Volunteers in a Church

In March 2020, the church I pastor–Revolution Church, in Annapolis, Maryland–moved entirely online. We weren’t alone, of course… but as the only full-time staff member, I certainly felt like I was. For the next 17 months, I recorded sermons on my iPhone in my bedroom, edited them with a computer at my kitchen table, and sent them out onto the internet, entirely unconvinced they were being seen by anyone. At the start of the pandemic, Revolution was a struggling church of just over 100 people. By the summer of 2021, I wasn’t sure if there were a dozen of us left.

The good news for our church was that we were a mobile congregation. We didn’t have a building or a lease or a mortgage. But the bad news was that without the anchor point of a space, there wasn’t anywhere to call people back to.

When we were cleared by our local officials to begin meeting in-person again, there was a brief moment when it occurred to me that the solution to that problem was volunteering: “Your old roles are waiting for you! Your church still needs you!”

Maybe commitment was what people required in order to emerge from their Covid cocoons and step into a community again. Maybe this would help them remember that church really matters, and a healthy Christian community depends on everyone chipping in. I thought about the famous verse from the Acts of the Apostles: “All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need” (Acts 2:44-45).

We know we’re not meant to be alone.

But before I recorded a video or typed out an email on the listserve, I did something I’d learned to rely on during the 16 months of quarantine. I stopped to pray. And what God brought to mind that morning has fundamentally reshaped my attitude towards church volunteers:

There is a “dark side” to commitment… and it is obligation.

When churches everywhere shut down in 2020, we all experienced loss and atrophy in our communities. Congregation sizes dwindled. But how many of us reached out to folks who were disconnecting and asked what was on their minds? I did, and what I heard over and over again was:

“I realized going every Sunday had become a job.”

“I was only there because I thought that if I didn’t show up, something bad would happen.”

“Right now, I need something that fills me up… not something that bleeds me dry.”

What they were describing was obligation: serving in kids’ ministries, running soundboards, and greeting visitors had ceased to be a way of participating in the life of their church. Instead, it had become work they did so others could participate. It was no wonder they were deciding to extend their time away… church was a second job.

The great opportunity 2020 and 2021 offered to the Church was a release from all of this. All of our volunteer roles could be reset. In fact, the entire model could be remade. But into what, exactly?

The challenge, I believe, is to reimagine things like “service” and “commitment” as avenues for–rather than things at war with–real participation. You might be thinking, “This is just semantics, Kenny; volunteering in children’s church already is participation!”

Maybe… but do your volunteers see things that way?

One of the biggest obstacles to creating a sense of real participation in a church community is full-color printing. You know what I mean: printed glossy pages with graphics and photos; lesson scripts with color-coded parts and quirky clip art.

Do you know why?

Because it screams “somebody more professional than me and more knowledgeable than me has already figured everything out.”

That might not sound like a bad thing–I mean, we all need a little hand-holding from time to time–but when you’re a volunteer, it also clarifies (and limits!) your role. When you show up to teach the pre-K class and the children’s ministry coordinator hands you a full-color lesson plan, there is some safety in knowing that the hard stuff has already been figured out… but it also turns you into a bit of a robot, too.

“Read this, but don’t say that.”

“Use the diagram to lay out the craft supplies just so; you’ll find them all in the labeled Tupperware containers.”

Perhaps in normal times, this was all reassuring. But in the era we’re in now–with folks struggling to feel seen, heard, or valued–I’m afraid it misses the mark.

So, what am I proposing?

Well, something old: what if we pretended we really did need each other?

Not just so we can have the right number of people in the right roles… but because the specific people God has brought into our communities just might have unique gifts, insights, and talents to share?

I’m not suggesting that every Sunday School teacher needs to become a curriculum creator overnight! That would be a daunting and unfair burden to impose, particularly if your church is fortunate enough to still have staff members who have been tasked with that responsibility. But what if that staff member spent less time color-coding plastic containers and printing individualized instructions… and more time meeting with their volunteers to hear their ideas, encourage their contributions, and develop plans that reflect the people they supervise?

Instead of making things as easy as possible for volunteers, we need to make volunteering feel valuable.

Consider your average 21st century church worship band: keys, an acoustic and electric guitar, bass, drums, and a few vocalists. Why do we use this lineup? We do it because most contemporary worship song recordings utilize those instruments. But is that the actual musical makeup of your congregation? And is the goal of leading worship performing an identifiable cover of the songs on the radio?

What if we choose not to start with the instruments we need but with the people we have?

In a CCM context, an accordion or a flute might not be a feature instrument… but if you have folks in your church with those talents, what might happen if you ditched the “play it like the recording” mindset and encouraged your musicians to work things out in a unique way? It might not sound as “good”... but it could sound like you.

In the broadest strokes, what I’m learning through our emerging, connecting, and awaking congregation at Revolution is that trusting people is an essential part of leading them. And that means I have to let go.

When I was asked to write this article, my initial thought was that I don’t know anything about leading volunteers anymore. I used to have org charts and role descriptions and playbooks for every department in Revolution. But since we started the work of rebuilding this church from the ground up in 2021, a lot of that stuff has stopped making sense to me. When there are just a dozen people in the room, the polish of the old systems feels inauthentic instead of reassuring.

The only way forward for us has been to pause and talk about things: what do you want? What can you offer? Where do you get excited about fitting in? The church that has grown out of the uncertainty of the last few years is much different than the one that died in 2020. It doesn’t always look like “my vision”... or even like a very professional outfit!

But what we have discovered is that empowering folks to really participate on Sundays leads to more health–and a greater sense of commitment–than teaching them to be spectators ever did.

The version of Revolution we have now is weird, it’s uneven, and there are often noticeable “holes.” But what’s changed is that those holes are no longer treated like problems, or like the exclusive responsibilities of “people more professional and knowledgeable” than the average congregant. Instead, they are opportunities for the right person, with the right gifts and the right passions, to step in and fill.

I don’t know much about “leading volunteers”... at least, I don’t anymore.

But I am ready to let volunteers lead.

By Dr. Kenneth Camacho - Lead Pastor, Revolution Church

Kenny holds an M.A. and Ph.D. in American Literature as well as a Master’s in Christian Ministry. Along with his wife Meredith and their three children, Kenny loves to explore National Parks.