What I wish I had known about comparison, pioneering, and the joy of God when we planted a church

“Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the new work begin, to see the plumb line in Zerubbabel’s hand.” — Zechariah 4:10

I wish I had known just how much God rejoices when he sees new works begin—when we hold the plumb line and church plant. God’s heart for innovation, for trying to answer the cries of people in our neighbourhood, brings him so much joy.

At the time we church planted, I found myself constantly caught up in the hard. The year we planted, we lost seven friends to suicide and seven close relatives—a dad, a mum, grandparents and an uncle. Death surrounded us.

Tim was working full-time in the business sector, which required travel. We had two small children and one on the way. We had no financial support from our denomination. We were waiting for the pastor to come, not realising God was calling us!

I know. Slow learners.

We were green, with a heart for our friends and a frustration with the status quo.

Sound familiar to any church planter out there?

In all the hard, as a young woman, I made life a whole lot more complicated by comparing.

I compared our church plant with existing churches that were growing through transfer growth.

I compared our church plant with other church plants where denominations were pouring in resources and providing full-time workers.

I compared our church plant with city church plants, not realising regional church plants are a completely different ball game.

I compared our church plant with plants that were male-led.

I compared, compared, compared.

The thing about comparison is that it stops you from connecting.

You can’t connect and compare.

It’s hard to connect the dots. It took me a long time to connect how gender inequity impacted the resourcing of our church. I naively thought the Great Commission was an invitation for everyone, but I learned along the way that there are qualifications if you are female. I lived in a time and place where theology questioned God’s call on my life, and those beliefs impacted our church plant.

Comparison stops you from connecting with others. It stops you from looking for trusted people and showing them your real self. The invitation comparison gives us is to play the success game.

You show up to a conference and people are only interested in numbers, growth rates, who you are connected with and, let’s be frank, what he’s doing, how he’s leading, how he’s innovating.

Let’s not pretend it doesn’t happen.

It’s easy to come away from those spaces feeling small, unseen and insignificant, comparing what you are doing with people who have a completely different life.

The sad thing is, your heart doesn’t feel safe enough to be seen.

You are left wondering, “Am I doing a good job? Is all my work worth it?”

Your soul longs for someone to see you, to see your story, and to whisper, “Do you realise how much joy God has in you simply for stepping out?”

Comparison inhibits you from connecting with God’s exuberant joy. We can’t hear and experience his joy way down deep in our souls.

Comparison can also hinder how we hear the words God is speaking over us.

Words form our identity, and identity is a major component of discipleship. When we compare, we hear words like, “Not enough.” “Too much!”

Comparison invites us to reject something that is often true about ourselves but is perhaps a part of us we struggle with—the part that can make us feel weird or different. But this part of us is true and often needs protecting.

Comparison comes along and whispers that you have to change.

In the comparison struggle, we struggle to hear the names God speaks over us. Names that might sound like:

“Pioneer.”

“Innovator.”

“Disruptor.”

“Listener to the cries of nighttime prayers uttered by people in our neighbourhoods.”

When we church planted, one phrase spoken over me by other Christians was, “Breaker up of marriages.”

We were in a city and in a time where theology said, “Stay and trust God even when you are experiencing family violence.”

This was not my practice.

Comparison can make you question things, and it can stop you from hearing the names God gives you.

I had to lean in to hear God’s names over me in that time and space:

“Refuge.”

“A strong tree providing a safe space for birds to come and land.”

“A dispenser of life jackets.”

Today, most churches in our city have modified their theology and views surrounding family violence. But in every generation, there will be heart issues we have to pioneer to give people a hope and a future.

If you are pioneering not only structures but also matters of the heart, comparison would love to steal the names God has for you.

Three decades on, I can see how much joy my young life brought to God.

But oh, how I wish I had leaned into these words that tell me so much about God’s heart for pioneering:

“The Lord rejoices to see new work begin.”

Can I encourage you to get away somewhere quiet and let those words sink into your spirit:

“The Lord rejoices to see new work begin.”

Don’t let comparison steal your connections.