is still the moment when someone hears their name and realizes they are not invisible.

So I’m making phone calls. I’m scheduling coffee meetings I’m focusing on individuals

And unsurprisingly…

…the water starts flowing again.

Not as a flood. Not all at once.

But flowing.

What is centered in the hearts and habits of your congregants?

I was talking with a pastor friend the other day over a beer. (Everything made more sense as the glass got emptier.) But our conversation drifted into clear waters for a moment when he said of a church neither of us works at, but both of us know very well… “When you walk in there, you aren’t known.”

It sounds like a harsh statement. But it’s probably all too true for a lot of churches that center things other than human connection.

Some churches center the preacher.

Some churches center the music.

Some churches center the building.

Some churches center the traditions.

Some churches center the preferences of long-time members.

Some churches center the Sunday morning spectacular.

Some churches center the comfort of those who already belong.

Hear me clearly. I’m not claiming that any of those are necessarily bad. I’m just a big believer that a lot of churches would transform if human connection was at the heart of their church life.

(That’s part of why I wrote this book.)

That statement…

“When you walk in there, you aren’t known.”

…is so revealing.

Because the church we were discussing is actually really welcoming. When you walk in the door, you’re greeted. Everyone smiles. Everyone is kind.

Then everyone sits down and enjoys the show.

Then everyone leaves.

To be welcomed is not the same as to be known.

A handshake at the door is not the same as a relationship that continues in the room or outside the building.

Pleasant is not the same as personal.

Polite is not the same as present.

Friendly is not the same as familiar.

Welcoming is not the same as witnessing.

Greeting is not the same as gathering.

Kindness is not the same as knowing.

Smiles are not the same as solidarity.

Hospitality is not the same as holy belonging.

Cheerful is not the same as connected.

A congregation that centers human connection would know those alliterative aphorisms automatically.

Listen. I’m not claiming to be the best at this in my own church settings. I’m admittedly pretty skilled at arriving 30 seconds before the music starts and slipping out the side exit quietly before any of those inconvenient relationship moments happen to me.

But I want to be better.

And I believe in the slow, steady work of reminding a congregation over and over and over week after week after week and year after year after year that..

We are the kind of people who go one level deeper.

We are the kind of people who, like good shepherds, call out to one another by name.

We are the kind of people who make people feel known.

We are the kind of people who know that our faith is made real in the space between us.

When a congregation centers human connection… When a congregation believes deeply that its primary call is to truly know people, to walk alongside people in their lives, and to nourish each other with togetherness — that these habits are what faith looks like in practice — I believe that can transform everything.

I have such a giant pile of unread books on my desk.

And another giant pile on my nightstand.

And then a bunch of other unread books that have been downloaded to my Kindle and Audible.

Oh, that I might someday have time to read them all!

What’s on your TBR (To Be Read) list?

Here are a whole bunch of books related to Church Growth. Most of these remain on my TBR list. I’ll get to them soon.

Now, of course, I’d never miss a chance to recommend my own new book that isn’t directly about “church growth,” but it is about the sacred encounters that I believe have to happen in order for loving, inclusive church growth to happen. I hope you’ll read Cathedrals of Connection: Your Invitation To Everyday Sacredness.

The First 9 Books I’d Put on a Loving Church Growth Shelf…

I’ve made a list to make it easy for you to SHOP FOR THESE CHURCH GROWTH BOOKS ON AMAZON. Listen… I know Amazon is not most people’s ethically aligned bookstore. But it’s where my list lived, and I just thought I’d share it with you. Shop where you like to shop.

These are the 9 books at the top of my “church growth” list right now. It’s a mix of practical and theological. It’s a mix of older and newer. It’s a mix of Christian and secular. It’s a solid starter list for myself… and I hope for you, too.

1. Canoeing The Mountains by Tod Bolsinger

2. The New Parish by Paul Sparks, Tim Soerens, and Dwight Friesen

3. Church of The Wild by Victoria Loorz

4. Unbinding The Gospel by Martha Grace Reese

5. Belonging by Geoffrey L. Cohen

6. The Abundant Community by John McKnight and Peter Block

7. Christianity After Religion by Diana Butler Bass

8. Becoming A Friendlier Church by Matthew D. Kim

9. Life Together by Dietrich Bonhoeffer

The Big (and Growing) List of Church Growth Books for Loving, Inclusive Churches

After those first nine (plus Cathedrals of Connection), here’s where I’m asking for your help!

I’ve started the list… Some of these I’ve read. Most of these I haven’t.

This list is guided by a simple hope: to find resources that help loving, inclusive churches grow without losing their souls. I’m looking for books that are practical and theological, honest and hopeful, rooted in relationship and resistant to manipulation. Some are directly about church growth. Others are about belonging, leadership, gathering, neighborhood presence, spiritual formation, and cultural change — because loving churches do not grow by tactics alone. They grow by becoming more trustworthy, more connected, more invitational, and more alive.

I’ve done my best to look for books related to church growth that flow from loving, inclusive theologies and points of view. But, no promises. Discern for yourself, seek threads of wisdom, and adapt, dear readers.

Here’s what I’d love from you! ADD TO THIS LIST! Share your recommendations in the comments, or send me messages, and I’ll keep this list growing.

Here’s what I’ve got so far!

• Invite Welcome Connect by Mary Parmer

• Holy Currencies by Eric H.F. Law

• Tempered Resilience by Tod Bolsinger

• Church Refugees by by Josh Packard Ph.D and Ashleigh Hope

• Missional Church: A Vision for the Sending of the Church in North America edited by Darrell Guder

• What If Jesus Was Serious about the Church? by Skye Jethani

• The Progressive Planter by Joe Graves

• The Art of Gathering by Priya Parker

• A Bigger Table by John Pavlovitz

• Growing Young by Kara Powell, Jake Mulder, and Brad Griffin

• Five Practices of Fruitful Congregations by Robert Schnase

• Neighborhood Church by Rob Mueller, Krin Van Tatenhove

• So You Can’t Stand Evangelism?: A Thinking Person’s Guide to Church Growth by James R. Adams

• Evaluating the Church Growth Movement by Gary McIntosh and Paul Engle

• Together by Vivek Murthy

This list will keep growing! Please offer your recommendations in the comments or email me directly… matt@todayiprayforyou.com.

Be easier to encounter.

If your church or ministry wants to grow, start by becoming easier to encounter.

Not louder.
Not flashier.
Not more performative.

Easier to encounter.

That’s such an obvious piece of advice, but it’s so hard to figure out how to make it actually real. In the midst of your fast-moving week, filled with meetings and problem-solving, and emails and interruptions… How do you come up with ideas for truly becoming relational in your community? How are you supposed to come up with ways to be easier to encounter?

I love the image of Jesus walking on dusty roads. I love the idea of his ministry being so public that crowds would just gather with him and follow along. I love how easy it is to encounter Jesus in the stories. How visible his love is. How present he is.

How could you be more visible in love? More present in your neighborhood? More practiced at initiating human connection without pressure, bait-and-switch, manipulation, or shame?

The slow work of sacred community is not about tricking people into attending church. It is about becoming the kind of community people can trust. Becoming a presence in your neighbor’s lives. It is about practicing love in public, ordinary, human ways until your church is no longer known only for its building, worship time, theology, or programs—but for its warmth, presence, curiosity, generosity, and care.

Church growth, at its best, is not a marketing problem. It is a relationship practice.

So here are 49 simple ways your church, ministry, small group, or community can love more neighbors (you can come up with the 50th idea on your own).

Note: You probably already do some of this stuff. This list isn’t meant to knock your socks off with out-of-this-world ideas. This list is meant to help you break out of the box we often feel trapped inside… Build on these ideas. Use these to get a conversation started. Offer this to your people as a way to invite them to live out their faith publicly. Let this be a spark for your creativity.

❤️ Community Care

1. Host a Free Listening + Encouragement Station at a local event.

Show up with simple signs, open hearts, and a willingness to listen without fixing. Hugs can be optional. Listening should be the heart.

2. Deliver handwritten notes of encouragement to a senior center.

Craft personal, uplifting messages and deliver them as a group. Let people know they are remembered, valued, and not forgotten.

3. Partner with a local shelter for a “connection drive.”

Collect and distribute items that promote dignity and connection—socks, journals, hygiene kits, small comfort items—and deliver them with warmth.

4. Volunteer together at a food pantry or soup kitchen.

Serve side-by-side, not just as helpers, but as neighbors. Pay attention to the relationships forming among your own people as you serve.

5. Offer a blessing or encouragement booth at a farmer’s market.

Invite people to receive a simple spoken blessing, affirmation, or word of encouragement. No pressure. No preaching. No strings attached.

6. Pack and deliver lunches to people experiencing homelessness.

Prepare, package, and hand out meals with kindness, eye contact, and dignity.

7. Create a care calendar for someone going through a hard season.

Organize meals, rides, childcare, check-ins, or small acts of support for someone navigating illness, grief, transition, or overwhelm.

🌿 Public Acts of Connection

8. Create a sidewalk chalk encouragement art walk.

Fill public sidewalks with messages of hope, love, courage, and connection.

9. Hang affirmation signs around town.

Post simple messages like “You are loved,” “You belong here,” or “You matter” in appropriate public spaces like community boards, parks, libraries, or transit stops.

10. Organize a community compliment walk.

Walk through town with signs and warm presence, offering genuine compliments and affirmations to people you encounter.

11. Create a community gratitude wall.

Set up a temporary public display where people can write what they’re grateful for, who they appreciate, or what gives them hope.

12. Take a neighborhood “hope walk.”

Walk slowly through your neighborhood, noticing what is beautiful, what is hurting, and what might need care. Gather afterward to reflect and pray or simply share what you noticed.

🎨 Creative Acts of Love

13. Create a tiny art drop around town.

Make small pieces of art, poetry, or encouragement cards and leave them in public places for people to discover.

14. Create a pop-up moment of joy.

Offer music, bubbles, sidewalk art, poetry, flowers, or another simple public moment that brings delight without requiring anything in return.

15. Build a free poetry or prayer box.

Place a small box where people can take or leave poems, prayers, blessings, or sacred writings.

16. Offer free portraits in the park.

Take photos of individuals, couples, families, or friends. Send or print them with a short note of affirmation.

17. Paint a public mural centered on human connection.

Work with local artists and community partners to create something beautiful that expresses shared belonging.

18. Create a playlist for your neighborhood.

Invite people to contribute songs around a theme like hope, grief, joy, belonging, or resilience. Share it publicly.

🎁 Surprise & Delight

19. Deliver baked goods to neighbors you already know—or as part of a clearly hosted neighborhood event.

Keep it warm, safe, and non-weird. The point is not surprise for surprise’s sake. The point is care.

20. Create a blessing basket for a local family.

Fill a basket with notes, treats, gift cards, or small comforts and deliver it anonymously or personally, depending on the relationship.

21. Hang a “Give What You Can / Take What You Need” tree.

Offer gloves, scarves, snacks, toiletries, or other small items neighbors can freely take.

22. Host a drive-by “You Are Loved” parade.

Decorate cars and drive by a person, group, school, care facility, or workplace needing encouragement.

23. Create small stations of reflection in unexpected places.

Offer a small table, box, bench, or display with a poem, question, candle-like visual, or invitation to pause and breathe.

24. Write thank-you notes to local workers.

Choose a group of people who often go unthanked—teachers, librarians, sanitation workers, postal workers, baristas, nurses, bus drivers—and offer simple gratitude.

📚 Learning & Listening

25. Attend a public lecture or local event as a group—and reflect afterward.

Show up, listen deeply, then gather for conversation about what you learned and what it might ask of you.

26. Host a book exchange with notes inside.

Invite people to bring books they love and write personal notes inside before sharing them at parks, cafés, laundromats, or community spaces.

27. Offer a connection-themed workshop at a library or community center.

No preaching. No pressure. Just practical tools for listening, curiosity, friendship, conflict, or belonging.

28. Create a listening pop-up.

Sit in a public space with signs that say something like, “I’ll listen to whatever is on your heart.”

29. Visit a different faith community and debrief.

Show up humbly. Learn with curiosity. Discuss what opened your heart, challenged your assumptions, or expanded your understanding.

30. Host “Coffee with Clergy” in a local coffee shop.

Create simple, low-pressure opportunities for neighbors to talk with a pastor, spiritual leader, or caring listener without needing to come to church first.

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 Kinship & Family Networks

31. Organize an intergenerational story swap.

Invite elders, youth, parents, grandparents, and neighbors to share stories around a simple prompt.

32. Host a chosen family dinner night.

Create a meal especially welcoming to people without nearby biological family or easy holiday/community belonging.

33. Facilitate a letter-writing circle to distant relatives or old friends.

Invite people to write thoughtful letters to someone they miss, someone they need to thank, or someone with whom they hope to reconnect.

34. Create a family connection workshop.

Offer a safe, gentle space to learn tools for navigating hard family dynamics with curiosity, boundaries, and compassion.

35. Plan a “bring your sibling, cousin, parent, kid, or friend” service project.

Invite people to practice collective care with someone from their own relational world.

36. Host a simple neighborhood table.

Invite a few neighbors to share dessert, coffee, soup, or bread. Keep it small enough that real conversation can happen.

📣 Justice, Advocacy & Public Solidarity

37. Schedule group meetings with local officials.

Organize thoughtful, respectful conversations with representatives about love-centered policies and real community needs.

38. Attend a justice-oriented event as a sacred presence.

Show up at marches, forums, vigils, or community conversations with open hearts, prayers whispered, and a commitment to listen as much as speak.

39. Host a community listening circle on local issues.

Create a brave, gentle space for neighbors to name what is breaking their hearts locally.

40. Sponsor a civic curiosity night.

Invite local leaders, organizers, teachers, nonprofit workers, or public servants to share how people can engage constructively in the community.

41. Host a nonpartisan civic engagement table.

Offer voter registration resources, rides, reminders, and relational encouragement to participate in civic life without becoming partisan or coercive.

42. Partner with a local organization already doing good work.

Instead of starting something new, ask a trusted local nonprofit what they need and show up consistently.

🌐 Digital Connection & Online Outreach

43. Host a digital encouragement hour.

Gather online or in person to send texts, DMs, emails, voice memos, prayers, or notes to people who need encouragement.

44. Organize a meaningful comment hour.

Choose posts from local groups, community pages, or individuals and leave thoughtful, affirming, human comments.

45. Create and share a short community connection video.

Invite your town, neighborhood, or wider community to reach out if they need conversation, encouragement, or support.

46. Lead a sacred scroll reflection.

Scroll through social media together and notice what disconnects, what inspires connection, and what kind of online presence you want to practice.

47. Share one church story each week.

Post a short story about generosity, service, friendship, healing, or beauty from your community. Make the story about people, not institutional promotion.

48. Invite people into one specific next step.

Instead of saying “come to church sometime,” invite people to one clear relational opportunity: coffee, dinner, a listening circle, a service project, or a small gathering.

49. Ask one person, “What kind of community are you longing for?”

Then listen.

Really listen.

And let their answer shape what your church does next.

The point is not to do all 49.

The point is to stop waiting for people to magically wander into our buildings/gatherings and start practicing the kind of relational presence that makes sacred community possible.

If you meet new people, write down their name and contact information so that the seed of a relationship has a chance to grow. Don’t panic and say, “COME TO OUR WORSHIP SERVICE!!!” Just be normal. Be kind. Be loving.

A church that wants to grow does not need to become louder.

It needs to become more loving in ways people can actually experience.

This is slow work.

Sacred work.

And it starts with one neighbor.

I want to share one of my favorite exercises to do with groups (including churches or members of a ministry). You’ve probably done something like this before.

First… I ask a group of about a dozen or so of the people in attendance to stand in a circle… facing each other. Then I ask them, if they’re willing, to hold hands with each other.

We then talk about the power of this beautiful symbol.

A group of people, looking each other in the eye, holding hands. An unbreakable bond. A circle of safety, loyalty, mutual care. A circle of love. A symbol of people who would show up for each other, encourage each other, and help one another grow. A truly beautiful circle symbolizing our faith.

Then I’ll ask them to drop their hands for a moment.

I’ll ask each of them to turn around.

Grasp hands again.

Now it’s the same people in the same circle… but the people in the circle are all facing outward.

Now we talk about the power of this symbol.

A group of people who trust each other, holding hands. An unbreakable bond. A circle that is still safe, full of loyalty, and full of mutual care. A circle of love. A symbol of people who will still show up for each other, encourage each other, and help each other grow. But this circle is different than the first. This circle is facing outward. Their attention is on the people outside the circle. Their focus is not on protecting each other — that’s a given — their focus is on loving those outside their bonds. Their focus is on their neighbors.

“On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear… Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you!’ … Again Jesus said, ‘Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.’ And with that he breathed on them and said, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.’” (John 20:19–22)

Do not be afraid.

Peace be with you.

We are sent out of our doors and into the lives of the people around us.

Even when the world is scary. Especially then.

Doing church/ministry growth the right way is hard work. It’s slow work. It’s patient work. And it takes more than some facilitated exercise and holding of hands.

But it can start by reorienting a congregation’s focus. By changing the reasons (slowly, over time) that we gather faithfully. Shifting from a circle facing inward to one that puts our energy, attention, and intention on our neighbor’s lives.

Your church can grow. Your ministry can serve more people.

Yes, even in today’s world.

Yes, it can grow in a way that feels faithful and loving.

Yes, it can grow without requiring you to manipulate people or guilt them into showing up.

Yes, it can grow through relationships and care.

Yes, it can grow without loud marketing.

Your church can grow.

Accidental or Intentional

Your church can grow on accident. Believe it or not, it can grow by standing still. It can grow by miraculous intervention. It can grow by remaining static. You can fiddle with some of the internal workings, and that can help. You can make Sundays more welcoming. You can make your greeters more greet-y. You can give away welcome bags, and you can serve better coffee. All of that matters. All of that can help.

But your church can also grow with intention. You can critically reengineer your congregation’s choices to reorient them toward sacred relationships. You can flip some old things upside down. You can reenergize your people to reenter their neighborhoods with renewed confidence and open hearts. You can choose a dynamic approach to growth.

There are no shortcuts. There is only love.

21 Small Truths About the Slow Work of Sacred Community

Will you do me a favor? Will you read these 21 statements, and after some reflection, consider which ones are speaking to you right now?

I’m not sure of anything. And your real, lived, local experience is true. I’m not going to assume anything about your life, your church, or your ministry. But I think I have grown to deeply believe these 21 things in my bones. And they feel aligned with the lessons of ancient teachers.

What do you think?

Know the People Around You

Your community is filled with neighbors who may or may not need church — but they almost certainly need connection. There are too many lonely folks living next door to empty church buildings.

It’s hard to love the neighbors you cannot name. Sacred connection begins when strangers are no longer strangers.

Breadth of relationships makes depth of belonging possible. The more people you know, the more opportunities there are for sacred connection.

Occasional, incidental encounters rarely lead to deeply rooted relationships. Frequent, day-by-day relationships are the pathway to growth.

Listening is the counterintuitive secret to ministry growth. Communities grow when people feel heard.

Share Belonging Before Belief

People are usually more open to belonging than to believing. Belief grows slowly inside relationships, not the other way around.

Low-pressure invitations create high-trust communities. Urgency kills safety. Sacred belonging flourishes where people feel free.

Belonging grows when someone risks going first. Growth requires the holy discomfort of taking that risk.

Sacred community grows at the speed of trust. This is slow, sacred, soul work.

Love Beyond the Walls

The church grows wherever people live their lives. Kitchens. Sidewalks. Workplaces. Tables.

Churches that grow are focused outward. Their priority is to collectively serve the people outside their walls, not only to care for the people in the pews.

Love your community enough to give it away. Sacred belonging multiplies when it is shared.

Healthy growth is a side-effect of outward-facing love. It’s not an end in itself.

Let Go of the Old Assumptions

Manipulation never grows sacred community. Trust does. A proselytizing posture is not a posture of healthy growth.

“Would you like to come to my church?” is often the first wrong question. Too hot. Too fast. Too transactional.

Growth is rarely a marketing problem alone. It’s usually a behavior problem. Communities grow when people consistently live the story they proclaim.

Church programs rarely grow a community by themselves. They should be one small tactic in your overall relationship strategy.

Sunday worship is not where growth happens. It’s where we practice the habits of love that lead to growth.

Churches don’t grow because pastors work harder. They grow because ordinary people practice extraordinary hospitality.

Measure What Matters

Counting butts in pews is the wrong way to measure growth. It’s a lagging indicator. Attendance tells you where you’ve been. Relationships tell you where you’re going.

If you measure crowds, you’ll manage crowds (and the crowds will likely shrink). If you measure care, you’ll cultivate care (and the care will likely grow the crowds). What you measure shapes what you value.

A thoughtful critic of a church growth blog like this one might say…

“You capitalist, imperialist pig!“

Well, maybe they would phrase it more like, “Isn’t wanting to grow a church rooted in a colonial mindset? And don’t most churches care about growth so they can pad their budgets and overpay their clergy?”

Oof. That critique stings.

Mostly because I agree with it much of the time.

The economic model of modern churches is far too corrupt, and the motivations of many growth-focused churches are too conquer-the-souls-of-unbelievers-for-Christ-y.

But growing a faith community is not inherently gross. It can become gross. But that’s because of ego, greed, and selfishness — and this whole project is actually meant to point at those things and name them (even in… especially in… myself).

The truth is, many faith movements have acted more like the empire that crucified Jesus, than the Jesus-shaped church they claim to represent.

They hungrily expand by threatening eternal damnation for all who fail to submit.

They guilt people out of the few resources they have to fuel their growth machine.

They hunt more territory, more followers, more revenue like great white sportsmen on far-flung safari.

But that’s not the kind of growth I’m talking about. In fact, I need a new way to talk about it. A new metaphor.

Or maybe an old one will work.

Instead of church growth (a virus spreading outward)… maybe it’s more like inviting hungry people to eat with you.

Empire expands.

Jesus feeds.

I wake up every morning knowing that there are people in some house just down the road from me who are aching for a safe, affirming, loving spiritual community… a community that will accept them fully, nourish their soul, give them hope, and love them unconditionally. We have that bread, but I can’t figure out how to feed them.

I imagine them sometimes. Someone sitting quietly at the kitchen table after everyone else has gone to bed. Someone driving home from work wondering if God still has a place for them. Someone who tried church once or twice and walked away convinced it wasn’t meant for people like them. They’re hungry in ways that have nothing to do with food. Hungry for belonging. Hungry for hope. Hungry for a place where their soul can finally exhale. And somehow, the tragedy is that the bread is already baked. The table is already set. But they don’t know where to find the table.

That’s the kind of “church growth” I care about.

That’s the hunger I’m trying to respond to.

That’s the meal I long to serve.