There is an old saying: You find what you’re looking for.
Years ago, my husband and I visited a family from our church who had moved overseas to live and serve in a local community. They had intentionally settled into the neighborhood, found jobs, built friendships, and became part of everyday life.
As they drove us through the area, every street held another story. They pointed out families they had come to know, conversations that had changed them, and the unexpected ways they had seen God at work. There was laughter, hope, and genuine affection for the people who had become their neighbors.
At one point we drove past a small coffee shop.
“This is one of my favorite places,” our friend said. “I come here often to meet people, listen to their stories, and learn from them.”
Then he mentioned that another missionary couple lived just across the street. A few weeks earlier, he had read their newsletter. It described the very same neighborhood. But instead of stories about people, it featured photos of a trash heap and focused on the poverty, the garbage, and how unfriendly the people were.
Two families. The same streets. The same neighbors. Yet two completely different stories. One saw beauty where another saw brokenness. One noticed possibility where another documented problems. I’ve never forgotten that contrast because it continues to ask me a question:
What am I looking for?
How do I see my own community? When I walk through my neighborhood, do I first notice what is broken? Or do I notice the people? Do I see dignity before dysfunction? Possibility before problems? What stories am I sharing? Do I expect to discover where God is already at work, or do I assume He is waiting for me to bring Him there?
The truth is, how we see people shapes how we treat them. How we listen shapes what we learn. How we engage shapes the stories we tell. Peacemaking is not simply something we do. It is a way of seeing. A way of living. A way of entering the world through the eyes and heart of Jesus. Perhaps that’s where every church plant truly begins. Jesus understood something we often forget: before He taught His disciples how to proclaim the Kingdom, He taught them how to enter a community.
In Luke 10, when Jesus sends out the 72, He doesn’t gather them to explain how to build a ministry, grow a following, or launch a successful movement. Instead, He prepares them for something even more important: the kind of people they must become.
Imagine standing there that day, listening to His final instructions. You might expect Him to talk about strategy, leadership, communication, influence, or measurable outcomes.
Remember when Jesus told them, “When you go to that town, it is large enough that you should be able to reach at least five families. Once they come to faith, build on that momentum and continue multiplying your impact.”
We don’t remember that part of the story. Because… Jesus never said it! But it’s often how we think.
He never began with numbers, metrics, or measurable success. He began with their hearts. Instead, He spoke about peace. Hospitality. Humility. Dependence. Staying. Eating. Listening. Healing. His instructions were remarkably ordinary: Go. Bless. Offer peace. Receive hospitality. Stay. Eat what is set before you. Heal those who are hurting. Announce that the Kingdom of God has come near.
The more I sit with Luke 10, the more I’m struck by what Jesus didn’t emphasize. He wasn’t dismissing fruitfulness; He was redefining the path to it. Before He cared about what His disciples would accomplish, He cared about how they would enter the lives of others. Before He focused on outcomes, He focused on character. Before He sent them to build anything, He formed them to embody the peace of the Kingdom.
Perhaps that’s because Jesus knew something we are still learning: The Kingdom grows differently than we often expect.
See Differently. Become Differently. Enter Differently. Lead Differently.
These aren’t ministry strategies. They’re the posture of a person of peace.
Jesus didn’t first send His disciples to build churches. He sent them to cultivate peace. Churches simply became the natural outcome wherever that peace took root.
Jesus never tells them to look for converts. He tells them to look for a person of peace. That is a profound distinction. The first assignment isn’t to persuade someone. It’s to discover someone. That completely changes the posture. Instead of asking, Who will listen to me? they ask, Who has God already been preparing? Instead of arriving with an agenda, they arrive with curiosity. Instead of assuming they’re bringing God to a place, they expect to discover that God has already gone ahead of them.
I think this is one of the most beautiful dynamics in church planting. It changes how we see neighborhoods, how we meet people, and even how we understand the mission itself.
1. See Differently: The Lens
Before Jesus changed what His disciples would do, He changed how they would see.
No one enters a community with a blank slate. We all carry assumptions shaped by our experiences, fears, disappointments, successes, theology, and culture. Those lenses influence what we notice and just as importantly, what we overlook.
Jesus knew this. If we see people as projects, we’ll try to manage them. If we see them as problems, we’ll rush to fix them. If we see them as opportunities, we may unintentionally use them. But if we see them as people deeply loved by God – image bearers with stories, gifts, wounds, and immeasurable dignity – we begin to enter their lives differently.
That is why I find Jesus’ instructions in Luke 10 so remarkable. He doesn’t tell the 72 to look for the biggest crowd, the greatest need, or the most influential person in town. He tells them to look for peace. More specifically, He tells them to look for a person of peace.
I’ve often wondered why. Perhaps because Jesus knew that what we look for is usually what we find. If we go looking for everything that’s broken, we will certainly find it. We will find division, loneliness, injustice, addiction, and every reason to believe a community is beyond hope. But if we begin looking for where God is already at work, we discover something altogether different.
We notice the people quietly bringing life to their neighborhoods. The trusted teacher. The barber who knows everyone’s story. The grandmother who welcomes every child. The coffee shop owner creating a place where strangers become friends.
Suddenly, we begin seeing signs of the Kingdom already breaking through. That changes the question. Instead of asking, How do we get people to join what we’re building? we begin asking, Where has God already gone before us, and how can we join Him?
That question changes everything. It changes how we pray. How we listen. How we walk through a neighborhood. How we introduce ourselves. How we tell the story of a community. Shalom has never simply meant the absence of conflict. It is the presence of wholeness, right relationships, restoration, and human flourishing.
That means every community – no matter how fractured, still bears traces of God’s goodness. Our first calling is not to bring God where He has been absent. It is to recognize where He has already gone ahead of us. Perhaps the first act of church planting is not preaching. Perhaps it is learning to see through the eyes of Jesus.
Practice
Before you pray for your community this week, take a slow walk through your neighborhood. Resist the urge to evaluate. Instead, simply notice.
Ask God three questions:
- Where do You already see beauty here?
- Who is quietly bringing life to this community?
- What have I been overlooking because I wasn’t looking for it?
You may discover that God has been working there long before you arrived.
2. Become Differently: The Formation
Every church planter wants to make a difference. You prepare sermons. You build teams. You develop vision statements, launch strategies, and ministry plans. You spend countless hours thinking about the church you hope to build. But Jesus begins somewhere else.
Who are you becoming?
Long before He entrusted His disciples with a mission, He invited them into a way of life. He didn’t simply prepare them to proclaim the Kingdom. He formed them to reflect it. I wonder how often we prepare our ministries more intentionally than we prepare our own souls.
Churches rarely grow beyond the spiritual maturity of those who lead them. They often become an extension of what their leaders celebrate, fear, avoid, and embody. What if, instead, people encountered a different kind of presence? Not because we had all the answers. Not because we were impressive. But because they experienced the peace of Christ in us. That is the work of formation.
Formation is the lifelong process of abiding with Jesus until His life becomes increasingly visible in ours. Peace isn’t something we manufacture through effort. It is the fruit of a life rooted in Christ. Perhaps that’s why the Beatitudes continue to challenge me.
Jesus never said, Blessed are the successful. Blessed are the influential. Blessed are the persuasive. He said, Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
That isn’t simply a description of what peacemakers do. It is a description of who they resemble. Children reflect the character of their Father. Peacemakers reflect the heart of God. Before asking whether our communities trust us, perhaps we should ask a more personal question: Would the people closest to me describe me as a person of peace? Not because I avoid conflict. But because I help restore relationships. Because I listen before I speak. Because I choose curiosity over judgment. Because people leave conversations with greater dignity than when they entered them.
As I reflect on my own life, I find myself returning to questions that are less about ministry and more about becoming:
- When I walk into a room, does anxiety rise or fall?
- Do people feel safer because I am present?
- Am I more committed to understanding than to being understood?
- Can someone disagree with me and still experience honor and dignity?
- Is my life becoming recognizable by the peace of Christ?
These questions aren’t meant to produce guilt. They are invitations. Because the church we plant will always reflect the people we are becoming. Long before Christ builds His church through us, He is forming Christ within us. Perhaps that is the first and most important work of every church planter.
3. Enter Differently: The Posture
Once Jesus had reshaped how His disciples saw the world and who they were becoming, He sent them. Not as experts. Not as celebrities. Not as consumers. But as neighbors.
Notice how ordinary His instructions are in Luke 10. Stay. Eat. Receive hospitality. Listen. Heal. Bless. Jesus wasn’t teaching them how to launch a ministry. He was teaching them how to enter people’s lives.
Church planters often ask, “How quickly can we launch?”
Jesus seemed more interested in asking, “How deeply can you love the people who are already there?”
That changes our posture. We move from introducing ourselves to becoming known. From building a platform to building trust. From inviting people to our church to first becoming part of the neighborhood. Perhaps one of the most important questions we can ask isn’t, How do we reach our community? It’s, How does our community experience us?
When people encounter us, do they experience hurry or presence? Certainty or curiosity? An agenda or genuine friendship? The way we enter a community often determines whether people will trust the message we eventually share. Long before they hear the gospel from our lips, they experience it through our lives. People experience the gospel before they understand it.
Peace is not something we bring to people from a distance. It is something we cultivate with people as neighbors in proximity.
4. Lead Differently: The Church That Emerges
Every church eventually becomes known for something. Its preaching. Its worship. Its programs. Its theology. Its influence. But what if Jesus had something deeper in mind? What if the defining characteristic of a church wasn’t what happened on Sunday, but what happened throughout the week in the neighborhood?
Leadership is always forming a culture. Whether we intend to or not, people begin reflecting what we celebrate. If we value influence above relationship, our churches will do the same. If we move quickly, they will move quickly. If we become defensive, they will become defensive.
But if we embody the way of peace, something different begins to emerge. We create communities where people are genuinely seen. Where curiosity is stronger than judgment. Where disagreements don’t destroy relationships. Where confession is normal, repair is expected, hospitality is practiced, and every person is treated with dignity because every person bears the image of God.
Imagine someone in your community saying, “I don’t believe everything they believe, but I’ve never doubted that they love us.” Perhaps that is one of the most compelling witnesses the Church can offer today. Five years from now, the greatest compliment your church may receive won’t be that you have amazing preaching or you have incredible worship. Perhaps it will simply be, “They made our neighborhood better.” Not because they had all the answers. Because they listened. They served. They celebrated what was already beautiful. They became trusted friends. They made the peace of Jesus visible. That is the kind of Church our communities long for, whether they know it or not.
Church planting is not first an act of construction. It is an act of incarnation.
Jesus moved into the neighborhood. He listened. He noticed. He stayed. He loved. He brought peace. And then He invited people into the Kingdom. Perhaps that’s still the way He plants His Church today.
Conclusion
Church planting has never been only about planting churches. It has always been about revealing the Kingdom. Jesus did not arrive announcing a strategy. He moved into the neighborhood. He learned people’s names. He shared meals. He listened more than He lectured. He noticed those everyone else overlooked. He restored dignity before He restored reputations. He brought peace wherever He went. Then He invited people to follow Him.
Perhaps we’ve made church planting and building churches more complicated than Jesus ever intended. Perhaps the first sermon people hear is not one that is preached. It is the way we love our neighbors. Perhaps the first evidence of the Kingdom is not found inside a worship gathering. It is found on front porches. Across dinner tables. In coffee shops. On neighborhood walks. In the ordinary places where trust is built one conversation at a time.
Long before people believe what we believe, they decide whether they can trust the kind of people we are becoming. So maybe the question isn’t, How do we plant a successful church? Maybe the question Jesus is still asking is,
When people experience you, do they experience Me?
Because in the end, people may forget our vision statements. They may even forget many of the sermons preached. But they will never forget how they experienced us. Did they feel seen? Did they feel valued? Did they feel safe? Did they feel loved? Did they encounter people who listened before they spoke, honored before they judged, and served before they were served? Did they experience, if only for a moment, the peace of Jesus made visible?
Church planting is not simply about gathering people into a building. It is about forming people who carry the presence and peace of Christ into every neighborhood, coffee shop, school, workplace, and home they enter. Because the Church is never more believable than when people experience Jesus before they fully understand Him.
Long before they embrace our message, they encounter our lives. Long before they trust our church, they decide whether they can trust the kind of people we are becoming. So perhaps the first seed we plant is not a congregation. Perhaps it is peace. A peace that sees differently. A peace that becomes differently. A peace that enters differently. A peace that leads differently. Wherever the peace of Christ becomes visible, the Kingdom becomes believable.
