Category: Coaching (Page 1 of 4)

Stewardship Means Structure (Part 2): The Final 3 Moves We Can’t Ignore

May 6, 2026 / / 0 Comments

If we’re going to stop managing decline and actually start stewarding the mission, then we have to finish what we started.

The first three moves were about people, partnership, and process.

These final three are about focus, funding, and fruit.

And if we miss these, we’ll keep spinning our wheels no matter how many conversations we have.

4. Activate Synod and District Resources (Beyond Just Two Lanes)

If we’re being honest, maybe even a little optimistically honest, we have to admit that at best we’ve put most of our energy into two categories:

  • Church planting
  • Church revitalization

Both matter. Both are needed. But they are not the whole picture.

There are dozens of congregations sitting in the middle:

  • Not healthy enough to plant
  • Not dying fast enough to trigger revitalization
  • But absolutely in need of intentional direction and support

And too often… they get neither.

What If We Broadened the Strategy?

What if we leveraged existing district and synod resources to:

  • Strengthen already healthy, growing churches so they can multiply impact
  • Support partnership models between congregations
  • Guide mergers, adoptions, and multi-site expressions
  • Help churches reimagine facility usage and community engagement

Not everything fits neatly into “plant” or “revitalize.” And if that’s all we fund, that’s all we’ll get.

Let’s Be Clear About What This Is (and Is Not)

This is not about:

  • Traditional vs. contemporary worship
  • Liturgical vs. non-liturgical styles
  • Personal preferences or ministry flavor

This is about viability:

  • Financial sustainability
  • Leadership capacity
  • Property stewardship
  • Missional effectiveness

Those are the real issues that need to be addressed.

And One More Thing We Need to Say Out Loud

Yes, Jesus is Lord of the Church. Absolutely. That is not a question at all.

But that doesn’t mean every local expression of the Church will remain open forever. Perhaps a better way to look at it is the difference between Church and local congregations.

The Church remains forever, but congregations have closed before. And they will close again.

Not because Jesus failed, but because missions shift, communities change, and stewardship matters.

Faithfulness is not measured by how long a building stays open. It’s measured by whether we’re aligned with the mission of making disciples.

5. Fund Strategy, Not Just Survival

We need to rethink how we use money. Because right now, too often, funding decisions are driven by one question:

“How do we help this congregation stay open a little longer?”

That’s not strategy. That’s delay. What if we asked instead:

“Where will this investment lead to actual Gospel impact?”

That changes everything.

What Strategic Funding Could Look Like

  • Investing in churches that are actively reaching their communities
  • Supporting leadership teams that are intentionally discipling people
  • Funding partnership efforts that multiply impact
  • Providing grants for mergers, relaunches, or replanting efforts
  • Backing churches willing to try something different for the sake of the mission

This isn’t about favoritism. It’s about fruitfulness.

Look. Pouring resources into a model that isn’t producing disciples isn’t generosity. It’s poor stewardship.

At some point, we have to stop resourcing what was…and start investing in what could be or maybe better yet what should be!

6. Measure What Actually Matters (Not Just Attendance)

If we’re serious about stewardship, then we have to get serious about metrics. Because what we measure shapes what we value. And for too long, the primary metric has been simple:

“How many people showed up?”

Sure attendance matters. But it’s not the mission.

The Mission Is Clear

Jesus didn’t say: “Go and gather crowds.”

He said: “Go therefore and make disciples…” (Matthew 28:19, ESV)

That’s the target. So the question becomes: Are we measuring that?

When discipleship is happening, you should see a pattern:

  • Worship attendance grows →
  • Bible engagement deepens →
  • More people begin serving →
  • More people invite others and talk about Jesus →
  • New people come – and the cycle continues

If one grows but the others don’t, then something is off. And there’s a health issue that needs to be addressed.

Because discipleship isn’t a single metric. It’s a movement.

This is far from a “butts in seats” issue. It’s a discipleship issue. You can grow attendance and still be shallow. You can maintain membership and still be stagnant.

But when you make disciples? Everything else begins to move.

What Needs to Change

  • Track engagement, not just attendance
  • Measure serving and participation, not just presence
  • Celebrate life change, not just numbers
  • Ask regularly: Are we actually making disciples?

Because that’s the one thing Jesus explicitly told His Church to do. It’s about making disciples, not assembling crowds for an hour on a Sunday.

Let’s Wrap This Up

If we’re going to take stewardship seriously, then we have to align:

  • Our resources with mission
  • Our structures with reality
  • Our metrics with discipleship

This isn’t about tweaking the system. It’s about re-centering the mission.

And that’s going to take:

  • Broader thinking
  • Braver decisions
  • And a willingness to let go of what no longer serves the Gospel

Not because we don’t care about the Church, but because we care too much to lose what’s most important.

The Slow Fade Can Wait

April 30, 2026 / / 0 Comments
Landscape pic of a job complete.

Something about turning 50 makes people start talking to you like you just got drafted into the final quarter of life. They don’t say it that bluntly, of course. It’s softer than that. It’s wrapped in concern and casual comments that all seem to point in the same direction. “Make sure you’re taking it easy now.” “You’ll start to feel it.” “Things change at this stage.” The world quietly hands you a script and expects you to start reading from it: welcome to the slow fade. I just don’t buy it.

The other day, that whole narrative just didn’t hold up.

I got up at 4:30am. Not because I had to get up, not because my body forced me to, but because that’s what I do. Coffee, quiet, into the day. I put in a solid ten hours of work – meetings, conversations, decisions, the normal rhythm of life and ministry. Nothing flashy, just steady, focused work.

Then I came home, and six yards of mulch were sitting in the driveway like a dare.

You know that moment. You can walk past it, tell yourself you’ll get to it later, maybe this weekend, maybe when you have more time. Or you can just go. So I went. Quick change. Clark Kent to, ok let’s be honest not Superman, but at least a version of me willing to get after it. So I grabbed the tools and went to work.

I edged every bed around the house, around the trees that somehow seem to multiply every year. Then it was load after load of triple shredded goodness. Dump, spread, smooth it out, repeat. Six yards is a lot until you decide it isn’t. By the time it was done, everything looked the way it should. Clean lines, fresh edges, mulch laid down smooth enough to make you stop for a second and just take it in.

I cleaned up, put everything away and realized it was still light outside.

Which meant there was still time.

So I grabbed the mower and went back at it. Back and forth across the yard, cutting clean lines, weaving around trees, edging the driveway, laying down those diagonal stripes that don’t actually matter to anyone but me. There’s something about finishing a job all the way. Not halfway, not good enough, but all the way through.

By the time I wrapped up, I took the dog for a quick run down to the end of the road to burn off whatever energy she had left, and if I’m being honest, whatever I had left in the tank as well. When I finally slowed down to walk back up the driveway, the thought hit me: so this is what slowing down is supposed to feel like?

Because if that’s the case, I think I’m doing just fine.

I’m not pretending time doesn’t move forward. It does. I feel it in ways I didn’t at 25. And I’m not interested in being reckless or trying to prove something. But I am interested in not surrendering early. I’m not interested in handing over ground I was never actually forced to give up. I’m not interested in letting someone else’s ceiling quietly become my own.

So yeah, 50 is here. And if this is the final quarter, I’m not jogging out the clock.

I’ll get up early, work hard, take care of what’s in front of me, and push when it would be easier not to. I’ll finish what I start. Heck I might even finish what someone else starts.

I’ll add the stripes to the lawn even when nobody’s asking for them.

Stewardship Means Structure: 3 Moves We Can Make Right Now

April 29, 2026 / / 1 Comment

If we’re serious about moving from calling out the problem to actually changing the trajectory, then we need to get practical.

Not someday.
Not when things get worse.
Now.

In the last post, I outlined six pathways forward. Let’s take the first three and press into what they actually look like on the ground because if we don’t define them, they’ll stay ideas instead of action.

1. Deploy Real Transition Teams (Not Just Advice. Actual Help)

Right now, when a church starts to struggle, the “support system” often looks like this:

  • A meeting or two
  • Some general encouragement
  • Maybe a suggestion or two

And then… they’re largely on their own.

That’s not enough.

What a Transition Team Could Actually Look Like

Imagine instead a designated transition team that walks with a congregation for a defined season (6-18 months for starters). This team would be made up of:

  • A seasoned pastor with revitalization or merger experience
  • A trained lay leader (governance, finance, or organizational leadership)
  • A district representative who knows available resources and processes
  • A facilitator/coach who can lead hard conversations without emotional entanglement

This isn’t a task force that decides things. It’s a team that guides, clarifies, and moves the process forward.

What They Would Do

  • Conduct a real assessment of congregational health (not just attendance numbers)
  • Lead structured conversations with leadership and members
  • Lay out clear pathways: revitalization, partnership, merger, or closure
  • Help create a timeline with actual next steps
  • Keep the mission front and center when emotions run high

The Reality We’re Ignoring

We already have people who could do this. Within the district and synod structure, there are:

  • Circuit visitors
  • District presidents and vice presidents
  • Mission and ministry staff
  • Experienced pastors who have navigated these waters before

The issue isn’t a lack of people. It’s a lack of intentional deployment.

What if instead of waiting for churches to hit crisis mode these teams were proactively assigned when early warning signs appeared?

That’s not control. That’s care.

2. Normalize and Resource Church-to-Church Partnerships

This one is HUGE.

And honestly, it exposes something deeper in us. Because the resistance here isn’t logistical. It’s personal.

We like “our church.”
Our programs.
Our people.
Our traditions.

But the mission has never been about ours. Jesus even said he came to seek and to save the lost – disconnected – not here yet ones.

The Current Reality

In the same community, you’ll often find:

  • Multiple churches running under-resourced ministries
  • Multiple VBS programs competing for the same handful of kids
  • Multiple part-time staff stretched thin
  • Multiple congregations quietly declining separately

And we call that independence. But it’s often just inefficiency.

What Partnership Could Actually Look Like

  • Shared staffing
    • One pastor across multiple congregations
    • Shared Directors of Christian Education or Family Life
    • Joint outreach coordinators
  • Shared ministry efforts
    • One strong, community-wide VBS instead of five struggling ones
    • Combined youth groups
    • Joint outreach events that actually reach critical mass
  • Adoptive relationships
    • A healthier church helping lead and support a smaller one
    • Multi-site or campus models where it makes sense

Let’s Be Blunt

There is no Kingdom reason for five churches in one town to each run a half-effective ministry when together they could create something far stronger.

Sometimes our desire to “have our piece” of ministry is less about mission and more about control.

But if the Gospel is the goal, then collaboration isn’t optional. It’s essential.

What Needs to Change

We don’t just need permission for partnership.

We need active encouragement and resourcing:

  • Clear frameworks for how to share staff legally and financially
  • Templates for partnership agreements
  • Coaching for leaders navigating shared ministry
  • Stories that normalize this as wise, not desperate

Because right now, too many churches think partnership means failure. In reality, it might be the most faithful step forward.

3. Build a Best Practices Playbook for Hard Conversations

Look. I get it. Most churches don’t avoid hard decisions because they don’t care. They avoid them because they don’t know how to navigate them.

So they stall.
Or they argue.
Or they pretend things are fine.

The Questions We’re Avoiding

  • When is it time to seriously consider merging or even closing?
  • What does faithfulness look like in decline?
  • How do we honor the past without being held hostage by it?
  • Who actually gets to make these decisions and how?
  • What happens to the building, the money, the legacy?

These are heavy questions. And without guidance, they can feel overwhelming.

What a Playbook Could and Maybe Should Include

First, it is not a theological essay. It should be a practical, step-by-step guide:

1. Discernment Phase

  • Key indicators that change is necessary
  • Assessment tools (attendance across more than just worship, ministry engagement, financial health, community reach)
  • Questions every leadership team must wrestle with

2. Conversation Phase

  • How to structure congregational meetings
  • How to handle conflict and emotional responses
  • How to communicate clearly without causing panic

3. Decision Pathways

  • What revitalization actually requires
  • What partnership looks like in practice
  • What a healthy merger process entails
  • What faithful closure looks like (yes, that too)

4. Practical Logistics

  • Legal and constitutional considerations
  • Financial processes
  • Property decisions
  • Denominational procedures

5. Pastoral Care

  • Caring for members through grief and change
  • Honoring the legacy of a congregation
  • Keeping the Gospel central through every step

Why This Matters

Right now, every church feels like they’re reinventing the wheel. They don’t have to. We already have the experience. We already have the stories. We just haven’t organized them into something usable.

And until we do, churches will keep defaulting to inaction because inaction feels safer than the unknown.

Final Thought

None of this requires a theological shift. Our very theological identity and synodical polity actually allow and even was built for this! It just requires a structural and cultural shift.

  • Deploy people we already have
  • Work together instead of apart (anyone know what synod actually means)
  • Equip churches to face reality with clarity and courage

This is what stewardship looks like.

Not just naming the problem. But building pathways forward that churches can actually walk.

Next week, we’ll tackle the final three:

  • Activating synod and district resources more effectively
  • Funding strategy instead of survival
  • And telling better stories that redefine what success really looks like

I firmly believe we’re not done. Not even close!

A Few Weeks After Easter

April 28, 2026 / / 0 Comments

Grab that cup of coffee or whatever beverage suits you this time of day. I want to talk about something that doesn’t get said out loud very often in ministry circles, but probably should.

Before we dig in too deeply here this one is a shout out to my ministry friends. I’ve been there. I know the feeling. While my ministry now isn’t this way, it wasn’t too long ago that I had to listen to my own advice – which is why I’m sharing this with you today.

Easter Sunday is one of the best days of the year to be in ministry. Busy but the best kind of busy!

The room is full. Not just full, but full-full. Cars wrapping around the lot. Extra chairs in the aisles. Don’t tell the fire inspector. Familiar faces you haven’t seen in months sitting next to guests you’ve never met. The music is faster, a little louder, and the singing…wow the singing is on point. There’s this moment, usually somewhere in the opening hymn, where you can actually feel it. The room comes alive. It seems like everyone brought someone. Everyone is leaning in. And you’re standing up front thinking, now this is why I do this.

I’ve had those mornings. They’re real, and they’re genuinely good.

And then two or three weeks pass.

The lot has open spots again. The second row is half empty. The singing is…well, it’s fine. It’s your people. But it’s noticeably quieter than it was. The energy that felt almost electric three weeks ago has settled back into something more familiar, more ordinary. Normal.

Nobody warns you about the whiplash. This is not taught in any seminary class that I took.

I’m not talking about the numbers. I mean the feeling. The emotional and spiritual disorientation that comes from going, in the span of a few weeks, from the highest-energy Sunday of the year to what feels like the congregation just sort of… exhaled. Ministry leaders don’t always have language for it. It doesn’t feel like grief exactly, but it’s in that neighborhood. It doesn’t feel like discouragement exactly, but it can get there fast if you’re not careful.

Here’s what makes it harder: you can’t really talk about it. I mean seriously you can’t stand up on a Sunday in May and say “Hey, it felt way better in here three weeks ago.” You can’t let your team see you struggling with it because the room that’s in front of you is full of real people with real lives, and they need you present, not pining for a different version of the room. So you tuck it away. You preach as well as you can. You shake hands at the door. And somewhere underneath all of that, you’re quietly wrestling with something you can’t quite name.

I want to name it. Because I think a lot of ministry leaders carry this alone, and they don’t need to.

A few things that have helped me:

Remember what Easter actually measures. Easter attendance is a snapshot of curiosity and relationship, not a ceiling or a floor. The people who came because a family member invited them…that’s not nothing. That’s a door cracking open. The question isn’t why didn’t they come back, it’s what are we doing the other 51 Sundays that makes it worth coming back to? Easter doesn’t set the ceiling. It shows you what’s possible.

Name the thing to yourself. You don’t have to perform resilience. If the drop hits you then let it hit you, name it for what it is, and don’t spiritualize it into something it’s not. The emotional weight of caring deeply about a room full of people in need of the good news of Jesus is not a weakness. It’s actually evidence that you’re the right person for the job.

Anchor to the people in the room. One of the disciplines I keep coming back to is to stop looking at what’s missing and look at who’s there. There are people in your congregation on a random Sunday in May who are holding things together by a thread. They’re navigating rocky marriages, diagnoses, doubts and they showed up anyway. That room is not a consolation prize. It’s a gift.

Stay connected to your why, not your how many. The “how many” will fluctuate for your entire ministry. It always has. It always will. The leaders who make it to the long end of this work are almost always the ones who found something deeper than merely attendance metrics to stand on. Not because numbers don’t matter, because they do, but because numbers alone will eat you alive if you let them.

This one’s for the leaders who had a great Easter and then felt strangely quiet about it two weeks later. You’re not alone in that. And the ordinary Sunday in front of you? It matters more than it feels like it does right now. I think Mordecai’s words to Esther belong to all of us who get caught up in last week instead of loving the people in front of us this week. You were placed here for such a time as this.

If It’s a Stewardship Crisis… Then Let’s Start Acting Like Stewards

April 22, 2026 / / 0 Comments

The response to my last post has been a little loud.

Some people were grateful.
Some were uncomfortable.
Some were frustrated.
Some flat did not like what I had to say.

And frankly all of those answers are good.

Because if we’re honest, we don’t need more agreement. We need movement.

So let’s move the conversation forward.

If this really is a stewardship crisis… then what do we actually do about it?

Not in theory. Not some vague encouragement.

But in real, tangible, actionable ways that help churches take faithful next steps.

First. Let’s Be Clear About What This Is Not

This is not about:

  • Forcing churches to close
  • Strong-arming congregations into mergers
  • Shaming smaller churches
  • Or acting like bigger automatically means better

That’s not the goal. The goal is faithfulness.

And faithfulness requires intentional stewardship of people, pastors, buildings, and the mission.

The Shift We Need

We have to move from:

Reactive → Intentional
Isolated → Supported
Preservation → Mission

Right now, too many congregations are left to figure this out alone. So they stall. Or they avoid hard conversations. Or they default to “just keep going.”

Not because they don’t care, but because they don’t know what else to do.

That’s where we need to change (or modify) the system.

What If We Actually Supported Churches Through This?

Not just with funding. Not just with prayers. Although we definitely need to be continually praying! But with real, hands-on, structured support.

I’m the kind of person who doesn’t just say there’s a problem and not offer a potential solution. So here’s a crack at what this could look like:

1. Deploy Real Transition Teams

Imagine if congregations didn’t have to navigate this alone.

Instead, trained teams made up of experienced pastors, lay leaders, and district support staff could step in to help churches. They would

  • Assess current health and mission alignment
  • Facilitate honest conversations (the ones no one wants to lead)
  • Walk leadership through options: revitalization, partnership, merger, or even closure
  • Keep the focus on Gospel impact not just institutional survival

This is not about outsiders dictating decisions. This is about guides helping congregations discern faithfully.

2. Normalize and Resource Church-to-Church Partnerships

Not every church needs to close. Let me say that very clearly so the people in the back don’t get their undies in a bunch.

Not every church needs to close!

But many shouldn’t stay isolated.

We should be actively encouraging:

  • Shared staffing models (one pastor or commissioned worker serving multiple congregations)
  • Ministry partnerships between neighboring churches
  • Campus-style expansions where one healthy church adopts another location
  • Leadership pipelines shared across congregations

We don’t need fewer churches. We need more connected churches.

3. Create a “Best Practices” Playbook for Hard Conversations

Right now, every church facing decline feels like they’re the first ones to ever go through it. News flash friends! They’re not.

So why aren’t we equipping them better?

We need a clear, accessible resource that walks congregations through:

  • How to recognize when change is necessary
  • How to lead a healthy congregational conversation
  • What a faithful merger process actually looks like
  • How to navigate closure with dignity, care, and Gospel clarity
  • Legal, financial, and property considerations
  • How to care for members emotionally and spiritually through transition

Not more theory. Real steps. Real timelines. Real examples.

4. Activate Existing Synod and District Resources

We don’t necessarily need to build something new. We need to better deploy what we already have.

There are leaders at the district and synod levels with wisdom, experience, and capacity. But too often, their role is reactive instead of proactive. They are spending far too much time behind desks when they could be sitting with pastors and church leaders. They could be listening. Encouraging and connecting right there in the communities that are struggling.

What if:

  • Every struggling congregation had a clear, accessible pathway to support
  • District leaders regularly initiated conversations instead of waiting for crisis
  • Resources were streamlined and digitized instead of scattered and still in binders in some basement
  • Churches knew exactly who to call and what help would actually look like

Support shouldn’t feel distant or bureaucratic.

It should feel present, personal, and practical.

5. Fund Strategy, Not Just Survival

Money isn’t the primary issue, but how we use it matters.

Instead of defaulting to, “Let’s help them stay open a little longer…”

What if we prioritized:

  • Funding for transition teams
  • Grants for merger or relaunch processes
  • Support for leadership coaching during major change
  • Investment in church plants or revitalization efforts tied to legacy churches

Not bailout money. Mission-focused investment.

6. Tell Better Stories

Right now, closures and mergers feel like failure. So churches avoid them.

But what if we told different stories? Stories of:

  • Two churches coming together and reaching more people than either could alone
  • A legacy congregation blessing a new church plant in their community
  • A faithful closure that led to Kingdom impact beyond what anyone expected

We need to redefine what success looks like. Because the Gospel isn’t measured in how long something stays open.

It’s measured in lives reached.

This Is About Courage Together

No single church should have to carry this weight alone. And no congregation should feel like their only options are: “Stay the same” or “shut down.”

There is a better way. But this better way requires:

  • Courage from congregational leaders
  • Initiative from district leadership
  • Collaboration across local congregations
  • And a shared commitment to the mission over the model

Final Thought

If we really believe the Church exists to reach people with the Gospel, then we have to be willing to structure ourselves around that mission.

Not around comfort.
Not around history.
Not around buildings.

Around people who don’t yet know Jesus.

We don’t need to panic.

We don’t need to force outcomes.

But we do need to act like stewards.

Because the mission is too important not to.

Next week, I want to take a deeper dive into a few of these pathways. We’ll look at what they actually look like on the ground, and how churches can begin taking first steps.

We Don’t Have a Pastor Shortage. We Have a Stewardship Crisis.

April 15, 2026 / / 3 Comments

I’m kind of tired of hearing the same messed up verbiage all over the place. So let’s reframe the story a little.

We don’t have a pastor shortage. We have a stewardship problem.

I recently sat in a room where we heard the numbers, nearly 13% of our LCMS churches here in Ohio are currently calling pastors. And that doesn’t even include the number of congregations without pastors who aren’t calling at all.

That should stop us in our tracks.

But not for the reason you might think.

The Easy Explanation (That Isn’t Actually True)

It’s easy to say, “We just need more pastors.”

And sure, raising up more pastors matters. We should absolutely be investing in young men, encouraging theological education, and calling people into church work.

But let’s be honest: even if we magically added 50 new pastors tomorrow… would that actually solve the problem?

Or would we just spread them thinner across a system that’s already struggling?

The Harder Truth

Here’s the uncomfortable reality: We have too many churches trying to survive instead of too many churches trying to reach people.

We’ve confused preservation with mission.

We’ve convinced ourselves that maintaining a building, a name, and a location is somehow the same thing as advancing the Gospel.

It’s not.

And deep down, we know it.

The Quiet Drift Into Ineffectiveness

It rarely happens overnight.

A church that was once vibrant slowly declines. Attendance shrinks. Energy fades. The surrounding community changes, but the church doesn’t.

And instead of asking, “How do we reach people now?” the question becomes “How do we keep this going just a little longer?”

So we keep the doors open. We keep the lights on.

We call a full-time pastor… to shepherd six, ten, maybe twenty people who are no longer reaching anyone beyond themselves.

And we call that faithfulness. Faithful to what?

When Care Becomes Coddling

Pastoral care matters. Deeply.

But there’s a difference between shepherding a flock and propping up a system that has lost its mission.

When we assign a full-time, seminary-trained pastor to a congregation that is no longer engaged in reaching its community, we’re not just caring for people we’re misallocating Kingdom resources.

That same pastor could be:

  • Leading a growing church
  • Planting something new
  • Revitalizing a community with real potential
  • Multiplying leaders and disciples

Instead, he’s often asked to maintain what is already fading.

Not because it’s fruitful. But because it’s familiar.

Buildings Aren’t the Mission

Hard truth for today: The Church is not the building.

It never has been.

And yet, we act like closing a location is equivalent to abandoning the Gospel.

But that’s simply not true.

Sometimes the most Gospel-centered thing a congregation can do is say: “We’ve done our part here. Now it’s time to release these resources for the sake of something new.”

That’s not failure. That’s faithfulness.

Actual Reality

We don’t just need more pastors. We need better questions.

  • Why are we holding onto churches that are no longer reaching people?
  • Why are we reluctant to merge, partner, or reimagine ministry?
  • Why do we treat decline as something to manage instead of something to confront?
  • Why do we assume every church deserves a full-time pastor, regardless of mission impact?

These aren’t easy questions. But they are necessary ones. And I’m not at all saying to close every church that’s struggling. But if the local church values its name, building or brand more than the Kingdom impact it once had we have a HUGE problem!

A Call to Courage

Friends this isn’t about numbers. It’s about faithfulness.

Faithfulness to the mission Jesus actually gave us. You know the whole while you are going to make disciples, to reach people who don’t yet know Him.

If we’re honest, some of our structures are getting in the way of that mission.

And it’s going to take courage to change. It takes courage for:

  • District leaders to say hard things and force hard conversations.
  • Congregations to let go of what once was
  • Pastors to lead through uncomfortable transitions
  • Churches to prioritize mission over memory, maintenance or building

What if instead of asking, “How do we keep every church open?” we asked: “How do we reach every community?”

What if instead of distributing pastors evenly, we deployed them strategically?

What if we saw closing, merging, or relaunching not as defeat but as multiplication?

What if we actually believed that the Gospel is bigger than any one building?

My Heart

This isn’t about blame. It’s about honesty.

We don’t have a pastor shortage.

We have churches holding onto yesterday at the expense of tomorrow.

And if we don’t address that, no number of new pastors will fix what’s really broken.

It’s time to stop managing decline.

And start stewarding the mission.

Do You Want to Be Well?

March 18, 2026 / / 0 Comments

Jesus asked a simple question once: “Do you want to be well?” (John 5:6). Sounds easy, right? But here’s the thing, this isn’t just small talk. This question pierces straight to the heart. It’s not about a temporary fix or a quick feel-good moment. It’s about a total change from the inside, outside, and upside down.

In John 5, Jesus meets a man who had been stuck for 38 years. He’s been waiting for help, waiting for someone to make a move, waiting for life to happen to him. And then Jesus asks him, “Do you want to be well?” It’s almost sarcastic: the man has wanted it, desperately, for decades. But wanting it isn’t enough. Jesus’ question calls for real action, real commitment, and a willingness to step out of comfort.

If we’re being honest, most of us are comfortable being “a little broken.” We settle. We tolerate. We scroll, we binge, we distract ourselves because actually getting well? That’s scary. It asks us to confront ourselves, our habits, our excuses. It asks us to move. To do something. To actually let God do the hard work of making us whole.

Complacency is seductive. Comfort is loud. But Jesus? He’s asking: Do you want more than this? Do you want real life, not just a dull version of it?

So, how do we answer? Not with a shrug. Not with a “maybe someday.” Real healing, real transformation requires action. It requires us to leave the sidelines. To stand up. To risk change. To say yes to something bigger than our comfort zones.

Ask yourself today: Am I really ready to be well? Or am I just pretending while I stay stuck? Jesus isn’t asking for your excuses. He’s asking for your life.

Step out. Be brave. Be whole.

Let It Bloom

March 12, 2026 / / 0 Comments

Last week we covered the fact that I make my coffee in a French press. I don’t do it because it’s trendy. Not because I’m a coffee snob – well not totally. I do it because good things take a little work – and because a girl named Maddy told me I was making coffee wrong all my life. And she was right.

Measure the beans. Grind them fresh. Heat the water. Pour slowly.
And then something interesting happens.

The first splash of hot water hits the grounds and they start bubbling. Expanding. Releasing gas.

Coffee people call this the bloom.

If you rush past this step, the coffee falls flat. The flavor never fully opens up. But if you slow down and let it bloom for a moment before adding the rest of the water, something changes.

The aroma fills the room. The flavor deepens. The cup gets better.
And life works the same way.

We’re wired to rush. Fix it now. Decide now. Respond now. Solve it immediately.

But sometimes the smartest thing you can do is pause before the full pour.

Let things bloom.

When life hits you with something heavy maybe a tough decision, a conflict, a setback our instinct is to react fast. Say something. Do something. Push forward. Fire that email.

But clarity rarely shows up in the middle of reaction.

It shows up in the pause. In the bloom time.

In the moment where you let things expand a little. Where you breathe. Where you give the situation just enough space to reveal what’s really going on.

That’s where perspective starts forming. That’s where wisdom sneaks in.

You don’t need to stall forever. Coffee doesn’t bloom all morning. But it does need a moment.

Just enough time for the good stuff to wake up. The same goes for life.

Before the full response…
Before the big decision…
Before you pour all your energy into something…

Pause. Let it bloom.

You might be surprised what rises to the surface when you give life just a little time.

And while you’re at it, pour yourself a cup of coffee and enjoy the process.

Because the best things in life, like a great cup of coffee, don’t come from rushing the steps.

They come from letting the moment open up first. The best part of waking up is the smell of a fully bloomed cup of coffee.

You’re Not God. Stop Acting Like It.

March 11, 2026 / / 1 Comment

Let’s start with something uncomfortable.

You feel responsible for outcomes you cannot control. You carry the weight of other people’s decisions, other people’s pain, other people’s recovery, other people’s salvation as if the result depends entirely on how hard you work, how available you are, how much of yourself you pour into it.

And when you rest? The guilt shows up right on schedule.

What if someone needs me? What if something falls apart while I’m gone? What if they think I don’t care?

So you don’t rest. Or you try to rest and your brain won’t let you. Because somewhere along the way, without anyone officially handing you the job title, you started functioning like the person responsible for holding the whole thing together.

That’s not dedication. That’s a God complex. And it’s quietly destroying you.

Here’s the thing about God complexes. They rarely start with arrogance.

They start with compassion.

You genuinely care. That’s not the problem. The problem is that somewhere between caring deeply and carrying everything, you crossed a line you didn’t even notice. You stopped being a person who helps and became a person who believes the help only works if it comes from you.

The nurse who can’t hand off a patient without feeling like she’s abandoning them.

The pastor who can’t take a Sunday off without guilt-spiraling about who isn’t getting fed.

The teacher who stays until 9pm because if she doesn’t, who will?

The counselor who checks his phone on his day off just in case.

None of these people think they’re God. They’d laugh at the suggestion. But functionally? They’re living like the whole operation depends on their presence. Like the universe will wobble off its axis if they step away for 48 hours.

That’s not humility. That’s a very sneaky, very well-disguised form of pride.

The Bible has a word for this and it’s not flattering.

It’s called idolatry.

Not the golden calf kind. The subtle kind. The kind where the thing you’re worshipping is your own indispensability. Where your identity has become so fused with your function that you can’t separate who you are from what you do. Where rest feels like failure because if you’re not performing, you’re not sure what you’re worth.

That’s not serving God. That’s replacing Him.

And here’s the brutal irony. The people who most loudly claim to trust God are often the same people functionally living like He can’t handle things without them.

You pray “God, I trust you” on Sunday and then Monday through Saturday you live like a one-person emergency response team with no backup plan and no days off. You preach surrender while practicing control. You talk about God’s sovereignty and then quietly act like His sovereignty has a loophole that requires your constant availability to fill in the gaps.

It’s literally this simple: if we genuinely believed God was God, we could go to sleep.

Look at the life of Jesus. You know the actual God who walked around in human skin. What do you find?

He withdrew. Regularly. Deliberately.

He left crowds that still needed healing. He stepped away from people who still had questions. He pulled back from the noise, the need, the pressure and He went to quiet places to pray.

If Jesus, who actually had the power to fix everything, still understood the rhythm of withdrawal and rest, what exactly is our excuse?

We are not the savior of our congregation. You are not the savior of your patients. You are not the savior of your students or your clients or your community.

There is only one Savior. And He is not currently burned out.

Now here’s where the grace comes in because this isn’t about shame. You don’t need more of that.

The guilt you feel when you rest? It’s not a sign that you care too much. It’s a sign that you’ve been carrying something that was never yours to carry alone. And that is an exhausting, lonely, unsustainable way to live.

The good news and I mean this in the most literal, theological sense is that you are not responsible for outcomes only God can control. You are responsible for faithfulness. For showing up. For doing your part with integrity and compassion and skill. But the results? The transformation? The healing? The changed hearts?

That’s His job. It always was. And it always will be.

When we finally let that land and I mean really let it land something shifts. The guilt over rest starts to lose its grip. Because rest isn’t abandonment. Rest is trust. It’s the physical act of saying I believe someone bigger than me is on watch and He doesn’t need me to cover His shift.

That’s not laziness. That’s faith with legs on it.

We were called to be faithful. Not omnipresent.

We were called to serve. Not to be indispensable.

We were called to point people toward God. Not to become a substitute for Him.

So take the day off. Put the phone down. Sleep past 6am without an agenda.

Not because you’ve earned it.

Because you were never God to begin with and it’s time to stop auditioning for the role.

Next week: Your Day Off Is Not Optional – Building the Rhythms That Actually Stick. Don’t miss it.

I’m Not Strong Enough for This

March 9, 2026 / / 3 Comments

There are moments in life when strength simply runs out.

Not the kind of strength you use to get through a busy week or solve a problem at work. I mean the deeper strength. The kind you assume will be there when life really falls apart.

Last night, my strength failed.

In the middle of the night, everything changed. My wife needed emergency help. I could do nothing. I knew nothing. I had zero power. I was weak and my strength was gone. In what felt like hours but really was mere minutes strangers in uniforms were filling our home. Lights were flashing outside. Voices were giving instructions. Equipment was being unpacked.

And I stood there.

Helpless.

There was nothing I could fix.
Nothing I could solve.
Nothing I could do.

I couldn’t stop what was happening.
I couldn’t protect her from it.
I couldn’t make it go away.

For someone who spends most of his life trying to help people, it was one of the most powerless moments I’ve ever experienced.

All I could do was trust other people to do their jobs.

And pray.

It’s strange how quickly life exposes our deep seated illusion of control. Most days we operate as if we’re holding everything together. We plan. We organize. We fix. We lead. We manage.

But sometimes life reminds you that you’re not actually the one in control.

Last night reminded me of something I already knew but don’t always feel.

I’m not strong enough for this.

And maybe that’s the point.

The apostle Paul once wrote something that never made much sense to me until moments like this.

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”
— 2 Corinthians 12:9 (ESV)

We spend so much time trying to prove we’re strong enough.

Strong enough to lead.
Strong enough to carry responsibility.
Strong enough to handle whatever comes next.
Strong enough to protect our spouse no matter what.

But the truth is, eventually life hands you something that proves otherwise.

And when that moment comes, you discover something surprising.

Faith isn’t about being strong enough.

Faith is about knowing where to lean when you’re not.

That night I leaned on paramedics.
I leaned on doctors.
I leaned on friends who were praying.

But most of all, I leaned on Jesus.

Because when you realize you’re not strong enough, you begin to discover the quiet strength of the One who is.

Today I’m writing this from a place of gratitude.

Grateful for the people who showed up in a moment of crisis.
Grateful for the prayers of friends and family.
Grateful for the reminder that I don’t have to hold everything together.
Grateful that my wife will make a full recovery, even if I will never be the same again.

And most of all, grateful that even on the hardest nights of life, God is still holding us.

Sometimes the most honest prayer you can pray is:

“God, I’m not strong enough for this.”

And the good news of the gospel is that you were never meant to be.

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