The chair business that never was

Most people who have began some kind of creative or craft hobby eventually face the same question:

Could I sell this stuff!?

A few years back, during COVID, I started making Adirondack-style wooden chairs from some online plans a relative shared with me. She wanted the chairs, knew I had some basic woodworking skills, and commissioned me to build them.

I enjoyed the project.

I even made a couple for my own family.

Then something happened that probably feels familiar to many of us.

A neighbor stopped while driving by, admired the chairs, and asked about them.

And immediately my brain shifted from:

This is fun

to:

Could this be something more?

When hobbies become systems

I don’t remember the exact numbers, but I think materials ran around fifty dollars per chair. Each one took a few hours to build, plus additional time for painting or staining.

The relative who first commissioned me suggested selling more online.

So I did what everyone does:

I checked Facebook Marketplace.

Sure enough, people were selling similar chairs for somewhere around $120–150.

And while I never built a spreadsheet or pro forma, it became obvious pretty quickly:

If this was going to be worth my while, I’d need an assembly-line type system.

And that realization stopped me cold.

Because I already knew what assembly-line work felt like.

Substack Conversation archives

The hidden cost of “making it work”

During seminary, I worked at a lumber warehouse that also built modular wood decks. When business slowed in one division, we’d get shifted into repetitive assembly work.

The kind where you drill the same hole into the same product again.

And again.

And again.

I learned something there:

Once something becomes work, it often stops becoming fun.

Obviously ministry is still work. There will always be administrative tasks, difficult conversations, and obligations we don’t enjoy.

That’s not the point.

The question is different:

How do we minimize the work that drains us and maximize the work that brings life?

Redefining what thriving means

This is why I think ministries and initiatives need to become clearer about what it means to thrive.

Even highly successful public speakers—people charging five- or six-figure speaking fees—often admit the lifestyle becomes exhausting.

Travel.
Hotels.
Time away from family.

Part of why they charge so much is because the compensation has to justify those costs.

But most of us in ministry operate in a very different financial ecosystem.

Which means thriving cannot simply mean:

more revenue
more exposure
more opportunities

Sometimes thriving looks smaller.

To stay with the speaking example, maybe thriving means:

• limiting overnight travel

• staying closer to home

• accepting fewer opportunities

• even sacrificing visibility or income

Because for that person, thriving doesn’t mean maximizing revenue.

It means preserving joy.

The deeper question

This is where sustainability becomes personal.

We spend a lot of time asking whether a ministry can survive financially.

That matters.

But another question matters too:

Will this way of doing ministry still feel life-giving five years from now?

Only you can answer that.

And if you don’t know yet—now might be the time to ask.

Why this matters for Substack Seminary

This is the kind of work we’re doing in Substack Seminary.

Not simply helping people build ministries or projects—but helping them think honestly about what sustainable thriving actually looks like.

Because faithfulness is not just about endurance.

It’s about building work that remains meaningful, joyful, and grounded in real life.

If you’re trying to clarify what thriving means for your calling—not somebody else’s definition, but your own—this is the work.

Join us.

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The question we’re asking

This week on Substack Seminary, we are talking about an important—but often overlooked—idea in ministry:

sustainability.

Or said differently:

viability.

And right away, there are two important tensions worth naming.

Not everything important is sustainable

First, just because something isn’t sustainable doesn’t mean it isn’t important or impactful.

Disaster relief is an obvious example. If you were starting a tornado relief ministry in your area, you would obviously hope it’s a one-and-done effort. Tornadoes ripping through your community every week would not be sustainable for anyone.

Similarly, writers like and Erin Cash have noted that churches can still be vital and faithful even if they are unlikely to exist long-term—such as congregations in dying small towns.

The point is to understand your context.

Is your ministry:

• responding to a short-term crisis?

• serving a declining population?

• addressing a temporary but urgent need?

If so, plan accordingly.

Substack Conversation archives

Not everything sustainable matters

But the reverse is also true.

Just because something is sustainable doesn’t mean it is impactful—or even alive.

Many churches with large endowments have relatively low per-capita giving. More, most of us probably know congregations that are financially secure but spiritually stagnant: a handful of attendees, little vision, and minimal interest in renewal or mission.

Sustainability alone is not the goal.

A ministry can survive long after it stops bearing fruit.

Faith, planning, and “God invented math”

Still, if you believe your ministry is addressing an ongoing need—and you hope it will endure—then planning matters.

Yes, I believe in trusting God.
Yes, I believe faith sometimes requires risk.

But as others have said:

“God invented math.”

I think of Abram and Sarai. God called them into an unknown future, but they still brought cattle and livestock with them. They trusted God while also preparing for the journey ahead.

The Apostle Paul made tents.

Faith and sustainability are not opposites.

Planning for the journey ahead

None of us fully know where we are going to end up.

But many of us sense that God is calling us somewhere new.

The question is not whether we trust God.

The question is:

How do we create structures, rhythms, and plans that allow the work to endure along the way?

Maybe that means bivocational ministry.
Maybe it means slower growth.
Maybe it means redefining success entirely.

Whatever the path, sustainability is not about control.

It’s about stewardship.

Why this matters for Substack Seminary

This is the kind of tension we’re exploring in Substack Seminary.

Not simplistic answers, but honest questions about ministry, leadership, sustainability, and faithfulness in a changing world.

Because viability matters.
But viability alone is not enough.

If you’re trying to discern what kind of ministry is worth sustaining—and how to sustain it faithfully—this is the work.

Join us.

Do more than read along from the sidelines

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We’re even starting a denomination.

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The question we’re asking

This week at Substack Seminary we’re asking the question:

How are you sharing your ministry?

While there is definitely an evangelism side to this in that we are working out of calling that we believe God has placed on our lives to share the good news of Jesus, I’d like to explore for a moment the other aspect of this—marketing.

In the initial email for the week, the question was asked:

“Where and how do people find you?”
“Walk us through the actual path someone takes from ‘never heard of you’ to raving fan.”
“What’s working? What feels uncomfortable or confusing? Where do you feel most like yourself in how you share your work?”

I especially want to explore the question:

“What feels uncomfortable or confusing? Where do you feel most like yourself in how you share your work?”

Where it gets uncomfortable

A while back, I was reading a post from author and Executive Coach . In his Substack article from a few months back he shared:

“Most of us have something we know we need to do…A career move that scares us. Starting a business. Writing that book. Stepping into a leadership role... Whatever it is, we know. Deep down, we know.”

But we don’t move on it, and the reason we don’t move “sounds really responsible,” Foster says, “even wise.”

Foster suggests we make comments like:

“I just need a little more time.”
“I want to make sure I’m fully prepared.”
“I’ll start when the kids are older. When the money’s right. When I feel more confident.”

And then, Foster names this harsh but important reality:

“that’s not wisdom talking.”

Instead he says:

“That’s fear wearing a very convincing costume.”

Substack Conversation archives

Naming the real barrier

For many of us, especially pastors and ministry types, what feels uncomfortable or confusing is the very fact of even trying to “market” ourselves at all.

We have been rightly trained that ministry is a calling by God, and a humble, sacrificial one at that.

This is all true.

But I also think that a lot of the uncertainty and ambivalence around marketing ourselves comes down to what Foster names:

fear.

For me, it was fear of looking foolish, or ill-prepared, or inadequate. Something like that.

I always assumed I needed more information, more learning, more data before I could really put myself out there and say I had something to offer.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was just fear—fear of looking stupid.

The deeper question

So maybe the real question isn’t just:

How are you sharing your ministry?

It’s this:

What’s your fear? What’s holding you back?

Why this matters for Substack Seminary

This is the kind of work we’re doing in Substack Seminary.

Not just thinking about ministry, but naming what actually shapes how we show up in it.

Because until we name the fear, we’ll keep disguising it as wisdom.

If you’re trying to move forward in your calling—and something keeps holding you back—this is the space to do that work.

Join us.

Do more than read along from the sidelines

Become a Substack Seminary paid subscriber to join the conversation.

Our rollicking weekly livestream (hosted by , with co-hosts , , and occasional Substack Seminary Participants), goes in depth on all things ‘Future of Church’ and ‘Cage Free Ministry’

We’re even starting a denomination.

Join live Thursdays at 3:30pm Eastern (we read comments in real time) and get the recording in your inbox on Friday.

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Where I started

I grew up in a conservative context and attended a Baptist Bible college—back when it was quite literally named Baptist Bible College.

Bible colleges tend to differ from other theological institutions in one key way: they are shaped by a strong missionary perspective. The college I attended focused on training missionaries to share the gospel overseas, as well as pastors and ministry staff for local Baptist churches.

There are parts of that world I’ve left behind.

But one thing has stayed with me:

the clarity of purpose.

Clarity we don’t talk about anymore

In that context, there was very little confusion about what ministry was for.

If a group of students went out into surrounding neighborhoods to knock on doors—and that did happen—everyone knew exactly what it meant to “share the gospel.”

More importantly, everyone knew what counted as transformation.

We were trying to move someone from point A to point B:

From no profession of faith
to a clear, identifiable profession of faith

That clarity drove everything—alignment, collaboration, urgency, and shared effort.

Substack Conversation archives

What changed

In the nearly twenty years I’ve spent in mainline Protestant contexts, I’ve often found the opposite dynamic.

There is far less agreement on what the gospel is—or what it means to share it.

This isn’t primarily a theological critique. It’s a practical one.

When you can’t name the transformation, you can’t organize around it.

And without that clarity, it becomes much harder to align people, energy, and resources toward a shared outcome.

The problem with vague outcomes

Too often, especially in mainline settings, we default to language like:

• “finding community”

• “gaining a greater sense of purpose”

These are not bad outcomes.

But they are also not unique to the church.

People can find community at CrossFit.
They can find purpose volunteering at an animal shelter.

If our outcomes aren’t distinct, our work becomes indistinct.

What clarity looks like

The point here is not to settle the theology of evangelism.

The point is simpler—and harder:

What transformation are you actually aiming for?

After someone engages your ministry, what is different in their life?

One ministry I work with, , names this clearly. They exist to help worship leaders get off the treadmill of chasing Sunday after Sunday—and toward a vision rooted in Psalm 1:

A leader planted by streams of water,
bearing fruit in season,
not burning out,
prospering in what they do

That’s a defined transformation.

When I work with pastors, churches, and nonprofits, I’m trying to help leaders move from feeling like they’re banging their head against a wall to becoming leaders with clarity, energy, and forward momentum.

Start smaller than you think

Clarity doesn’t require grand ambition.

In fact, it often requires restraint.

Not:
“We’re going to solve world peace.”

Not even:
“We’re going to feed the entire community.”

Maybe it’s:

“We want to make sure kids come to school on Monday with a full stomach.”

Or:

“Every child in our county has food for the weekend.”

Clear. Concrete. Actionable.

Why this matters for Substack Seminary

This is the kind of clarity we’re working toward in Substack Seminary.

Not just naming problems—but defining transformation.

Because if you can’t name the change,
you can’t build toward it.

If you’re trying to get clearer about what your ministry actually does—and what difference it makes—this is the work.

Join us.

Do more than read along from the sidelines

Become a Substack Seminary paid subscriber to join the conversation.

Our rollicking weekly livestream (hosted by , with co-hosts , , and occasional Substack Seminary Participants), goes in depth on all things ‘Future of Church’ and ‘Cage Free Ministry’

We’re even starting a denomination.

Join live Thursdays at 3:30pm Eastern (we read comments in real time) and get the recording in your inbox on Friday.

Bring your own questions - and where your ministry is ‘stuck’.

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If you’re already a paid subscriber, enjoy the Conversation archives…

Substack Conversation archives

The question we’re asking

This week in Substack Seminary, we’re wrestling with a simple but uncomfortable question:

Who is my ideal client?

In many mainline church contexts, the instinct is to be inclusive and welcoming. That instinct is good. It reflects something essential about the Christian message.

But it often leads to a problem.

When inclusion becomes ambiguity

Too many churches try to be all things to all people.

And in doing so, they end up saying nothing clearly to anyone.

The message becomes a kind of religious-sounding gobbledygook—language that feels spiritual but doesn’t actually connect.

Not because the intention is wrong.
But because the audience is undefined.

Substack Conversation archives

How we were trained

This isn’t accidental.

Many of us were trained this way.

I remember in seminary being coached to strip prayers of anything that might be offensive or misunderstood.

You’ve heard those prayers:

“To all that is holy…”
“To the divine we pray…”

They’re technically inclusive.

But they’re also forgettable.

Because the goal wasn’t clarity.
It was avoidance.

What clarity actually requires

The goal is not to offend.

The goal is to know who you are speaking to.

Even in preaching, one of the most consistent pieces of guidance is this:
preach to a specific person—even if they’re imagined.

Because specificity creates resonance.

The same is true in ministry, communication, and leadership.

You have to be clear:

• Who are you trying to reach?

• Who will benefit from what you offer?

• Who might not?

• What are their struggles?

• What are their desires?

Clarity about your audience is not exclusion. It’s effectiveness.

Why this matters now

In a time of institutional decline and limited capacity, churches can’t afford to be vague.

Trying to reach everyone usually means reaching no one.

But when you name your audience clearly, something shifts:

Your message sharpens.
Your energy focuses.
Your impact deepens.

Why this matters for Substack Seminary

This is the kind of work we’re doing in Substack Seminary.

Not just thinking about ministry in general—
but getting clear about who we’re called to serve.

Because calling without clarity leads to frustration.
But clarity creates traction.

If you’re trying to name who your work is actually for—and how to serve them well—this is the space to do that work.

Join us.

Do more than read along from the sidelines

Become a Substack Seminary paid subscriber to join the conversation.

Our rollicking weekly livestream (hosted by , with co-hosts , , and occasional Substack Seminary Participants), goes in depth on all things ‘Future of Church’ and ‘Cage Free Ministry’

We’re even starting a denomination.

Join live Thursdays at 3:30pm Eastern (we read comments in real time) and get the recording in your inbox on Friday.

Bring your own questions - and where your ministry is ‘stuck’.

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If you’re already a paid subscriber, enjoy the Conversation archives…

Substack Conversation archives

Why we’re asking this question

This week in Substack Seminary, we’re wrestling with a simple question:

What’s in a name?

In most organizational development work, naming comes last. You focus on mission, purpose, and structure first—then worry about brand identity.

That’s usually good advice.

But I’ve started to wonder if, at least in ministry, that order might be incomplete.

Names as stories

In The Stories Congregations Tell: Flourishing in the Face of Transition and Change, the authors argue that congregations are guided by the stories they tell about themselves—both explicitly and implicitly.

That shift matters.

Because if ministries are shaped by their internal narratives, then names are not just labels.

They are identity-forming tools.

Names help a community “identify and clearly articulate who they are and are not, and how their organizational past, present, and future link together in their context.”

Substack Conversation archives

Why this matters now

We are in a moment of profound transition—especially within the church.

And in moments like this, clarity matters more than ever.

The authors note that “storyline consistency is an important hinge” for flourishing in times of change.

A name won’t solve everything.

But it can anchor a ministry’s identity when everything else feels unstable.

A good name holds the story together.

Reality and aspiration

There’s another tension the book names that’s worth holding onto.

The stories congregations tell “speak to both reality and aspiration.”

That’s the balance.

A name should:

• reflect who you actually are

• while also pointing toward who you are becoming

Dream—but stay grounded.

Don’t let aspiration outrun capacity.
And be honest about whether your structure can sustain the identity you’re claiming.

A simple framework

If you’re trying to name a ministry, this framework is helpful:

• Descriptive-empirical: What is going on?

• Interpretive: Why is this going on?

• Normative: What ought to be going on?

• Pragmatic: How might we respond?

If you can answer those questions clearly, you’re already close to a name.

The deeper point

The authors write that “stories are the currency of congregational flourishing.”

I’d push that just one step further:

Names are the currency of your flourishing.

Because a name doesn’t just describe what you do.

It tells people who you are—and who you’re becoming.

Why this matters for Substack Seminary

This is the kind of work we’re doing in Substack Seminary.

Not just building projects—but naming them.
Not just launching ideas—but clarifying identity.

Because in a time of transition, clarity about who you are—and who you are becoming—matters more than ever.

If you’re working on something new, or trying to name what God is calling you into next, this is the space to do that work.

Join us.

Ready to be all-in?

Upgrade to the Founder level (‘Enrollment’) and become a Substack Seminary Participant, and join the year-long development, networking, and training community for ministers.

We take on one theme per Quarter and admit new enrollees four times a year on rolling Quarters (so if you start at Q2, you’ll get Quarters 2, 3, 4, then 1, and so on…)

During the Quarters - we’ll have weekly topics, homework, check-in with your ministry partner(s), and chats.

When the year is through you’ll have built your own roadmap for your ‘Cage Free’ ministry - and be part of a community that’s building the Future of Church - together.

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The quiet bias in funding

I was recently talking with a nonprofit leader whose work is closely tied to churches.

She’s applying for a major grant. The challenge is that the funder has a long history of supporting established, legacy organizations.

At one point, I said—only half joking—
why does this funder keep investing in organizations committed to maintaining the status quo?

She laughed. Then agreed.

Institutional gravity

What’s at work here is something like institutional bias—or what I’d describe as institutional gravity.

Funding tends to flow toward what already exists.

Not necessarily because it’s most effective.
But because it’s familiar. Recognizable.
Considered Less risky.

Established organizations have:

• name recognition

• infrastructure

• a track record

But they also often carry inertia.

They are slower to adapt.
Less flexible.
More invested in maintaining what is than exploring what could be.

The irony no one names

Here’s where it gets more complicated.

An established organization she was in conversation with suggested they might contract with her to help lead the very work she was proposing—if they received the grant funding.

In other words:

The innovative work would still be done by newer leadership.
But the funding would flow through an older institution.

It’s not malicious.

But it does raise a question:

Why not fund the work where it is actually happening?

Why this matters here

Substack Seminary exists in that space of emergence.

We’re not a legacy institution.
We’re not trying to preserve an inherited model.

We’re trying to make sense of what comes next—and help others do the same.

We may not be able to change how grant systems operate overnight.

But we can help you think clearly, act faithfully, and build something real in the middle of it.

If you’re working on something new—and finding that existing systems don’t quite know what to do with it—you’re not alone.

Join us.

Do more than read along from the sidelines

Become a Substack Seminary paid subscriber to join the conversation.

Our rollicking weekly livestream (hosted by , with co-hosts , , and occasional Substack Seminary Participants), goes in depth on all things ‘Future of Church’ and ‘Cage Free Ministry’

We’re even starting a denomination.

Join live Thursdays at 3:30pm Eastern (we read comments in real time) and get the recording in your inbox on Friday.

Bring your own questions - and where your ministry is ‘stuck’.

Subscribe now

If you’re already a paid subscriber, enjoy the Conversation archives…

Substack Conversation archives

Picking up from last week

Last week, I wrote about how we can’t imagine the future alone—drawing on insights from the book Imaginable: How to Create a Hopeful Future by Jane McGonigal.

The core idea from that blog, based on her book is this:

Imagination doesn’t fail because we lack ideas. It fails because we lack the right people.

If you missed that piece, it’s worth going back—because what follows builds directly from it.

Clarity without movement

One of the hardest moments in ministry isn’t confusion. It’s clarity.

You see the shifts.
You understand the limits.
You can name what needs to change.

And yet—nothing around you seems to move.

That right there is what’s so hard. You see things so clearly, yet others do not…

The missing piece

In Imaginable, McGonigal describes how our relationship to the future depends on more than calling or urgency.

It depends on belonging—meaning, finding a group of people who can understand, support, and encourage your imagination.

This is especially important for pastors and church leaders, as your church community may not initially be that community where you find belonging.

The point is this—many leaders don’t lack vision.
They lack a community that shares it.

Where burnout actually begins

Burnout is rarely about workload. People will work long and hard when there is energy and momentum towards a hopeful future.

But, when you feel like you are carrying all of that yourself? Well, that’s absolutely a recipe for burnout

Holding urgency no one else feels.
Seeing limits no one else names.
Trying to move something that isn’t ready to move.

Clarity without belonging is not sustainable.

What we’re trying to build

If your calling has outgrown your current community, there are only a few real options:

• Find others already doing the work

• Step into a different community

• Or begin to build one

Not later.
Now.

This is why Substack Seminary exists.

Not as content, but as alignment.
Not as ideas, but as shared imagination.

If your calling has outgrown your current community, the answer isn’t to shrink your vision. It’s to find the right people.

That’s what we’re trying to build here.

Join us.

On belonging, calling, and why imagination fails in isolation

I recently finished the book Imaginable: How to Create a Hopeful Future by Jane McGonigal. It’s not a religious book, but it names something I see all the time in ministry—and frankly, in my own life.

The book is about imagination. Not in a vague or inspirational sense, but as a discipline. McGonigal argues that our ability to picture a different future—clearly, concretely—is one of the most important drivers of change.

That part wasn’t new to me.

What was new, or at least what I needed to be reminded of, was this:

imagination doesn’t fail because we lack ideas. It fails because we lack the right people.

That hits, doesn’t it…

McGonigal describes four ways we relate to the future: calling, belonging, hope, and power.

Most of us, especially in ministry, tend to fixate on calling.

We ask:

• What is God asking me to do?

• What problem am I meant to address?

• What future am I supposed to help create?

And for many pastors and leaders, those questions are not abstract. The challenges are real, visible, and pressing.

But there’s a second dimension that often goes unnoticed:

belonging.

Belonging, in McGonigal’s framework, is about whether you are connected to others who see the same future you do—who are working toward it, who recognize the problem, who share the urgency.

Without that, something subtle but significant begins to happen.

You can have clarity of calling and still feel disconnected from the future.

You start to sense that others aren’t as invested.
That the change you see isn’t shared.
That the work ahead is yours alone to carry.

And over time, that gap creates strain. It creates fatigue. It creates exhaustion.

Not because the calling isn’t real.
But because it isn’t held in common.

There’s no one to walk alongside as you take that journey of faith.

What struck me most is how practical her conclusion is.

If your sense of calling outpaces your sense of belonging, you have a few options:

• Begin to form that community yourself

• Find others already working on the problem

• Or Step into a different community that recognizes the work

Even one or two people aligned around the same future can change your sense of what’s possible.

Trust me on that.

But also, consider that it raises a harder question—not about imagination, but about reality:

What happens when your calling outgrows your community?

I don’t think the answer is to work harder or wait longer.

I think it has something to do with finding the right people.

That’s what we’re trying to do here. Stay Tuned…

If you are serving in a church sustained more by memory than momentum, this conversation is for you.

Substack Seminary exists to help pastors and church leaders think clearly about capacity, sustainability, and leadership in a post-growth church.

If you’re tired of being told that bigger is the only faithful option, and you want language and frameworks for leading well within real limits, this is the space for you.

Join us.

Passion is never the problem. Capacity is (Part 2).

Around the same time as that board training, sociologist Ryan Burge released more data on Mainline Protestant churches.

The short version is sobering: many congregations are financially propped up by baby boomers. As that generation ages and dies, decline is likely to be sharp—not gradual.

This isn’t cynicism. It’s demographics.

We confuse longevity with faithfulness

I say this as someone who believes deeply in the church. But I’ve also become convinced that something doesn’t need to live forever to be faithful.

I’ve helped launch multiple startups. I’ve led one that didn’t last.

In each case, passion was abundant. Calling was sincere. People prayed hard and worked long.

What we confused was passion with sustainability.
Faith with capacity.
Hope with a plan.

Mission validity does not automatically produce structural viability.

And spiritual language cannot compensate for the absence of time, money, or shared leadership.

What I would do differently

If I were leading a church heavily dependent on aging donors and volunteers, I would:

Build an endowment and have bold legacy-giving conversations — immediately.

Bring in building renters to offset fixed costs, charging realistic rates.

Have explicit conversations about the future—not vague hope-talk.

Draw clear lines about when we pull the plug.

That last one matters most.

In hospital chaplaincy, I see what happens when families don’t talk about limits. They carry unbearable weight because no one gives permission to say, enough.

Churches do the same thing.

They keep going—not because it’s wise, but because stopping feels like failure.

It isn’t.

Sometimes closing—or consolidating—is the most faithful move available.

Not because the mission didn’t matter.
But because it mattered enough to tell the truth.

Substack Seminary exists to help leaders navigate these endings faithfully—not reactively.

.

If you are serving in a church sustained more by memory than momentum, this conversation is for you.

Substack Seminary exists to help pastors and church leaders think clearly about capacity, sustainability, and leadership in a post-growth church.

If you’re tired of being told that bigger is the only faithful option, and you want language and frameworks for leading well within real limits, this is the space for you.

Join us.

Passion is never the problem. Capacity is.

I recently sat in on a board training for a newly forming nonprofit. It was early—very early—in its life. The mission was good. The people were earnest. There was genuine passion in the room.

And yet, the longer the conversation went on, the more alarm bells started going off in my head.

A few days later, in a one-on-one with the board chair, I said something that felt almost taboo:

You might need to shut this down.

I didn’t expect to say it out loud.

When passion outruns capacity

The issue wasn’t vision or values. It was simpler—and harder to admit.

The board chair is leaving.

In this case, the board chair is also functioning as executive director. They carry operations, relationships, public visibility, and day-to-day decision-making. There is no redundancy. No staff ED. No one else positioned to absorb that weight.

When the chair leaves, the executive function leaves too.

The response was familiar: We should add more board members.

That’s not wrong. But recruiting and onboarding takes time. Which means new members would arrive just as the current leader walks out the door.

That’s not succession.

That’s a leadership cliff.

Structure is not capacity

Nonprofits—and churches—often confuse structure with capacity.

We assume that if we fix the org chart, the work will continue.

But titles don’t answer emails.
Committees don’t manage partnerships.
Passion doesn’t replace executive labor.

Time is the hidden antagonist.

Creating a fundraising committee doesn’t help if there isn’t a viable donor list.

Creating an evangelism team doesn’t help if there are no relationships with unchurched people.

Creating a savings plan doesn’t help if you’re bleeding red monthly.

If nothing materially changes—money or people—the likely outcome isn’t growth.

It’s burnout.

Sometimes stopping is stewardship

Sometimes the most responsible advice isn’t push harder or believe more.

Sometimes it’s pause.
Sometimes it’s close.

That isn’t failure.
It’s stewardship.

Something does not have to live forever to have been faithful.

God may perform miracles.
But God also invented math.

Substack Seminary exists for precisely these conversations — the ones where discernment matters more than optimism.

If you are leading something that feels one leader away from collapse, this is the space to think honestly about it.

Substack Seminary exists to help pastors and church leaders think clearly about capacity, sustainability, and leadership in a post-growth church.

If you’re tired of being told that bigger is the only faithful option, and you want language and frameworks for leading well within real limits, this is the space for you.

Join us.

Right now, most churches are saying some version of this: we need to grow to survive.

But when growth becomes the condition for survival, churches are pushed into a posture of desperation rather than discernment.

Every organization—and every church—has the same basic limits.

Capacity is made up of three things:
time, money, and people.

When churches begin to believe they must grow to survive, they often stop asking what faithfulness looks like within those real limits.

Growth or viability?

Instead of asking, How do we grow?
we might need to ask, How do we stay viable?

For many churches and nonprofits right now, viability matters more than growth.

Not because growth is bad—but because growth that outpaces your time, your people, and your money eventually breaks the system.

When growth becomes a theological problem

We often treat growth as a sign of divine favor.

But sometimes chasing growth assumes the future depends on us—

our energy,
our cleverness,
our ability to do more with less.

I’d argue the opposite.

Faithfulness looks like honoring the capacity you actually have.

Being faithful within your real budget, your real volunteers, and your real time is far more realistic—and far more sustainable—than chasing growth that exhausts people and empties accounts.

Viability is not giving up

Viability isn’t resignation.
It’s stewardship.

It’s choosing:
sustainability over spectacle
presence over pressure
depth over scale

And maybe, in this moment, the most faithful thing a church can do isn’t to get bigger—

but to get honest about its time, its money, and its people,
and learn how to live well within them.

This kind of discernment—choosing viability over spectacle, faithfulness over frantic growth—is exactly the work of Substack Seminary.

Substack Seminary exists to help pastors and church leaders think clearly about capacity, sustainability, and leadership in a post-growth church.

If you’re tired of being told that bigger is the only faithful option, and you want language and frameworks for leading well within real limits, this is the space for you.

Join us.

Substack Seminary - Week 4!

So far, we’ve looked at the landscape of institutional collapse. We’ve located where our ministries sit: inside, outside, or alongside the mainline denominational church. We’ve considered the importance of staying connected.

This week: What does the new system actually look like?

1. The connection between the first century church and the 21st century church.

2. The one thing everyone is looking for is it what we have to share.

3. The ‘bulletin effect’.

1. The first century and the 21st century

The first century church and the 21st century church have more in common than either has with the 20th century church.

First century church:

• Few buildings dedicated to worship

• Clergy served multiple communities

• House churches, letters sent/read to keep connected, organic leadership

• Agile, networked, technology-based (for their time)

• People belonged to multiple faith communities

• Ministry happened wherever people were

21st century church:

• Few(er) buildings dedicated to worship

• Clergy increasingly serve multiple communities (by necessity)

• Online communities, blogs, Substacks, podcasts, books keep us connected to the faith

• Agile, networked, technology-based

• People belong to multiple faith communities (online and in-person)

• Ministry happens wherever people are

What the first and the 21st century churches have in common is AGILITY.

This is where your ministry is - or can be.

It can feel very ‘outside the box’ when compared to 20th century institutional ministry - and it is!

But the ‘box’ is more of anomaly than the way we are called into ministry today.

2. The one thing everyone is looking for is the best thing we have to share.

Last fall, I went to our diocesan convention.

For those unfamiliar: it’s a 1-2 day gathering of all clergy and congregational delegates within the geographic boundaries of the diocese. Technically, it’s our “congress”: elected representatives coming together to guard and guide the mission of the church.

I was sitting in my exhibitor booth (wearing my Free Range Priest t-shirt), and between hugs, my ministry colleagues poured their hearts out.

Here’s what I heard:

• “I don’t serve in a traditional congregation anymore and I struggle with what it means to be a minister. I feel so lonely.”

• “I’m the rector of a ‘successful’ congregation but no one can see the cracks or how hard I’m working to keep everything together.”

• “I have no prospects for a paid position and no idea what I’m going to do.”

• “I’m a member of X congregation, but I haven’t attended in a long time” (some were delegates representing that congregation!)

• “We can’t find a priest.”

• “There’s too much politics at church.”
  

‘I feel alone.’


I heard this over and over again.

We were in a convention center with thousands of people, representing a hundred communities, sitting through worship and prayer, sharing meals - and over and over, people told me how disconnected they felt.

From their spiritual lives. From their callings. From each other.

This is what institutional collapse looks like from the inside: We’re not functioning like the body of Christ.

But here’s what I kept saying to people who told me their stories:

The place of stress, frustration, and loneliness you’re in right now is exactly where God is calling you to build the future of church.

Because the one thing everyone is looking for is BELONGING.

Not belonging to an institution. Not belonging to a building or a program.

Belonging to a community. Being known. Being seen. Being part of something larger than ourselves.

This is what the Gospel offers. This is what church has always offered at its best.

And ironically, the institutional structure that was supposed to facilitate belonging has become the thing that’s preventing it.

The church of the future is NETWORKED.

It is where our ministry can reach beyond the silos that keep being reinforced by the old system and serve God with others who:

• Belong to a different denomination or tradition

• Belong to another congregation

• Don’t formally belong to any church!

It’s where we can find be in this space together and be honest about where we are in our ministry - where we’re struggling, where we’re rejoicing - without a sense of competition or fear of judgment or sense of failure in front of others.

We’re all on the same team - team Jesus.

Finding one another in the midst of great change all around us is crucial for our ministry. And the Future of Church.

3. The ‘bulletin effect’

I don’t hate worship bulletins - but I am perplexed by how something:

• so complicated

• that takes so much energy, time, and frustration to put together

• and is such an environmental waste - we use it for an hour then throw it away!

could still be so beloved by so many.

Maybe perplexed is not the word. It’s more curiosity - and fascination.

I’m starting to see the worship bulletin as a microcosm of what we’re struggling with in the denominational church:

Following an ancient faith that is surrounded by an outdated structure.

I think we get them confused sometimes. It can feel like the ‘stuff’ of church - the bulletin being a prime example of that ‘stuff’ - is itself a rite. That this is something we need to hold onto - literally - because it ties us to the church, to our history and our beliefs.

In many ways this makes perfect sense. I believe we are deeply grieving the real or imagined denominational church of the mid-20th century.

And I think all our looking back and holding on is killing us. It’s robbing our energy and our mission.

I think the antidote is to reach farther back - all the way back to the Acts of the Apostles.

To how the church began. Its energy and purpose and wild faith in the risen Christ.

Then bring it back to the future and see how we keep hold of what is the truly precious parts of what we carry with us, and we carry it more boldly into today’s world.

The bulletin is a great place to start. It’s the cutting edge of mid-20th century technology.

What would the cutting edge of 21st century technology look like as a way to support and guide our common worship?

The future of church is TECHNOLOGY-BASED.

We can find ways to connect today’s technology with the ancient faith. We’re doing it already - being on Substack.

We don’t have to take people’s bulletins away from them (I gave up trying long ago…). We don’t have to take anything away from them.

But we can build something new. Something that reaches people not in church. Or reaches those who are in church in a new way (like the chat app I built for my very traditional congregation. That also has the bulletin on it. Though they still have their printed bulletin… )

Using technology as the place we start building is a small, concrete change that brings the Gospel to more people - in sustainable ways.

Questions for This Week:

This week’s questions

1. How is your ministry AGILE?
   

2. How is your ministry NETWORKED?
   

3. How is your ministry TECHNOLOGY-BASED?

Do more than read along from the sidelines

Become a Substack Seminary paid subscriber to join the conversation.

Our rollicking weekly livestream (hosted by , with co-hosts , , and occasional Substack Seminary Participants), goes in depth on all things ‘Future of Church’ and ‘Cage Free Ministry’

We’re even starting a denomination.

Join live Thursdays at 3:30pm Eastern (we read comments in real time) and get the recording in your inbox on Friday.

Bring your own questions - and where your ministry is ‘stuck’.

Subscribe now

If you’re already a paid subscriber, enjoy the Conversation archives…

Substack Conversation archives

What makes this work so hard is precisely why Substack Seminary exists.

Like my colleague , I am—by necessity and calling—a kind of “free-range priest.” I work across multiple contexts and roles, many of them outside traditional parish structures. Another pastor recently suggested I call myself a “New Era Pastor.” That phrase tracks in more ways than one.

I work part time as a hospital chaplain. I work part time for a ministry nonprofit. I podcast. I read. I write. I teach. I do this work here on Substack.

None of this is accidental. It’s adaptive.

What makes it difficult is that even as churches and denominations acknowledge institutional decline, most still operate as if institutional stability is the norm. The structures have changed. The assumptions have not.

The lingering assumption of institutional margin

Here’s a simple example.

In my role as a part-time hospital chaplain, I work on-call overnight shifts. Most nights, I’m not called in. I earn a very modest stipend for being available. When I am called in, families or patients often ask, “What church are you from?”

The assumption is telling.

They assume I’m a community pastor—employed full time by a congregation with enough institutional margin to absorb late-night crisis care. And, to be fair, the hospital system assumes something similar, based on how little it pays for that availability.

This same logic shows up in denominational and church contexts.

Cathie has shared stories of awkward conversations when she explains that she charges for her time. I’ve had those same moments—the pause, the raised eyebrow, the confusion—when I explain why a church or judicatory should hire me rather than assume my labor is already subsidized somewhere else.

The problem with fractional ministry

This exposes a deeper issue with how part-time and fractional ministry roles are framed.

Even when a church funds a part-time position, it often assumes the remaining income needed for a full-time living can be easily made up elsewhere. In reality, those remaining hours are almost impossible to replace with stable, meaningful work—especially on a one-to-one basis, and especially with work that aligns with a clergyperson’s training and vocation.

Ministry does not scale cleanly into fractions.

A 1/2 or 3/4 role still carries full-time emotional, cognitive, and relational demands. Schedules are inflexible. Emergencies don’t respect job descriptions. And the remaining income often has to be earned in work entirely outside one’s specialty.

What looks like flexibility on paper becomes precarity in practice.

This is why cobbling together part-time roles so often fails—not because clergy lack creativity or effort, but because the work is being measured with the wrong formula.

Why the contractor metaphor matters

This is where the language of a contractor becomes helpful—not as a redefinition of ministry, but as a metaphor.

When you hire a contractor, you are not paying for the number of hours they spend on the job. You are paying for their experience, skill, and judgment—the ability to build something correctly the first time, avoid costly mistakes, and respond when things don’t go as planned.

Pastoral work often functions the same way.

Churches are not simply purchasing time.
They are engaging formation, discernment, and lived experience.

This helps explain why fractional ministry so often fails. A church may pay for “part-time hours,” but still expects full-vocation availability, wisdom in crisis, and long-range pastoral judgment.

The contractor metaphor tells the truth: churches are not buying hours; they are paying for expertise.

Why this space exists

This is why Cathie and I keep pushing for different ways of imagining clergy employment—and why Substack Seminary exists.

We are trying to help leaders navigate ministry after institutional certainty has faded. To name the mismatch between expectations and reality. To advocate for fairer, clearer, and more sustainable ways of structuring clergy work.

Substack Seminary is not about restoring an institution that no longer exists.
It’s about forming leaders who can live faithfully within real limits.

If you are navigating ministry across multiple roles, wrestling with fractional employment, or trying to articulate your value clearly and honestly—this is the conversation you belong in.

Join us.

Most churches are not asking pastors to do more—they are asking them to do the impossible.
The modern pastoral job description would require several full-time positions in any other organization.

William (Bill) Harrison is president of Lutheran Theological Seminary, Saskatoon, former chair of the Saskatoon Theological Union Common Faculty, and the author of Leadership in a Shrinking Church. While I’d recommend his book for pastors and church leaders more broadly, Harrison clearly names dynamics of pastoral leadership that are often assumed without being explicitly named.

Specifically, he describes how the demands of the pastoral role have continued to expand over time, even going back hundreds of years. He writes:

“We have accumulated, in the lives of most [pastors] the following priorities: eucharistic leadership, building construction and maintenance, preaching and teaching, therapeutic level pastoral care, trained management, and numbers oriented mission…

We have placed very high expectations on the shoulders of presbyters. At the same time, we commonly offer small salaries and an assumption of mobility that tests personal relationships and family ties. This would be tough even in a growing church.” (p. 82)

How we got here

Notice what Harrison points out. Pastoral leadership began as Eucharistic leadership—word and sacrament.

With the construction of church buildings, even beginning in the Middle Ages, came responsibility for construction and maintenance. More recently, the pastor is expected to function as a counselor, corporate executive, and—since the COVID-19 pandemic—a digital outreach specialist.

These are, in themselves, full-time roles in larger organizations.

Yet within a church setting, a pastor is often expected—sometimes unwittingly—to fulfill all of them.

This is not a failure of effort. It is a failure of structure.

Doing less with less

So what do we do instead?

Harrison suggests that “there are some things that can be done about this situation.” First, he argues, churches must clarify what church leadership is about today.

At minimum, this means being explicit about what a church expects from its pastor—and what can reasonably be completed within the scope of pay and time.

“The second,” Harrison says, “is to foster a team that can pick up necessary work that clergy need to drop in order to do their primary work.”

“The third,” and likely the most underrated, “is to let go of tasks that do not contribute sufficiently to the work that needs to be done” (p. 82).

Harrison summarizes this posture as doing less with less.

Why this matters now

One of the recurring conversations in Substack Seminary is the decline of institutional Christianity. While there are many reasons to grieve this reality, there is also an opportunity embedded within it.

Decline creates permission to rewrite expectations.

Especially expectations around the role of the pastor or clergyperson.

This kind of work—naming misaligned expectations, reclaiming sustainable leadership, and reimagining ministry for a smaller, leaner church—is exactly what Substack Seminary exists to do.

Substack Seminary is not about doing church better by working harder. It’s about learning how to lead faithfully within real limits.

If you’re a pastor, church leader, or thoughtful practitioner navigating ministry with fewer resources and greater complexity, this is the conversation you belong in.

Join us.

Substack Seminary - let’s get started!

Q1W1 2026: How the Church is Stuck

Your ministry fits within a context.

The landscape of the North American denominational (and non-denominational) church in today’s world is the background - or the foreground! - of the ways in which you personally bear the sacraments, Scripture and traditions of the Christian faith.

As we think about our own specific ministries, we first need to orient ourselves to the larger church culture as it exists today.

This week’s question: Do you see what’s happening in the church?

I mean really see it.

Looking around you, do you notice the ways you’ve felt constrained in your ministry, or see things that just aren’t working the way they used to (or maybe never did)?

Do you recognize them not just as roadblocks to sharing the Gospel, not just as particular and frustrating stories and circumstances, but also as examples of a systematic shift?

The organizational and administrative systems that thrived in the 20th century are collapsing today. And that collapse is crushing ministry.

You know this. That’s why you’re here. And that’s why you’re serving your calling the way you are (or why you want to be serving it in a new way).

Before we move into where and how your ministry fits within this context, let’s linger a moment in what’s not working.

In the ‘stuckness’ of the current church system.

Because this is the seedbed - the seminary - of the future of church.

This is where we see clearly what is broken - so that we can move into new ways of ministry that are more agile and life-giving (you might say ‘Cage Free’).

One of my most-read blog posts is about why I’m not sorry to see the 20th century organizational and administrative structure of the church collapse: Church Stats and a River in Egypt.

I’m not sorry because I think we need to clear the way for how the Christian faith thrives in new ways.

I think a lot of us see this. I think you see this.

But still we struggle as the church. Because the collapse is scary. We don’t know what to do about it - how to respond. We see just the loss and not the possibility - the invitation into something new.

So we ‘keep on keeping on’ with ministry as usual. This is denial.

It’s hard to break out of.

So this week, I invite you to join me in contemplating two questions:

1. What do I see? (What’s the actual evidence of collapse around me?)

2. What do I not want to see? (What do I suspect is true about the institutional church that I push back on internally? What do I not want to be true?)

I am convinced that this is where the future of church begins.

Right in those places where we see past our fear, into possibility.

We can’t build something new until we’re willing to acknowledge what’s dying. We can’t locate our ministry within the landscape until we can see the landscape clearly.

This, I’m convinced, is our where our calling lies. This is where God wants us to leap.

Do more than read along from the sidelines

Become a Substack Seminary paid subscriber to join the conversation.

Our rollicking weekly livestream (hosted by , with co-hosts , , and occasional Substack Seminary Participants), goes in depth on all things ‘Future of Church’ and ‘Cage Free Ministry’

We’re even starting a denomination.

Join live Thursdays at 3:30pm Eastern (we read comments in real time) and get the recording in your inbox on Friday.

Bring your own questions - and where your ministry is ‘stuck’.

Subscribe now

If you’re already a paid subscriber, enjoy the Conversation archives…

Substack Conversation archives

I’m thinking about this in terms of Substack Seminary because it’s about vision and systematic change around how we do church.

As part of my work as a hospital chaplain, I recently completed a set of required company-wide training modules.

Some of them were clearly designed for administrators and managers, not on-call crisis chaplains like me. Still, one training - on decision-making - stuck with me. Not because it applied directly to my chaplaincy role, but because it named dynamics I see constantly in congregational life.

The training focused on clarifying roles in decision-making, especially in meetings.

It named four roles:

• Decision-maker – the person with final authority

• Advisors – those who offer insight and perspective

• Recommenders – those who research, frame, and propose options

• Execution Partners – those who carry the decision out

(They used the acronym DARE.)

Once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it—especially in church settings.

Re-imagining our roles in church settings

Historically, churches have distributed these roles very differently depending on culture, polity, and expectations.

In many evangelical or non-denominational contexts, the pastor functions as the primary decision-maker, with a board acting as advisors and staff or volunteers serving as execution partners.

In many mainline churches—at least in my experience—the pattern is almost inverted. The board or ministry council becomes the chief decision-maker, the pastor offers input as an advisor, congregants may act as recommenders, and then the pastor is often assigned the task of executing the decision.

Over time, this has created a quiet but powerful shift:

Ministry becomes something done by the pastor, rather than the people.

Here’s the proposal I want to test—especially for pastors navigating part-time, quarter-time, or increasingly constrained roles.

The board or ministry council can still function as the decision-maker.
But the pastor should function primarily as an advisor—occasionally as a recommender—and never as the default execution partner.

In other words:

Ministry must return to being the work of the people.

A simple example.

A congregant says, “There’s a real need for senior ministry in our church and wider community. Pastor, what should we do?”

In the old model, the board might vote—and then assign the pastor another program to build, lead, and sustain.

In the model I’m proposing, the board still discerns the ministry. But the pastor’s role is advisory:

• Does this align with our mission?

• Do we have the resources and people for this?

• How might we listen for the movement of the Spirit here?

The execution belongs to the congregation.

This may sound like a small shift. It isn’t.

The implications are significant.

First, ministry initiatives no longer automatically expand the pastor’s to-do list.

Second, congregations reclaim ownership of their calling and capacity.

Third—and this matters deeply right now—expectations begin to align with paid time and actual availability.

If a pastor is paid 10, 15, or 20 hours a week, the church must plan accordingly.

Which brings me to the second half of the training—and the part that may feel more uncomfortable.

The training suggested that if someone doesn’t clearly occupy one of the four roles in a meeting, they may be attending as a “tourist.”

And if that’s the case, the question becomes unavoidable:
Is this the best use of your time?

Time is the real issue here.

If pastors are paid for limited hours, then they must only work those hours. That necessarily means not attending every meeting.

The training also named different types of decisions:

• Ad-hoc – one-off decisions of varying significance

• Big-bet – high-stakes decisions with long-term impact

• Cross-cutting – decisions that affect multiple groups

• Delegated – decisions intentionally handed off

Once you name these, it becomes clear:
the pastor does not need to be present for all of them.

Delegated decisions? Often no pastor needed.
Cross-cutting or big-bet decisions? Pastoral presence and counsel likely matter.
Ad-hoc decisions? Use common sense.

Relational trust remains essential—but clarity protects everyone.

There’s a common refrain in most workplaces:
“This could have been an email.”

That’s true in churches too—maybe even more so.

We usually frame this as a problem of wasted time.
I think the deeper issue is time efficiency.

As leadership roles grow more complex—with fewer resources and less paid time—pastors and must be far more disciplined about where their time goes.

I’m currently on a newly forming nonprofit board, and there have already been moments where I’ve thought:
“There’s no real reason for me to be in this meeting. Just tell me what needs to be done.”

That’s not disengagement. That’s clarity.

As more pastors move into part-time roles, spending three to five hours a week in meetings simply isn’t sustainable.

This is where the concept of job crafting becomes helpful—intentionally shaping a role to align with real capacity and responsibility. Done well, it’s one of the strongest protections against burnout.

Being disciplined about meetings isn’t just about honoring an hourly agreement.
It’s about sustainability—for leaders and for congregations.

Pastors cannot be in every room.
They shouldn’t try to be.

Churches must protect leadership time for what matters most—leaving space for emergencies, pastoral presence, and discernment—rather than filling calendars with busy work.

That kind of clarity takes courage.
But it may be one of the most faithful adjustments churches can make right now.