From Consumer Church to Neighborhood Family

The Story Behind Our Beginning

When Heidi and I reflect on our own journey with church, we keep coming back to the same realization: Western Christianity has become very good at some things—and strangely ineffective at others.

We are really good at getting people into a building.

We are really good at generating excitement around an event.

We are even good at offering classes, programs, and services meant to help people grow.

But when we step back and look honestly at the landscape of the Western church, something still feels thin.

Despite full calendars and packed schedules, there is a growing sense of disillusionment. People are quietly walking away—not necessarily from Jesus, but from the way church has been practiced. And when we ask why, we have to be willing to consider a difficult possibility: maybe the models we’ve relied on aren’t producing the kind of disciples Jesus envisioned (Matthew 28:19–20).

If we keep doing what we’ve always done, we should expect to keep getting what we’ve always gotten.

For many churches, the basic formula hasn’t changed much. A weekly gathering. A small group during the week. A class or two throughout the year. And while those things aren’t bad, we began to wonder if we were expecting them to do more than they were ever designed to do.

Because when we read the New Testament—especially the book of Acts—we see something different.

We see ordinary people living with extraordinary courage.

We see miracles and signs that are unmistakably the work of God, not hype.

We see deep devotion, radical generosity, and shared life (Acts 2:42–47).

And interestingly, it doesn’t all seem to hinge on a gathering. It hinges on the Holy Spirit moving through the people of God (Acts 1:8).

That contrast created an ache in us.

A deep, holy ache.

It was the ache of knowing we were busy with church, but not always seeing lives—or places—actually change.

We longed to see the body of Christ actually function like a body—to truly love one another, as Jesus prayed for His disciples (John 13:34–35; John 17:20–23). To be a community small enough to know each other, yet strong enough to carry one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2).

We wanted to be a church where people shared resources, stepped up for one another, cared for the poor among them, and rallied around a shared mission (Acts 4:32–35; James 1:27).

We didn’t want to be a church centered on one day of the week.

We wanted to be a church that lived as the family of God all seven days.

Because the gospel is not just a story about what happens after we die.

Yes, sin fractured the world.

Yes, Jesus came to save sinners.

Yes, He died and rose again.

But the gospel doesn’t stop there.

Jesus also calls His disciples to go and make disciples. And then He makes a promise: I will be with you (Matthew 28:19–20).

That promise matters, because it tells us what kind of story we’re living in.

We are living in the middle of God’s renewal story.

Until Christ returns and fully restores all things, the Holy Spirit is actively pushing the people of God into spaces and places where renewal is needed. Renewal in people. Renewal in systems. Renewal in neighborhoods. Renewal that makes earth look a little more like heaven—just as Jesus taught us to pray.

And when we looked around at the place God had put us—the Jackson Neighborhood—we realized just how much renewal was needed.

Jackson—the place God planted us—faces real challenges.

There are gaps in infrastructure that limit human flourishing. A lack of park space. Blighted homes. Vacant lots. Disinvestment along the business corridor. Fewer opportunities than exist in other parts of the city.

There are educational challenges. Two-thirds of the students at Jackson Elementary do not read or do math at grade level. That reality represents long-term consequences for families and futures.

There are spiritual and relational wounds as well. The presence of a porn shop in the neighborhood is a visible reminder of how families are targeted and broken. We see the fruit of that brokenness everywhere: domestic violence, drug abuse, fractured homes, generational poverty.

So we had to ask ourselves an honest question:

Can consumer Christianity really form the kind of disciples who are equipped to address problems this complex?

Or does this moment require something deeper?

When we read Scripture, we see examples of God’s people stepping into places like this with both spiritual conviction and practical action. We think of Paul confronting the powers and principalities of a city so deeply that unjust systems were disrupted (Acts 19:23–27; Ephesians 6:12).

We think of Nehemiah, standing with Ezra—holding Scripture in one hand and a shovel in the other—calling people back to God while rebuilding a city (Nehemiah 2; Nehemiah 8).

And we began to wonder: could we be a church like that?

Not a church that simply exists in a neighborhood, but a church that takes responsibility for a neighborhood (Jeremiah 29:7). A church whose form and function are designed for the renewal of a place.

That question led us into a season of prayer, Scripture, and deep wrestling. What emerged wasn’t a strategic plan as much as a holy discontent—a refusal to settle for comfort over faithfulness.

Slowly, a vision began to take shape.

What if we were a church of neighbors who prioritized three things?

First, Jesus.

A hyper-focus on who He is, what He said, and what He did—and a commitment to actually model our lives after Him (Luke 9:23; John 14:15).

Second, people.

Not people in general, but our actual neighbors. The people who live next door. Across the street. Behind us. To our left and to our right (Luke 10:33–37; Mark 12:30–31).

Third, place.

What if God had a vision for Jackson itself? What if we truly believed that this neighborhood could prioritize what God says is vital? That under our watch, we could address systemic problems and human sin together?

If we were going to prioritize Jesus, people, and place, then we had to ask another hard question:

What kind of church form could realistically accomplish that?

The answer became increasingly clear. We needed to get out of the building and into the neighborhood (Acts 8:1–4).

Instead of centering church life around a single location, we decided that our primary gathering spaces would be our homes (Acts 2:46; Romans 16:5). Rather than one church growing larger and larger, we envisioned many small churches spreading throughout the neighborhood.

We didn’t want to leave a big church to start a small one.

We wanted to be a small church that could multiply over and over again (2 Timothy 2:2).

Because multiplication changes everything.

If we could multiply, we could make disciples across the entire neighborhood. The gospel could impact every corner through the neighbors who already lived here.

Over time, we began to see that this wasn’t just about church growth. It was about creating a collaborative ecosystem for gospel saturation. So we began building structures—organizations and shared efforts—designed to keep Jesus and His Kingdom priorities at the center of neighborhood life (www.jacksoncdc.org)

What if the gospel could infiltrate every layer of neighborhood life—economic, political, spiritual, and relational? (Colossians 1:19–20).

What if Jackson could become a gospel-saturated neighborhood?

That has been our heart.

That has been the question driving us: could we become that kind of family?

For the last ten years, that has been our project mission—becoming the church, together, in a place, for the sake of renewal.

And the work is still unfolding.

Which raises a final question—not just for us, but for you:

Where might God be stirring a holy discontent in your own life?

And what might He be inviting you to imagine with Him?

Sometimes the beginning of renewal doesn’t start with answers.

It starts with an ache you refuse to ignore.