A Vision for Ministry

¹⁹ “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth,

where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal,

²⁰ but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven,

where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal.

²¹ For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

~ Matthew 6:19-21

After 24 years in ministry, I’ve learned that ministry takes more than a balanced budget—it takes bold imagination, a little holy restlessness, and a willingness to try things that might seem unusual, risky, or even a little wild. Too often, churches fall into ruts. We keep doing what we’ve always done, even when it’s no longer bearing fruit. We cling to comfort and sameness because it feels safer than stepping into the unknown. I say this not to shame anyone—it’s human. But staying stuck doesn’t move the gospel forward.

The good news is: you can get out of the rut. You can imagine new ways of being church. But it takes spiritual courage. It takes resistance to the gravitational pull of nostalgia. And it takes a plan—a vision that’s not just about surviving, but about thriving.

Sustainable ministry requires more than patching holes or trimming budgets. It begins by asking: What is the Spirit stirring in our neighborhood? What does our community need? What risks might God be calling us to take?

Let’s be honest: churches are not without resources. Many churches have endowments, property, and reserves. In fact, in my state, the only entities that hold more land than churches are the government and municipalities. But often, we’re tempted to preserve that wealth “for a rainy day”—forgetting that the storm is already here. Loneliness, poverty, housing insecurity, hunger, the climate crisis, mental health challenges—our communities are facing urgent needs right now. What are we waiting for?

Talking about missional priorities helps us reframe how we understand stewardship. Our resources—our buildings, financial gifts, land, and even our history—are not museum pieces to protect. They are gifts from God to be shared. They are tools for transformation. They are sacred trusts—not to guard, but to give.

I’ve witnessed churches step into this kind of vision, and the results are nothing short of transformative. I’ve seen congregations open their doors for GED classes, create welcoming spaces for immigrant communities and people with disabilities, and partner with local groups to meet real, urgent needs. One church I served purchased a house and turned it into transitional housing for families in crisis. Another sold its land to the school district for just $1 so it could be used for education. None of these actions were part of a strategic plan to boost Sunday attendance. And yet, they were faithful responses to Jesus’ call to make disciples and transform the world. Sustainable ministry in the post-Christian landscape of the 21st century doesn’t look like it did in the 1960s—or even the 1990s. These choices were made not to preserve an institution, but because people were brave enough to ask: What does love require of us now?

When we stop trying to preserve the church of the past and begin investing in the future God is already creating, the Spirit shows up. That’s not just hopeful thinking—it’s faithful action. Endowments sitting in a bank only serve yesterday’s dreams. But when we invest them in Spirit-led, community-rooted ministry, they become living water in dry places. It’s not about losing what we have—it’s about faithfully using what we’ve been given to grow something new.

Of course, it will feel risky. Sometimes it’ll feel like throwing spaghetti at the wall. But sustainable ministry isn’t about having every answer. It’s about trusting that God is still at work. It’s about saying, We believe resurrection is real—and we’re willing to act like it.

So go ahead: try the bold thing.

Open the building to a new partner. Get rid of your pews. Build a garden. Spend from the endowment on something visionary. Take the risk. You might fail. Or you might find that the Spirit meets you right there—in the messy, unexpected, vulnerable space where real faith grows.

Because sustainable ministry isn’t about maintenance—it’s about movement. It’s about holy experimentation. It’s the church, not clinging to what was, but courageously leaning into what could be.

Let’s get out of the rut. Let’s stop saving for the storm and start planting for the harvest. The future of the Church isn’t locked away—it’s waiting to be unleashed.