Category: Coaching (Page 1 of 3)

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.

The Slow Stuff Is Worth It

March 5, 2026 / / 0 Comments

It’s really no secret – I don’t do instant coffee. Not Starbucks on the go. Not a Keurig pod that spits out something brown and vaguely caffeinated. Not that weak, paper-cup, convenience-over-quality nonsense. Some people live for the speed. For the instant jolt. For the easy fix. Me? I make my coffee the hard way, a French press.

It’s a lot of steps. Measure the beans. Grind them fresh. Heat the water just right not too hot, not too cold. Pour. Bloom. Sit. Steep. Press. Pour again. It’s deliberate. It’s slow. It’s…frustrating sometimes. And I love it.

Because life isn’t instant either.

We live in a world addicted to speed. Fast food. Fast replies. Fast fixes. Fast solutions. But the truth? Some things don’t work that way. Growth. Understanding. Perspective. Even your own heart. They need time. They need patience. They need to steep.

Patience doesn’t mean that you’re sitting around and waiting like a loser. It’s showing up, doing the work, and letting the process happen. Grinding your beans. Pouring the water. Blooming. Waiting. Watching. Paying attention. That’s how good things happen. That’s how clarity hits. That’s how insight, strength, and progress come to life.

And here’s the kicker: the results are bold. Rich. Worth the effort. Worth the wait. The slow stuff always is.

So here’s my challenge for you today: embrace the slow. Stop reaching for the quick fix. Don’t skim through your life like a K-cup. Measure it. Bloom it. Steep it. Sit with it. Let the heat do its work. And while you’re at it, pour yourself a good cup of coffee, lean back, and savor it. Smell it. Taste it. Let it remind you that good things, the things that matter, take time.

Life doesn’t have to be instant. Some of the best things – clarity, growth, perspective – take time to steep. They’re French press strong. Bold. Worth the wait. And yes, they hit harder than anything that comes out of a pod.

Your Day Off Is Not a Reward. It’s a Requirement.

March 4, 2026 / / 0 Comments

You didn’t see it coming.

That’s the thing nobody warns you about. Burnout doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t send a calendar invite. It doesn’t tap you on the shoulder and say “hey, you’re about to lose it.”

It just quietly rewires you.

And one day you realize, almost always way too late, that the person looking back at you in the mirror is someone you don’t fully recognize anymore.

Maybe it showed up at the dinner table.

You snapped. Hard. Over something small. The kind of thing that wouldn’t have registered six months ago. Your kid spilled a drink. Your spouse asked a simple question with bad timing. And something in you detonated that had no business being that close to the surface.

You apologized. You moved on. But somewhere in the back of your mind a small voice whispered, Yikes that wasn’t okay.

Or maybe it went the other direction entirely.

You came home feeling the weight of everything you carry at work. All of the needs, the crises, the impossible expectations. And you couldn’t fix any of it. So you bought things. Gifts you couldn’t really afford. Experiences designed to compensate for your absence, physically or emotionally. You showed up with dinner and flowers and a smile and nobody knew you were drowning behind it.

Because you didn’t know you were drowning behind it.

Here’s what nobody in a high-demand profession wants to admit.

When you spend your days carrying other people’s weight – their grief, their chaos, their emergencies, their spiritual crises, their trauma – something has to give somewhere. And it almost never gives at work. At work you are professional. Composed. Capable. You are the one with the answers.

So it gives at home.

It gives in the car on the way home when you someone cuts you off and you go nuclear.

It gives at 11pm when you can’t sleep but you also can’t explain what’s wrong.

It gives when you start reaching for things – food, alcohol, screens, control, conflict, isolation…things that scratch an itch you can’t quite name.

You’re not a bad person. You’re a depleted one.

And depleted people do things that are out of character. They control what they can because they can’t control what matters most. They withdraw from the people who are safest because safety feels like a place where the mask can come off. And they’re terrified of what’s underneath it.

Nurses know this. Teachers know this. Therapists know this. First responders know this. Pastors know this.

Anyone who has ever held space for broken people while quietly falling apart themselves knows this.

The problem isn’t that you’re weak.

The problem is that you were handed a calling, a profession, a sense of purpose so compelling that you quietly agreed to trade your wellbeing for it. Nobody forced you to sign that agreement. Most of the time, nobody even told you it existed.

You just started living it out one skipped day off at a time.

One “I’ll rest after this season” at a time.

One “they need me” at a time.

Until the person who was supposed to be doing the helping quietly became someone who desperately needed the help they had been providing.

This series isn’t about working less. It’s not a manifesto for laziness disguised in spiritual language.

It’s about something far more urgent than that.

It’s about the reality that you cannot sustain what you’re sustaining. That the people who depend on you need a version of you that is actually whole. That rest is not a reward you earn after you’ve given everything. It is the very thing that makes giving everything possible in the first place.

So hear this clearly. And yes I’m saying these words to myself as well.

Your day off is not a reward. It is a requirement.

And if you don’t start treating it like one, something in your life – maybe your health, your marriage, your relationship with your kids, your sense of self – something is going to make the decision for you.

Friend, this is not a threat. This is just what happens.

The question is whether you’re going to wait until the wreckage to believe it.

Next week: You’re not God. Stop acting like it. Don’t miss it.

When Ministry and Family Collide in the Best Way

February 20, 2026 / / 1 Comment

A little over a year ago, I hired a young woman to join our church family and help lead our kids and students in the way of Jesus. At the time, it was about calling, gifts, and mission. We were excited about what God might do through her leadership with our families.

What I didn’t know was that God was quietly writing another story at the same time.

Over the months, she and my son started spending time around the same ministry spaces. Financial Peace University. Spiritual First Aid. Church events. Conversations after things wrapped up. The kind of ordinary moments where you slowly start to realize someone matters to you more than you expected.

They encouraged each other. They laughed together. They shared life in the natural rhythm of church and ministry.

And eventually… they started to like each other.

In fact, there was a moment when they sat down with me and said something along the lines of, “We don’t think we should like each other… but we can’t seem to help it.”

As a pastor and a dad, that’s a unique conversation. It’s one that seminary can never prepare you to have!

But sometimes the best things in life are the ones God gently grows when nobody is trying to force anything.

What started as friendship slowly turned into something deeper. And last night, it became something official.

My son asked her to marry him.

He took her back to the place where they had their first date. The whole evening involved a bit of strategy on his part. The rest of us were part of the distraction so she wouldn’t suspect what was coming. Watching it all unfold was one of those moments you wish you could slow down and hold onto for a while.

And when the moment finally came… she said yes.

As a dad, there are moments that fill you with a quiet kind of pride. Not pride in accomplishments or achievements, but pride in the kind of people your kids are becoming.

Watching my son step forward with courage and commitment meant a lot to me.

And watching the woman he chose, the same woman who has been faithfully investing in our church’s kids and families, made it even more meaningful.

Sometimes God writes stories that none of us could have planned.

A year ago, I was welcoming a staff member into our church family.

Last night, we celebrated welcoming her into our actual family.

Life has a funny way of doing that.

To both of you: we are proud of you, we love you, and we can’t wait to see the life God builds through your marriage.

Congratulations Matthew and Molly! The best chapters are still ahead.

24% of Pastors Want to Quit.

February 17, 2026 / / 1 Comment

That’s Not a Trend. That’s a Warning.

According to a recent study from Barna Group 24% of pastors are seriously considering quitting ministry altogether.

One out of four.

Admittedly that number is significantly down from where it was during the Covid era but 24% is still shockingly high!

If one out of four airline pilots were reconsidering their career mid-flight, we wouldn’t clap because it used to be 60%. If your heart surgeon was 25% likely to walk out of the operating room, you probably wouldn’t be super excited to get on that bed.

We’d call it what it is: A warning light on the dashboard at a minimum. And something any garage mechanic knows, ignoring warning lights doesn’t fix engines.

This Isn’t Just About Burnout

In case you were curious. Most pastors don’t quit because they one day just stopped loving Jesus.

They quit because:

  • The expectations never stop.
  • The criticism never sleeps.
  • The boundaries never existed.
  • The church became a machine that runs on one exhausted leader.

We have built a church model that quietly (and sometimes not so quietly) says:

“Be everywhere. Fix everything. Preach perfectly but not too long. Lead boldly. Be emotionally available. Never show weakness.”

Friends that’s not shepherding. That’s setting someone up for failure!

Consumer Christianity Isn’t Helping

If we’re being totally honest, we’ve created a monster that we’re having a hard time taming. Churches today are often treated like content platforms.

People compare sermons like podcasts.
They critique decisions like Google reviews.
They leave quietly instead of reconciling biblically.

And pastors are trying to lead people who are being discipled more by algorithms than Scripture. So many people evaluate their church experience by what the church they visited on vacation is doing. Even though they don’t evaluate the million dollar budget that campus uses to pull off that level of production.

Simply put the weight adds up.

But here’s the part that matters most: We are not powerless in this. There are solutions.

Five Pieces of Hard-Won Advice

1. Never Make a Permanent Decision Because of a Temporary Season

If you’re a pastor in that 24%, hear this clearly: Quitting because it’s hard won’t remove hard.

It will just relocate it.

Every calling has difficulty. Every workplace has dysfunction. Every community has broken people. Don’t make a permanent decision in a season of emotional depletion.

Find a way to rest.
Get counsel.
Take a sabbatical if needed.
Restructure yoru schedule.
Heck repent if necessary.

But don’t confuse fatigue with a change in calling.

Hard seasons end. Permanent exits don’t.

2. Love Your Pastor. Not Just the Version You Wish He Was

If you’re in a church, this is for you.

Love your pastor.

Not the polished online preacher you compare him to.
Not the friend-version you wish he would be.
Not the always-available-on-demand spiritual concierge.

Love the real human being called to shepherd you.

And understand this: A faithful pastor cannot overlook sin just because you’re friends.

If he offers correction or even a gentle rebuke, that’s not betrayal. That’s biblical love. If you’ve been in this situation from a pastor who’s also your friend, then you’ve experienced one of the hardest forms of love and care you can imagine. Don’t throw that one away.

We can’t say we want courageous preaching and then resent it when it hits close to home.

3. Set Safe Boundaries (Before It Gets Ugly)

Pastors are notorious for living in the margins. We laugh about the “one hour work week” myth. But here’s the truth: ministry expands endlessly if you let it.

There is always one more meeting.
One more crisis.
One more call.
One more email.

If pastors are not careful, they trade family for ministry in the name of faithfulness. And it gets ugly.

A truth I live by is simple yet changed everything for me. Every “yes” is a “no” to something else.

Say yes to every evening meeting? You’re saying no to dinner with your kids.

Say yes to every emotional demand? You’re saying no to your own soul care.

Boundaries are not selfish. They’re stewardship.

4. Build Teams, Not Pedestals

The future of the church does not belong to exhausted heroes. It belongs to healthy teams.

Shared leadership is not weakness.
Delegation is not laziness.
Plurality is not compromise.

If your church rises and falls on one personality, that’s not revival. That’s fragility. And fragile systems eventually crack.

5. Measure Faithfulness, Not Applause

Social media metrics lie.
Attendance spikes fluctuate.
Online engagement is not the same as spiritual maturity.

Pastors burn out when they measure themselves against applause instead of obedience.

Faithfulness rarely trends.
It rarely goes viral.
It often goes unnoticed.

But it lasts.

And lasting ministry matters more than loud ministry.

Let’s Be Clear

This isn’t about protecting fragile pastors. It’s about protecting the future of the church. Twenty-four percent is not just a stat!

It represents shepherds who are tired.
Families who feel the strain.
Congregations who don’t always realize the weight their leaders carry.

The trend may be improving. But it’s still a warning. And warnings are gifts if we pay attention.

The church does not need more burned-out heroes. It needs healthy shepherds.

And that starts with courage, humility, boundaries, and a community willing to love its leaders well.

Twenty-four percent is too many.

Let’s not wait until it climbs again to take it seriously.

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