Nice is not a growth strategy.

When I was a young adult, I worked at a Christian summer camp called Camp Mini-Yo-We. You know the place; canoes skimming across a glassy lake, worship songs around a campfire that somehow made the stars feel closer, friendships soldered together over bug juice and burnt marshmallows. It was the first laboratory where I learned leadership, not from a book, but from a cabin of eleven-year-olds who expected their counselor to be part sherpa, part coach, part mom.

Six campers. That was our number. Six guys barely fit around the heavy pine dining-hall tables. I could sit at the head and scan the whole universe in one glance, who needed seconds, who needed sleep, who needed a nudge to apologize. At night, everyone got airtime as conversation slid into the delicious randomness only Summer Camp can produce. Six names? Between the 10 a.m. opening-day staff huddle and the 2 p.m. arrival window, I could have them down cold, name and hometown, hopefully making those first few moments of my campers’ time at Summer Camp a little easier by knowing their names.

Then I moved up to an older program. Ten campers.

Ten changed everything. Now we needed two tables. Walking around Camp, I had to count in my head like a security detail, “one, two, three…” because a head swivel no longer covered it. Ten names felt exponentially harder than six, not 33% harder … impossibly harder. The inside jokes multiplied faster than I could track them. Dynamics shifted. I couldn’t “pastor” each kid in the same way anymore; I had to build systems … ask guys to look out for each other, delegate a table leader, plan check-ins, and enforce lights-out like clockwork.

Leading six was craft. Leading ten required architecture.

I learned young: group size changes everything; the experience, the culture, and the leadership it takes to keep people safe, growing, and moving together. Scale doesn’t just add complexity; it alters the physics. And that truth doesn’t stop at the lake.

Let’s be blunt: 800 is a trap size. Only a sliver of North American Protestant churches ever hit 500–1,000 in attendance, roughly 4 percent, and fewer than 2 percent ever break 1,000. [ref]

That’s not random; it’s structural. At 800, what got you here, tight relationships, consensus leadership, and that beloved “family feel”, quietly becomes the lid on what God could do next.

Tim Keller called this “size culture.” Every size behaves differently, and if you impose small-church expectations on a larger body, like expecting the senior pastor to be personally available to everyone, you wreak havoc. Decision-making slows to a crawl, six-hour elder meetings become normal, and leaders burn out doing shepherding that should be owned by teams and systems.

What once felt like unity becomes veto power. That’s not pastoral care—it’s organizational anemia.

Niceness mimics fruit. It creates harmony, low conflict, and positive vibes. But harmony without movement is hospice, not health.

Mid-sized plateau churches show an uncomfortable pairing: insider satisfaction is often high while evangelistic engagement is low. [ref] Per-capita giving can even look strong precisely because the room is full of long-time Christians, not new believers.

Translation: your core is comfortable; your front door is closing.

This is where theology gets misused. “We’re being faithful; we’re not chasing numbers.” Faithfulness and fearlessness are not enemies. The Church in Acts was constantly adding people and was constantly in tension. When “peace” becomes an excuse to protect preferences, that’s not gentleness … it’s mission drift.

Litmus test: If a new person has to learn your internal slang, intuit your unwritten rules, and fight to get a seat at your proverbial table, your niceness is for insiders. Niceness that never risks, never disappoints, never decides isn’t love. It’s abdication.

Can we please stop with all the TLA’s in the church? Three Letter Acronyms! They obscure meaning and clearly communicate who is “in” and who is “out”.

At around 800, you are too big to function like a living room, and too small to afford bureaucracy. You need clarity … not more committees.

Keller’s counsel is surgical here: as size grows, decision-making must shift from whole-church consensus to empowered staff and leaders, with the board focused on high-level governance. [ref] Refuse to shift and you produce exactly what you fear: burnout, ambiguity, and decline.

Consensus is beautiful in a cabin of six. At 800, it’s a growth killer.

This isn’t about becoming “corporate.” It’s about becoming clear. The courage to choose mission over maintenance will feel less “nice” to insiders and far more loving to the neighbor who hasn’t met Jesus yet.

The data is stubborn: growing churches actively equip and encourage people to invite their friends, 72% of growing churches emphasize invitation versus 43% of declining churches. [ref]

And on the demand side, the harvest is shockingly open: large majorities of unchurched people report they would attend if a friend invited them. Your problem isn’t interest; it’s invitation.

A strong invite culture isn’t a program. It’s what a healthy church does when leadership is clear, structure is sane, and volunteers are equipped.

Think of these as your “from → to” moves—the shifts that turn niceness into leadership and momentum.

Cast a crisp, repeatable vision for outsiders, not insiders. If your insider language requires a decoder ring, you’ve already told guests, “This isn’t for you.” Teach your people to see the church through a guest’s eyes… jargon-free, warm welcome, obvious next steps.

Rewire governance. Board = mission/guardrails. Staff = operations. Push decisions down to competent leaders, with clear success metrics and review rhythms. Replace “everyone signs off” with “the right people decide, on time”.

Audit staff and key volunteers for scale capacity. Do they recruit? Build teams? Delegate outcomes? Your church stalls at the ceiling of your leaders’ ability to multiply leaders. Hire or reassign accordingly.

If new people have ten “next steps,” they’ll take none. Reduce to the one or two actions that most predict movement. e.g., New Here → Join a Team—then architect everything to drive there.

If you can’t see it, you won’t shift it. Track documented first-time guests, return rate, conversion to groups/teams, and invite touchpoints. Celebrate every baptism, every “I was invited by…,” every story—because what you celebrate, you replicate.

At Summer Camp, six kids at one table could be pastored by the presence and charisma of one person. Ten needed systems. Eight hundred needs leadership. Not mean, not brusque, but clear. Clear about who we’re trying to reach. Clear about how we decide. Clear about the path from the seat to serving to sent.

Niceness keeps insiders comfortable. Leadership makes room for the next person God is sending.

If your church is hovering at 800, your greatest act of kindness might be your next courageous decision.

This month:

Because nice doesn’t change cities. Clarity and courage—animated by the Spirit—do.