Run to the BrokennessSample

Day 1: Rethinking Success in the Local Church:

Welcome to Day 1 of this devotional journey! Over the next seven days, we’re going to reimagine what it looks like to change the way we define success—not only in our personal lives but also in how we view the Church, leadership, and the communities we’re called to serve. Today, we begin by confronting a tough but necessary question: What if our definition of ministry success needs to change?

For too long, we’ve measured the health of a church by how many people attend on Sundays. We’ve celebrated crowds, counted services, and equated full rooms with fruitful impact. But what if we’ve been looking at the wrong scoreboard?

In Matthew 16:18, Jesus makes a powerful declaration: “I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it” (NIV). That promise changes everything. First, notice who’s building: Jesus. Not us. Not our charisma, our systems, or our social media presence. The Church is His idea, His initiative, and His masterpiece. That should relieve us of the pressure to manufacture results. It should also invite us to examine how we define those results in the first place.

Jesus didn’t promise to build a brand—He promised to build a Church. And that Church isn’t defensive, waiting for darkness to pass by. It’s offensive. It’s charging into pain, into mess, into the gates of hell—and nothing can stop it.

That kind of church doesn’t avoid brokenness—it runs to it.

This may sound radical, but it’s actually the most biblical model of ministry we can find. Luke 9:2 says, “And he sent them to preach the kingdom of God, and to heal the sick” (KJV). That’s Jesus’s strategy: proclaim and heal. Speak and serve. Declare truth and demonstrate compassion. In other words, don’t just host services—bring healing.

For some churches, that healing might look like food banks, job training, addiction recovery, mental health support, or housing assistance. For others, it might be as simple—and as profound—as showing up for someone in crisis, building trust in neighborhoods where the Church has felt distant, or listening well before speaking at all. But in every case, healing requires proximity. It takes presence. It’s personal.

Yet here’s where many leaders—and churches—get stuck. They start comparing.

They look around and wonder: Are we doing enough? Are we growing fast enough? Are we influential enough? And then the pressure mounts. But Paul’s warning in 1 Corinthians 10:12 still rings true: “So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall” (NIV). When pastors use human measurements to validate a divine mission, they set themselves up for pride, burnout, or despair.

Comparison is one of the enemy’s favorite tools. If he can’t corrupt your doctrine, he’ll try to erode your joy. If he can’t stop your ministry, he’ll try to discourage it by showing you someone else’s highlight reel.

But the truth is this: God never asked you to be anyone else. He asked you to be faithful with what He gave you—your city, your people, your calling, your corner of brokenness.

So what if success isn’t measured by how many gather on Sunday, but by how many are impacted Monday through Saturday?

What if it’s not about filling pews, but meeting needs?

What if your ministry was less about platform and more about presence—less about applause and more about access to those who are hurting?

The early Church didn’t just gather for worship—they scattered to serve. They became hubs of healing and hope, spiritually and practically. They fed the poor, sheltered the vulnerable, and stepped into the pain of their cities. They saw brokenness not as a barrier, but as an invitation.

Maybe it’s time you saw it that way too.