The hidden costs churches absorb—and why leadership matters

Rev. Hannah Lovaglio

Deferred maintenance is not a phrase we tend to associate with the Bible. But Nehemiah would recognize it immediately.

When he arrives in Jerusalem, he doesn’t discover a new problem; he finally tells the truth about an old one. The walls have been broken down for years, and people have adapted. Life has gone on. Workarounds have become normal. What is unsafe and unsustainable has been quietly absorbed into daily life.

That pattern is familiar to churches. Rarely are we facing something no one has noticed before. More often, we are living with problems we have learned to manage around—systems held together by habit, patience, and goodwill. The danger is not that the walls are broken; it’s that we’ve learned to live as though that’s fine.

It never seems like a bad idea to kick the can down the road a bit. Child’s play, right? But what is the actual cost of deferred maintenance for churches? They extend beyond finances to other forms of capital entirely.

Does any of this sound familiar?

• The heat doesn’t work in the kitchen, but if you turn the dial on the floorboard heater and give it 5 minutes, the room will heat right up. Well, at least enough for everyone to agree, “It’s fine.”
• You’re in the middle of sermon prep when the Women’s Club calls from the fellowship hall. They can’t get the projector to work. There are three pages of instructions, a hidden button somewhere on the back of the device, and no clear explanation anyone remembers. You run over, press the button, and head back to your desk.
• The boiler is acting up again. You only need one of the three units to work. The plumbers manage to get it running—this time. Kindly, and with long memories, they remind you they told the buildings committee decades ago that the water needed to be treated before running through the system. This last boiler, they say, is nearing the end of its life.

If this sounds familiar, you’re in good company.

None of these costs—the time, energy, and attention to keep things limping along—were calculated when it was decided that the church would defer the cost, rely on the band-aid, and get to it later.

The Costs We Don’t Count

Deferred maintenance is often framed as a financial decision, but it quietly draws down other forms of capital as well: Time. Energy. Trust. Relationships.

The cost shows up in pastoral hours spent running from one workaround to the next. In volunteers who quietly absorb frustration because “this is just how it works here.” In staff morale shaped by systems that require constant vigilance and improvisation. In parishioners who stop inviting others because “bring a coat, it’s a cold sanctuary” becomes too hard a sale.

Deferred maintenance also defers clarity. When repairs are postponed year after year, so are the larger questions about mission, priorities, and sustainability. What might have been a proactive conversation becomes a reactive one. What could have been planned discernment becomes an emergency.

Questions Churches Avoid, and Why They Matter

So, when we are tempted to kick the can down the road, it’s worth asking some honest questions.

• What is the full scope of our deferred maintenance, in real dollars—not estimates, not guesses?
• What has it already cost us to delay addressing it? And what will it cost—financially and otherwise—if we delay another five years?
• If we say we are “saving money” by deferring maintenance, where is that cost actually being absorbed—and by whom?
• What relationships are being deferred along with the repairs? Whose time and energy are being spent to protect untouched endowment dollars?
• How will we ask for what we need if we have failed to care for what we already have?
• Are we deferring maintenance—or deferring decisions we’re reluctant to make and work we’re reticent to do?
• When we do act, are we committed to doing the work well, or simply doing it cheaply?

After all of this, Nehemiah’s story feels less like an ancient account and more like a mirror.

Nehemiah does not rush past what has become normal; he stops long enough to see it clearly. He inspects the damage honestly, names it publicly, and resists half-measures. Rebuilding isn’t about nostalgia or returning to an idealized past; it’s about the future of the community and those who will live within it. The work matters because people matter.

Faithful leadership, Nehemiah reminds us, begins with telling the truth: about what is no longer safe, what is no longer sustainable, and what we can no longer afford to ignore. Only then can discernment replace denial, and real stewardship take the place of temporary fixes.

Faithful Leadership and Telling the Truth

Underneath all of this sits a deeper question: are we confusing faithfulness with preservation? Not preservation as in, we have what we need to continue without disrepair, but preservation as in status quo, change-averse decision making. Nostalgia is a strong force, quietly shaping our choices, keeping systems in place long after they serve the mission well.

Deferred maintenance is rarely just about buildings. It’s about how honestly we are willing to face change, limits, and responsibility.

We must ask: what kind of church are we leaving the next generation to inherit? One built on temporary fixes and unresolved problems—or one shaped by courage, clarity, and care? This question is closely aligned with whether or not there is a church left worth inheriting.

All said, some costs do need to be deferred. Some needs will be prioritized over others. But let’s make that choice from an informed place. Don’t default to kicking the can down the road, choosing to believe the lazy lie that we don’t have or can’t raise the money to address needs the right way, now.

Deferred maintenance is not neutral. Decide honestly, count the real costs, and tell the truth together. There is enough inspiration, energy, and resources to answer the question more faithfully. One of those resources is CCS. We’re here to help you answer the questions too often avoided.