I’m just back from vacation and still trying to sort through what’s on my desk with a slightly jetlagged brain. This year’s travels took me to the South of France, someplace I’ve never been before. I won’t bore you with the bazillion photos or every travel story, but somewhere in the adventure, I found myself reflecting on Messy Church.
Because honestly? Starting something new in ministry feels a lot like exploring a new city.
You can prepare carefully, map things out, and still find yourself sweating halfway up a hill wondering how you got there. And yet, somehow, those are often the moments where growth happens.
Before leaving for France, I spent time researching and planning. Yes, I’m an over-planner when it comes to travel. But for example, I spent some time learning how to use the public transportation system in Nice. I discovered an app I could download (in English!) and watched a few videos ahead of time. That little bit of preparation made navigating the trams and buses much easier once I arrived. Meanwhile, I overheard another tourist loudly arguing with a bus driver because they couldn’t figure out the system and the driver didn’t speak English. Almost all of their frustration could have been prevented with a little preparation beforehand. What they kept saying was “so hard” was actually not, if they had done a little work first.
That got me thinking about Messy Church. Starting something new in your community takes preparation too. Training matters. Resources matter. Conversations and planning matter. The good news is that you don’t have to figure it all out alone.
If you’ve been thinking about starting a Messy Church—or helping your current one grow and thrive—our next Get Started training is coming up July 21–23, and registration will be opening soon.
Sometimes the best thing we can do is prepare ourselves well enough to take the first step. But preparation isn’t everything.
At one point during my trip, I carefully planned a route to visit a museum while avoiding trying to use the local bus (I don’t know why but the bus system intimidated me!). Google Maps assured me it would be a simple 19-minute walk from the tram stop.
What Google neglected to mention was that the museum sat high on a giant hill.
The moment I stepped off the tram, I could see the museum way off in the distance…and way above me.
A million-and-two stairs later, I finally made it.
And somewhere during that climb, I realized two things: I’d made a costly mistake in my planning (it cost my knees more than my wallet) and I was going to have to figure out a different way back into the city.
I made a mistake. I adjusted my plans. I learned something new.
That feels deeply familiar to ministry too.
Sometimes we avoid trying something because it feels uncomfortable or unfamiliar. Sometimes our carefully designed plans don’t work the way we expected. Sometimes we discover halfway through that there’s probably a better route.
But failure isn’t the end of the world. In fact, in Messy Church we often say that perfection isn’t the goal—the process of learning together is. We fail forward. We experiment. We adapt. We try again. And often, those “mistakes” become the moments that help us grow the most.
One of my favorite parts of the trip was the people I met along the way. While I was visiting a friend for part of my travels, I spent much of the trip on my own. And yet I found companions everywhere—people from Australia, Hong Kong, and all over the United States. A delayed train even led to spending a day exploring Avignon with a new Canadian friend instead of on my own.
Ministry can feel isolating sometimes, especially when you’re trying something new. But Messy Church has always reminded me that we don’t have to do this work alone. There are people across the country—and around the world—walking similar roads, asking similar questions, and cheering one another on along the way.
That’s part of what I love most about this network.
Traveling to places I’d never been challenged me, stretched me, and refreshed me. (Even with the heatwave and the 20,000-step days.) I think trying new things in ministry can do the same. It’s not always easy work. Sometimes it’s exhausting. Sometimes it requires us to rethink old assumptions or try unfamiliar paths.
But it’s worth it.
And maybe that’s one of the gifts of Messy Church: it invites us into an adventure of faith where growth matters more than perfection, where community matters more than appearances, and where even the unexpected detours can become holy moments.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I should probably go tackle the pile of work waiting on me.