Wrestling Giants of Faith

Today I was running. Christian playlist on. Mind already working through a situation in a church I’m consulting with. Mid-stride, a text came in from our Managing Director, Jason Wagner. He asked if I wanted our most recent Risk Management Assessment sent to the senior pastor of another church client.

Unrelated situation. Different church.

I stopped my run and sent this exact text:

“Always. Always include the pastor before anyone else no matter who is ‘assigned.’”

I hit send, started running again, and almost laughed out loud. Oh my gosh. I just said that — and I meant it.

And it played right into the wrestling match already happening in my head.

I had been talking to a donor/member/Head of Finance Committee at another church. A wise, seasoned steward. He disclosed that a leadership situation — one we’ve discussed for a year with specific solutions — still hadn’t been addressed. He said he was losing confidence. And then he quietly admitted that his ministry dollars were beginning to be redirected elsewhere.

Consequences.

He is the lead giver in that church by a long shot. If his giving leaves entirely, it will be ministry-changing. I don’t believe it will come to that. He is mature and faithful. But still… how do I proceed?

Do I tell the pastor the blunt details and press back into solutions again?
Do I allow this volunteer to continue navigating internally, since he is respected and wise?

I asked the donor what he wanted my role to be in working toward resolution.

He said:
“You have great judgment. Do what you want. You are very wise.”

Then he outlined how he planned to proceed from his side.

I learned two things.

First: wise counsel exists in every church. And every time I encounter it, I grow stronger for listening.

Second: an abrupt and vivid image came into my mind — a biblical scene with Jacob. I asked ChatGPT to summarize it in modern language, and what came back felt almost uncomfortably relevant.

Jacob is on the edge of everything.

He’s about to meet his brother Esau — the brother he cheated years earlier. The last time they saw each other, Esau wanted him dead. Now Esau is coming toward him with 400 men.

Jacob strategizes. He divides his possessions. He prays. He plans for loss.

And then he stays behind. Alone.

A man appears. No introduction. No explanation. Just wrestling. Raw. Physical. All night long.

Not polite theology. Full contact.

As dawn approaches, the man touches Jacob’s hip — just touches it — and it goes out of joint. Instantly. Permanently.

And Jacob says the defining line:
“I will not let you go unless you bless me.” (Genesis 32:26)

He clings.

He is renamed. Israel.

He walks away at sunrise — blessed, transformed, and limping.

That limp matters.

The blessing came with transformation.
The transformation came with a wound.

Jacob went into the night trying to control his future.
He came out surrendered, carrying a new identity.
And he never walked the same.

I will never walk the same either.

For a year, I have been wrestling with a giant of the faith. And I’m not being dramatic. This pastor is one of my favorites. I have rarely met someone who loves the Lord more deeply or evangelizes more purely, without ego. His heart for the gospel is real. I respect it immensely.

But I have been in a straight-up wrestling match with him.

It’s my job.

I have no doubt he has more faith in his pinky than I ever will.
More biblical knowledge than I could hope to attain.
Deep faith. Real transparency.

And yet, what I know — what I do know — is that he needs help in the area where I have expertise: leadership and organizational clarity.

If correction does not happen, consequences will follow. Not spiritual collapse. Not moral failure. But something that will be felt — like a hip out of joint. A ministry injury. The kind that comes not from lack of faith, but from avoided hard decisions.

Not because I possess divine wisdom.

But because I entered this consultancy role to wrestle the issues others avoid. I have already wrestled many of these in the business world. I have seen what happens when 400-pound elephants sit in the middle of sanctuaries and no one addresses them. Eventually, they cost something.

And I want to bring that hard-won wisdom to church leaders so their ministries do not suffer preventable wounds.

The wrestling is not opposition.

It is love.

It is commitment to the long-term health of the Body.

It is believing that pastors can be shaped into the strongest kind of Kingdom Architects — leaders who build boldly on the front lines, with both deep theology and sound governance.

Sometimes blessing comes through resistance.
Sometimes clarity comes through friction.
Sometimes the limp is mercy.

Gotta go.

I have a pastor to call.

Bren Brown is a Managing Partner at Kingdom Architects in Southlake, Texas. The firm is an investment banking firm that specializes in M&A and business advisory for Christian owned/led businesses, but also church advisory. She seeks to shepherd churches, schools, and organizations to higher levels of stewardship discipleship by strengthening the business acumen of the church and improving development toward the annual fund and though capital campaigns. Please visit: http://www.kingdomarchitects.com for more information. Or, bren.brown@kingdomarchitects.com.