It’s That No One Can See It

If people can’t picture what we’re talking about, they won’t feel connected to it.

I listen closely to the way our clients talk about the work in their churches. And I’ve noticed a pattern. We tend to describe things in ways that sound meaningful, and often are meaningful to us as insiders.

We talk about “supporting the ministry,” “serving the community,” or “continuing the work of the church.” Those phrases carry a lot of weight, especially for those of us who have been part of the church for a long time. But if you stop for a moment and try to picture what those phrases actually mean, it becomes a little harder.

Not because they aren’t true. Just because they don’t show you anything.

I was reading a recent update from a congregation reflecting on the first year of their capital campaign. It covered several familiar projects: signage, air conditioning, live-stream improvements. The kinds of things that, in many churches, would be described in fairly general terms. But the way they talked about those projects was different. They didn’t just name what they were doing; they described what those changes made possible.

Take something as simple as signage. They could have said they were “improving hospitality” or “enhancing accessibility,” and that would have been accurate. Instead, they described what actually happens each week — visitors arriving for worship, preschool events, scouting activities, community meetings — and how clearer signage helps people find their way and communicates a simple message: we’re glad you’re here. You can picture that. You can see someone walking into the building for the first time, not quite sure where to go, and feeling just a little more at ease.

Or take the air conditioning project. It would have been easy to describe it as a “facility upgrade” or “capital improvement.” But instead, they talked about the reality they were facing — a single aging unit with no backup plan, something that could have disrupted worship. And then connected the project to what it protects: the congregation’s ability to gather, week after week, without interruption. Now it’s not just about equipment. It’s about worship continuing.

The same thing shows up in their description of the live-stream and audio improvements. They didn’t focus on cameras or systems. They focused on people: members who cannot be present in person, but who remain connected to the life of the congregation from home. That’s a very different way of talking about technology. It moves from equipment to relationship, from systems to connection. And again, you can picture it.

None of these descriptions are dramatic. There are no sweeping stories or emotional appeals. There isn’t even a single named individual.

But something important is happening. The work is becoming visible, memorable.

I think this is where a lot of our messaging struggles. Not because we don’t care about what we’re doing. I know we care deeply. But we describe it in ways that stay just general enough that people have to fill in the gaps themselves. We say things like “supporting the ministry of our church,” and we assume that people understand what that means. And sometimes they do, at least in a general sense. But understanding something in general is not the same as seeing it clearly.

And when it comes to generosity, that difference matters.

Most of the time, when people are deciding whether or how to give, they’re not just evaluating whether something is important. They’re trying to understand what their giving actually does. They want to know what will change because of their giving, who is affected, and why it matters now. If what they hear stays at the level of general description, they’re left doing a lot of work. They have to translate the language, imagine the impact, and connect the dots themselves.

Some people will do that. Many won’t. Not because they don’t care, but because we’ve made it harder than it needs to be.

There’s a simple reason for that. People respond to what they can see. If something is clear enough to picture, it becomes easier to understand, easier to connect with, and easier to respond to. If it stays abstract, it may still be meaningful, but it doesn’t have the same emotional pull.

Even people who care about the church can struggle to connect general language to lived reality. They know the words. They believe in what those words represent. But they don’t always see it. And when they don’t see it, something is missing. They may agree. They may support the idea. They may even give.

But there isn’t always a moment where something clicks, where the meaning becomes clear in a way that invites a deeper response. That’s the gap. Not a lack of generosity. Not a lack of commitment. Just a lack of clarity about what is actually happening.

The example from that campaign update shows what’s possible. It doesn’t solve everything, and it doesn’t turn every project into a compelling narrative. But it does something simple and important. It helps people see.

And once something can be seen, it can be understood in a deeper way. It can be felt, and responded to.

Much of the way we talk about our work in the church is true. It reflects what we believe and what we value. But if it never becomes visible, it will continue to feel just a little out of reach.

Stick around for next month’s article. I’ll explore what actually helps people see, and why story plays such a powerful role in that.