You're answering the church phone during your sermon prep. Again.
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You're updating the website at 9 PM because nobody else knows how. You're folding bulletins in your office thinking, "Didn't we used to have someone for this?"
If this sounds familiar, you're not alone. Over time, many churches—especially smaller ones—have eliminated traditional administrative roles, thinking technology could seamlessly fill the gap. Instead, we've created a hidden crisis that's drowning ministry leaders in tasks that used to be someone else's full-time job.
Twenty years ago, every church had one. Big church, small church—every church had a secretary, usually a woman who held everything together. She wasn't just an employee; she was the institutional memory with a smile and a filing system that actually worked.
This person knew where everything was. She answered every phone call on the second ring and could find the key to any room in the building. She remembered everybody's birthday, knew where all the bodies were buried, and if you were a new pastor, she showed you the ropes and told you who to watch out for.
The church secretary was more than administrative support—she was relational glue, keeping the community connected and ensuring nothing fell through the cracks.
"So the Twelve gathered all the disciples together and said, 'It would not be right for us to neglect the ministry of the word of God in order to wait on tables... We will turn this responsibility over to them and will give our attention to prayer and the ministry of the word.'" — Acts 6:2-4
Then we decided that technology would do her job better. The heart was right—we wanted to be efficient and forward-thinking. But what actually happened was far different from what we expected.
We automated phone systems with elaborate phone trees, but now important voice calls go to voicemail for days. We moved to online giving platforms, but nobody's tracking who stopped contributing or following up on concerning patterns.
We digitized all our files, but somehow we can't find last year's VBS records. The database has become a mess because five different people update it randomly. Visitors are falling through the cracks because we assumed "the system will catch them," but it never does. New members get forgotten because there's no human being tracking their journey from first visit to full integration.
Here's the secret that might be counterintuitive in our current technology craze: some roles simply can't be automated effectively.
You can't automate following up when somebody misses three Sundays in a row—at least not in a way that feels personal and caring. You can't automate remembering that the Johnson family is going through a divorce, or knowing which volunteer always brings extra supplies, or making sure the new family gets connected before they slip away.
Technology can process data, but it can't provide the human touch that makes people feel known and valued.
The hidden cost of eliminating these support roles is staggering, especially in small churches with solo pastors:
Churches need someone—a person, not a platform—who owns the administrative ecosystem. Not just data entry, but relational stewardship. Not just answering phones, but being the human face that people remember when they visit the office. Not just managing systems, but creating systems that actually serve people.
This doesn't mean we should reject all technology or go back to paper filing systems. Instead, we need to recognize that effective church administration requires both technological tools and human oversight working together.
"There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord." — 1 Corinthians 12:4-5
You're going to be tempted to automate everything. You're going to be tempted to cut costs wherever possible. You're going to be tempted by the next shiny platform that promises to revolutionize your church operations.
But here's the bottom line: you can't automate caring. And efficiency without relationships isn't actually very efficient in the long run.
Your people need to feel known, not just processed. Sometimes the most forward-thinking decision isn't adopting the latest technology—it's bringing back what actually worked.
Audit what's falling through the cracks since you've eliminated or reorganized support roles. Make a list of three things that used to get done consistently but now happen randomly or not at all.
Then ask the hard question: What would it cost to have a human own this again?
This isn't about choosing between technology and people—it's about finding the right balance. Use technology to enhance human capability, not replace human connection. Automate the routine tasks that don't require personal touch, but invest in people for the roles that build relationships and maintain your church's relational fabric.
Remember Moses' father-in-law's wisdom: "What you are doing is not good. You and these people who come to you will only wear yourselves out. The work is too heavy for you; you cannot handle it alone" (Exodus 18:17-18).
Your church needs administrative support that combines the efficiency of modern tools with the irreplaceable value of human care and attention. Don't let the pursuit of efficiency cost you the relationships that make ministry meaningful.
What's your experience with church administrative support? Are you drowning in tasks that used to be someone else's job, or have you found creative solutions that work? I'd love to hear from you at podcast@chemistrystaffing.com.