When you’re a pastor, people come to you expecting wisdom. They look to you for guidance, truth, and a sense of certainty in an uncertain world. And that’s not a bad thing, it’s part of the calling. But somewhere along the way, many of us begin to believe the lie that we always need to have the right answer.

I’ve been there. Someone asks a heartbreaking question about suffering, or a theological curveball I didn’t see coming, and I can feel it, this pressure rising inside me to respond quickly, confidently, and clearly. Because pastors are supposed to know, right?

Except sometimes… I don’t.

And after years of wrestling with that discomfort, I’ve learned something freeing and deeply important: “I don’t know” can be one of the most honest, pastoral, and faithful things I can say.

When I Didn’t Have the Answer

I’ll never forget the day a young couple sat across from me, tears in their eyes, asking why they lost their baby.

There is no theology textbook that prepares you for that moment.

They weren’t asking for a lecture on the problem of evil. They were asking if God was still good, if He still saw them, still loved them.

And I didn’t have an answer that could make that pain go away. So I told them the truth.

“I don’t know why this happened. But I do know God is still here. And I know He’s not afraid of your questions.”

We cried together. We prayed. And in that vulnerable space, something sacred happened. Not because I had the answers, but because I was willing to hold the pain without pretending I did.

The Freedom of Not Knowing

Saying “I don’t know” doesn’t mean I’m giving up on truth. It means I’m giving up on pretending to be God.

There’s a big difference.

God is infinite. I’m not. God sees the full picture. I don’t. My job isn’t to have perfect clarity—it’s to point people to the One who does.

In ministry, we talk a lot about trust. But part of trust is not having all the answers. Part of trust is saying, “I’m still waiting on this too. Let’s wait together.”

That kind of honesty creates space for God to move. It reminds people that faith isn’t about certainty, it’s about the relationship.

Why Pastoral Humility Matters

I think people are more drawn to vulnerability than polish. They don’t need a pastor with a script, they need a human being who’s walking this road with them.

When I admit I don’t know something, I’m not failing my congregation. I’m showing them what humility looks like. I’m reminding them that it’s okay to question, wonder, and wrestle.

And I’m inviting them into something deeper than easy answers: I’m inviting them into mystery.

Trusting the God Who Knows

I’ve learned to find comfort in this truth: I may not know everything, but I know the One who does.

There’s a beautiful humility that comes with leaning into God’s wisdom rather than my own. It keeps me dependent. It keeps me listening. It keeps me praying.

And honestly, it keeps me human.

The more I let go of the need to have it all figured out, the more space I make for the Holy Spirit to actually do the work I can’t.

Teaching Through Tension

Sometimes, the most powerful sermons come from unresolved tension.

I’ve preached on things I don’t fully understand: grace, suffering, divine timing, and I’ve told my congregation, “I’m still learning. I’m still growing.”

And you know what? Those are the messages people bring up later. Not because they were perfect, but because they were real.

It turns out, people don’t need a flawless leader. They need someone who’s willing to walk with them through doubt, grief, and unknowing.

There’s Power in the Pause

If you’re a pastor, a leader, or even just someone who others turn to for guidance, can I give you some permission today?

You don’t always have to have the answer.

There is power in pausing. In breathing. In saying, “I don’t know, but I’ll walk with you.”

God can do a lot with that kind of honesty. He meets us in the mystery. He works in the waiting.

And sometimes, the most faithful thing we can do is admit what we don’t know, while holding fast to the One who knows it all.

The post “I Don’t Know”: The Three Hardest Words for a Pastor to Say (And Why I Say Them Anyway) appeared first on Ryan Macdonald.

When I first stepped into pastoral ministry twenty years ago, I had no idea what I was truly signing up for. I had passion. I had a calling. I had a heart to serve Jesus and love people. But I couldn’t have predicted the road ahead, the highs and lows, the heartbreaks and holy moments, the stretching, the growth, the miracles, the mundane. And yet, after two full decades, I can say with all sincerity: I still love being a pastor. In fact, I’m more amazed by it now than I was at the start.

In a world where burnout is common and many pastors are quietly stepping away, I want to offer a different testimony. Not because I’ve figured it all out or because every season has been easy, but because I’ve learned that joy, deep and lasting joy, is found not in the absence of struggle but in the faithful presence of God in the middle of it.

Joy in the Ordinary

One of the biggest surprises in pastoral ministry has been learning how sacred the ordinary is. Sure, there are the “big” moments: baptisms, weddings, breakthroughs, salvations. But most of my days aren’t filled with fireworks. They’re filled with phone calls, coffee shop conversations, praying for someone’s sick mom, writing sermons while the church copier jams, or counseling a couple who’s hanging on by a thread.

And yet—it’s in those everyday interactions that I often feel the deepest sense of purpose. It’s in the small, hidden moments where the Spirit of God does quiet, transformative work. There’s a joy in walking alongside people, not just when the spotlight is on, but in the unnoticed spaces where real life and real growth happens.

Shepherding Through the Storms

I won’t pretend pastoring is always easy. I’ve walked through some storms. I’ve buried children and sat with grieving parents. I’ve listened to heartbreaking confessions. I’ve had people I love walk away from church, from community, and sometimes even from the Lord. I’ve dealt with criticism that cut deep and seasons where I questioned whether I had what it takes.

But through every storm, God has never stopped showing up. He’s never stopped reminding me that the work is His. That my job is to shepherd: to lead, love, feed, protect, but ultimately, He is the Chief Shepherd. My joy doesn’t come from results. It comes from obedience. From knowing that I’m following Him, even when I can’t see the full picture.

The Gift of Watching Lives Change

There is nothing like watching a life transformed by the grace of Jesus. After 20 years, it still gets me. Watching a person come alive in Christ, whether it’s the teenager who decides to follow Jesus at summer camp, or the man who finally lays down his addiction, or the elderly woman who finds peace after a lifetime of striving, those moments never get old.

I’ve learned that joy in ministry doesn’t come from numbers or recognition. It comes from proximity to people’s stories. From walking with them, praying with them, weeping and celebrating and growing together. That’s the kind of joy that roots deep and holds strong even when the road gets rough.

Leading from a Place of Joy

Early in my ministry, I felt a lot of pressure to perform. To meet expectations. To be the “strong” leader. But the longer I pastor, the more I realize that people aren’t looking for perfection they’re looking for presence. They want a pastor who is real. Who walks in humility. Who leads with joy, even when life is hard.

Joy isn’t something I manufacture. It’s something I fight for. It’s something I receive from the Lord when I spend time in His presence and let Him remind me of why I said yes in the first place. When I lead from a place of joy, I don’t lead out of fear or duty I lead out of delight. Not because I have to, but because I get to.

Ministry Is a Miracle

There’s a holy mystery to pastoring. That God would entrust broken, imperfect people like me with the care of His church is something I will never get over. It’s not a job—it’s a calling. And every time I stand to preach, every time I pray with someone after service, every time I baptize someone or walk them through loss or joy I’m reminded: this is a miracle.

The fact that I’ve been doing it for twenty years is also a miracle. It’s only by His grace. I’m not the same pastor I was at 25—and thank God for that. I’ve grown, I’ve failed, I’ve repented, I’ve learned. But through it all, God has been faithful. And He’s still using me. That amazes me.

The Joy Is in the Journey

If you’re in ministry and you’re tired, I see you. If you’re wondering if it’s worth it, let me tell you it is. Not because it’s easy, but because Jesus is worth it. Every meeting, every late-night hospital visit, every message you preach that feels like it falls flat, He sees it. He honors it. And He uses it, often in ways we’ll never fully understand.

After twenty years, I’m still amazed. Still grateful. Still filled with joy, not because every season has been perfect, but because God has been present in all of them. And I’m not done yet. The joy is in the journey, and I’m still walking it, one faithful step at a time.

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Church growth isn’t just about bigger buildings or more people in seats. It’s about spiritual transformation, community impact, and lives being changed by the Gospel. And while our world looks very different from first-century Jerusalem, the foundational principles of church growth haven’t changed. Let’s look at a few lessons from the book of Acts that can still guide us today.

1. Growth Begins with the Holy Spirit

Acts begins with a promise and a posture. Jesus tells His disciples, “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you…” (Acts 1:8), and then they wait. They gather together in an upper room, not rushing out with a strategy or a church-planting plan, but waiting on the Spirit.

When we talk about church growth today, it’s tempting to focus on marketing, programming, or social media presence. Those things have their place. But none of them replace the presence and power of the Holy Spirit. The early church grew not because Peter was a brilliant speaker, but because the Spirit moved through him.

Modern churches must never lose sight of this. We can’t manufacture revival. We can’t program transformation. True growth begins in prayer, in dependence, in surrender to God’s Spirit. It’s not flashy, but it’s powerful.

2. The Message Was Clear and Bold

When Peter stood up at Pentecost, he didn’t sugarcoat the Gospel. He told the crowd exactly who Jesus was, what they had done, and what God was offering. He spoke boldly, but with compassion. And 3,000 people responded.

In a time when culture seems increasingly allergic to truth, churches can be tempted to water down the message to be more “palatable.” But Acts shows us that growth doesn’t come from making the Gospel comfortable, it comes from making it clear. People aren’t looking for entertainment. They’re looking for hope. They’re looking for truth that anchors them in a chaotic world.

We don’t need to be harsh or arrogant. But we do need to be bold. When we preach the full Gospel, sin, grace, repentance, forgiveness, resurrection, God does what only He can do: He changes hearts.

3. The Church Was a Real Community

One of the most beautiful parts of Acts is found in chapter 2, right after the massive revival at Pentecost. It says the believers “devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer.” (Acts 2:42)

The church didn’t grow only through events or sermons, it grew because people were living life together. They shared meals. They prayed for each other. They met one another’s needs. They broke cultural barriers. They were a family, not just a weekly gathering.

If we want our churches to grow today, we have to build real community. Not surface-level “How are you? I’m fine” relationships, but honest, loving, accountable ones. People are hungry for belonging. And when they find it in the church, they stay and they invite others.

4. They Were Willing to Suffer for the Mission

Acts isn’t just a highlight reel of miracles and mass conversions. It’s also filled with persecution, imprisonment, and pain. The apostles were beaten, thrown in jail, and threatened. Yet they rejoiced that they were “counted worthy of suffering disgrace for the Name” (Acts 5:41).

That kind of courage is what fueled the church’s growth. They didn’t back down when things got hard. They didn’t quit when culture pushed back. They leaned in. They kept preaching, kept loving, kept serving.

In today’s world, following Jesus may not cost us jail time but it may cost us popularity, comfort, or security. We need that same resilience. If we want to see real growth, we have to be willing to follow Christ when it’s hard, not just when it’s easy.

5. The Church Was Always Moving Outward

One of the themes in Acts is movement. The church doesn’t stay in Jerusalem. Persecution scatters the believers and instead of hiding, they start preaching in new places. Philip goes to Samaria. Peter meets Cornelius. Paul travels across the known world. The Gospel spreads because the people keep going.

Modern church growth can’t be just about growing inward, more programs, more services, more polished events. It has to be about going outward. Into neighborhoods, workplaces, schools, and cities. Into places that feel uncomfortable or unfamiliar. Church growth isn’t just what happens when people come in, it’s also what happens when we go out.

We need to equip our people not just to attend church but to be the church wherever they are.

From the First Church to Our Church

The book of Acts isn’t just a history lesson, it’s a blueprint. It shows us that church growth isn’t a mystery. It’s the natural result of a Spirit-filled people, preaching a clear Gospel, living in real community, willing to suffer for Christ, and moving outward with purpose.

As a pastor, I’m constantly challenged by this. Am I relying on the Spirit, or just my plans? Am I preaching the truth or just what’s easy? Am I building community, or just programming events? These are the questions that shape the kind of growth that lasts.

Let’s not just admire the church in Acts. Let’s become the kind of church that looks like it. That’s where real growth begins.

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There’s something deeply comforting about gathering together on a Sunday morning; worshipping, praying, hearing God’s Word, seeing familiar faces. But if our faith stays inside those four walls, we’re missing the point. Jesus didn’t call us to build fortresses. He called us to be salt and light, to go out into the world and make a difference. That begins right outside our doors.

For me, the local church has always been more than a place to attend; it’s a launchpad. A launchpad for hope, for healing, for restoration. We’re not just called to serve our members. We’re called to impact our communities. We’re called to be the hands and feet of Jesus in real, tangible ways. And if the world is going to see Christ in action, it’s going to start with us.

People Are Looking for Hope

Let’s be honest, people are hurting. They’re lonely, anxious, overwhelmed, and searching for answers. And in a culture that often feels fragmented and divided, the church has the opportunity to step in and say, “You belong here. You are seen. You are loved.” But that message can’t just be spoken from the stage; it has to be lived out in the streets.

Too often, churches have become known more for what we’re against than what we’re for. We need to change that. We need to show up not with judgment, but with compassion. Not with condemnation, but with a willingness to serve. Our neighborhoods shouldn’t just know where our church building is, they should feel our presence in the way we feed the hungry, support single parents, advocate for justice, and mentor the next generation.

Start Where You Are

You don’t need a massive budget or a hundred volunteers to make an impact. You just need eyes to see the need and a heart willing to respond. Every community has unique challenges: poverty, addiction, loneliness, broken families. And every church, no matter the size, has something to offer.

It might be as simple as offering tutoring for kids who are struggling in school. Hosting support groups for people walking through grief or recovery. Partnering with local shelters or food banks. Offering your building as a space for community meetings or workshops. The opportunities are endless when we stop asking, “What can people do for our church?” and start asking, “What can our church do for our people?”

The church isn’t a building. It’s a people, God’s people on a mission together. We don’t need to wait for permission to serve. We just need to get started.

Empowering the Everyday Christian

One of the biggest shifts we need to make is realizing that ministry isn’t just for pastors. Every follower of Jesus has a role to play in loving their neighbor and serving their city. If we’re going to be a catalyst for change, we have to equip people to see their everyday lives as opportunities for ministry.

That means helping business owners see their work as worship. Encouraging teachers, nurses, social workers, and baristas to view their roles as platforms for the gospel. It means teaching people how to share their faith with kindness and confidence, how to build bridges in their neighborhoods, and how to serve with joy and humility.

When the people in our pews start seeing themselves as missionaries to their communities, everything changes.

Be the First to Show Up

One of my prayers as a pastor is that our church would be known as the first to show up. When tragedy strikes. When someone loses their job. When a school needs supplies. When a family is displaced by a fire. I want us to be the people who say, “We’re here. How can we help?”

That kind of reputation doesn’t happen overnight. It’s built through consistent love, small acts of kindness, and a posture of humility. It means not waiting to be asked but being proactive. Not looking for credit but looking for opportunities. It means showing up again and again even when it’s inconvenient, messy, or unnoticed.

It’s Not About Us

At the end of the day, real community impact isn’t about making our church look good. It’s about pointing people to Jesus. Every meal served, every prayer offered, every backpack given to a kid in need it’s all about helping people encounter the love of Christ.

When we live like that, people start to ask questions. They wonder why we care. Why do we show up? Why do we serve? And that’s our moment not to point to ourselves, but to the One who loved us first. The One who left heaven for earth. The One who didn’t come to be served, but to serve.

A Vision Worth Pursuing

I believe with all my heart that the local church is God’s plan for reaching the world. Not just through preaching and worship—but through radical, everyday love that transforms communities from the inside out.

So to my fellow pastors, ministry leaders, and church members: let’s be bold. Let’s dream big. Let’s stop settling for inward comfort and start stepping into an outward mission. Let’s be the church our cities need: faithful, compassionate, present, and full of hope.

Because community doesn’t start with programs. It doesn’t start with platforms. It starts with us—God’s people—willing to love deeply, serve freely, and follow Jesus wherever He leads. And if we’re faithful in that, I believe we’ll see transformation not just in our churches, but in every corner of our communities.

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When people think of ministry, they often picture the pulpit, the worship stage, or the mission field. But for me, the most sacred ministry space is our home. Before I was ever “Pastor Ryan,” I was a husband and a dad. And as much as I love shepherding our church family, my first responsibility is leading my own. That’s not always easy. In fact, raising kids while being active in ministry has stretched, humbled, and refined me in ways I never expected. But it’s also one of the greatest joys of my life; watching our family serve Jesus together, grow together, and sometimes stumble together. Ministry doesn’t just shape the church. It shapes your family too.

The Blessing of Shared Purpose

One of the most beautiful things about serving in ministry as a family is the sense of shared purpose. We’re not just doing church on Sunday we’re building the Kingdom together, day by day. My kids have grown up understanding that faith isn’t just a Sunday activity it’s our lifestyle. They’ve seen their mom and dad serve behind the scenes, lead small groups, pray with people, and open our home to others. And little by little, they’ve found their own ways to serve too. Whether it’s greeting people with a smile, helping set up chairs, or volunteering in kids’ church, they’re learning what it means to live beyond themselves.

And here’s what I’ve noticed: when kids are involved in ministry, they grow deeper roots. They feel connected to the church, not as spectators, but as contributors. They don’t just hear about Jesus—they see Him at work through their own hands. That’s powerful. That’s discipleship.

The Challenges Are Real

That said, it’s not always sunshine and scripture memory. There are real challenges to navigating family life and ministry at the same time. There are nights when I get home exhausted, only to find that my kids need my full attention. There are seasons when ministry demands seem to stretch us thin. And there have been moments when I’ve had to apologize to my wife or my children for being more present at church than at home.

Ministry can be all-consuming if we’re not careful. And if we’re not intentional, it’s easy for our family to feel like they’re coming in second to the people we serve. That’s not how it should be. Our kids need to know they’re not competing with ministry, they’re a part of it. But that only happens when we prioritize communication, boundaries, and regular family rhythms that keep our relationships healthy.

Protecting the Family While Leading in the Church

One of the best pieces of advice I ever received came from an older pastor who told me, “Let your kids grow up knowing the church is a blessing, not a burden.” That stuck with me. I never want my kids to resent church because they felt like they lost their dad to it. So we’ve learned to set healthy boundaries. Sometimes that means saying no to extra meetings or projects. Sometimes it means carving out intentional time for Sabbath as a family even if it’s just a quiet Sunday afternoon with pizza and board games.

We also talk openly with our kids about the highs and lows of ministry. We let them see the joy of baptisms, the impact of missions, and the beauty of community. But we’re also honest when things are hard. We pray together over the tough stuff. And through it all, we remind them that serving Jesus is worth it, not because it’s always easy, but because He is always faithful.

Practical Ways to Serve Together

If you’re in ministry and raising kids, here are a few things we’ve found helpful:

• Find age-appropriate ways for kids to serve. Let them pass out bulletins, help clean up, or play music if they’re gifted. It doesn’t have to be big—they just need to feel like they’re part of it.
  
• Talk about the “why.” Help your kids see the bigger picture. Share stories about life change. Connect their acts of service to the gospel.
  
• Celebrate small wins. When your child prays out loud or invites a friend to church, make it a big deal. Those moments build confidence and purpose.
  
• Guard your time together. Ministry never sleeps, but your family needs rest. Prioritize family nights, meals together, and moments to laugh and just be normal.
  
• Model servant leadership. Your kids are watching how you treat others, how you handle criticism, how you deal with burnout. Your life is the greatest sermon they’ll ever hear.
  

Leaving a Legacy of Faith

At the end of the day, I don’t just want my kids to remember that their dad was a pastor. I want them to remember that we followed Jesus together. That our home was full of grace, truth, and purpose. That we opened our doors to people in need, and opened our hearts to the work of God.

Raising Kingdom kids isn’t about raising perfect kids, it’s about raising kids who know how to follow a perfect Savior. It’s about shaping a legacy that lasts longer than any title or sermon. So to every ministry family out there; keep going. Keep praying, keep laughing, keep showing up for each other. The road isn’t always easy, but it is holy. And the seeds you’re planting today will bear fruit for generations to come.

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