Church, Membership, and Disciple-Making: Belonging, Authority, and the Challenge of Growth in New Churches

Why I Keep Coming Back to Church Plants

I didn’t set out to be part of a church plant. In fact, the first one I joined was simply the closest evangelical Anglican church to our house. We were a young family—our daughter had just been born—and I was knee-deep studying theology at Ridley. What we wanted was fairly modest: a place to belong and contribute alongside other families at a similar stage of life.

We found that—and more. There were so many opportunities to serve, to be needed. Yes, it meant endless pack-ups and pack-downs. Every Sunday was a flurry of good work and stacking chairs. But we felt part of something. The church, while technically a plant, often felt more like an established church. It served as a kind of community hub (especially for young families) with faith or without. The rites of the church seemed open to all. But if I’m honest, the urgency of gospel proclamation—the kind that reaches out to the lost with clarity and courage—wasn’t always present. There was much to be thankful for, but also a sense of something incomplete.

After several years we moved to our current church—and we’ve stayed ever since. This one carries the DNA of a true church-planting movement. It’s shaped by a commitment to canonical preaching (working through books of the Bible) and cultural exegesis (paying attention to the questions and convictions of the people it seeks to love). Leaders strive to communicate clearly and faithfully, and the church’s posture is outward. We’ve seen remarkable growth over the years, but the core convictions have stayed the same.

New churches bring something vital to the landscape: vision, risk, and gospel seriousness. I’ve grown in my faith not despite church planting, but because of it.

And yet, as I reflect on this experience, I’m increasingly aware of the tensions; the things that sometimes go unnoticed. Especially around questions of belonging, commitment, and discipleship-making. New churches often do mission well. But what about membership?

The Challenge of Unclear Belonging

One of the great strengths of church plants is their openness. Not openness in vision, direction, or theology—but a readiness to speak to the needs of whoever is present. These churches are often skilled at creating hospitable, low-barrier spaces for people at all stages of belief. That’s part of what makes them fertile ground for evangelism. They expect—and often hope—that the room will include people who don’t yet believe. It’s part of their missional posture. And it’s beautiful.

But that same openness brings a challenge: what does it mean to belong?

In many church plants, membership is rarely mentioned. And when it is, it can feel like an administrative detail or a borrowed idea that doesn’t quite fit the mission. The language is sometimes avoided altogether, as if defining insiders and outsiders might somehow hinder the gospel. The intention is good: people should feel welcome before they are fully aligned. But the result is often a community where pastoral responsibility is unclear and discipleship lacks definition.

Who are the elders or pastors for? Who is under their spiritual care? What does accountability look like in a church where formal belonging is optional—or not named at all? These aren’t just structural concerns. They shape how we hear the preached word. They shape how we receive correction. They influence our giving, our volunteering, and how we take up the work of discipling others.

As church plants grow, there’s often a loose trajectory of belonging: attender → volunteer → leader → staff → minister.Somewhere along that line, people become part of the “in” group. In larger churches, this can quietly distort priorities. Deep discipleship is sometimes reserved—if unintentionally—for paid staff. It’s not planned or communicated that way. It simply grows from habit and default.

In some churches, people serve faithfully, attend consistently, and even lead ministries, without ever being sure whether they are in or not. And sometimes, the leaders aren’t sure either. There’s warmth, but also vagueness. And vagueness has a cost.

In my own Anglican context, formal membership practices have become obscure. In some churches, they’ve disappeared altogether. What remains is often a blend of customs from low-church Protestantism and charismatic evangelicalism—informal, relational, sincere, but largely untethered from a shared theological or ecclesial understanding of what it means to belong. We speak of being the body of Christ, yet the ligaments are hard to see.

It’s not that church plants lack conviction—especially when it comes to mission and preaching. But without clearly articulated ways of belonging, discipleship can start to lose shape. Everyone is welcome to follow Jesus, but there’s often no clear distinction between those being spiritually shepherded and those simply passing through.

There’s something admirable in that generosity. But there’s also something that warrants caution.

What Membership Used to Mean (and Still Could)

The word “membership” carries a lot these days—sometimes too much. In some settings, it feels like a formality; in others, an outdated concept altogether. But historically, church membership wasn’t about clubs or exclusivity. It was about clarity.

In earlier Anglican and Protestant traditions, membership meant public commitment: baptism, confirmation, or communion under pastoral oversight. These made perfect sense in the context of an established church, like Anglicanism in its English homeland. There, the church wasn’t just spiritual but legal and political. Bishops sat in Parliament. Church and state were interwoven.

Modern-day Australia, by contrast, feels a world away from the sixteenth century. So what does it mean to offer membership through baptism and confirmation to someone who doesn’t regularly attend? Rites without participation seem disordered. And in evangelical settings, where personal conversion is central, how do we rework these forms to support our theological convictions?

These weren’t just ceremonies for family photos. They were declarations: “I belong here. I’m part of Christ’s church.”

At their best, these practices created mutual responsibility. Pastors knew who they were caring for. Members knew whom they were following. When a church called people to live holy lives, it wasn’t speaking to a crowd. It was addressing a covenant community.

Of course, no system is perfect. But this older model offered a theological and relational clarity that many newer churches now experience only in fragments.

Today, the word “member” often means little more than “regular attender” or “known participant.” We speak of being a family, but the practices that make familial bonds recognisable are often missing.

And this has consequences:

• Authority becomes awkward. Pastors may hesitate to correct or challenge.
• Discipleship becomes vague. Everyone is invited to grow, but no one knows what’s expected.
• Giving becomes uncertain. It can feel more like goodwill than covenant.

Where expectations are unclear, even long-term patterns of sin may go unaddressed—not from lack of conviction, but from a lack of clarity about who is truly part of the body.

This isn’t about being harsh. It’s about being honest. True belonging brings both welcome and responsibility. Without structure, even the most vibrant church plants can become crowds rather than communities.

Three Kinds of Churches, Three Lived Realities

Churches don’t grow in a vacuum. They emerge in places, inherit histories, and develop their own ways of being. Conversations around membership and discipleship land differently depending on the kind of church you’re part of. One size doesn’t fit all.

The Small Church

In a small church, everyone is known—by name, by story, sometimes by several generations of family history. Participation is relational: people show up because they’re needed, not always because they’re gifted. Ministry can feel like family chores. If you’re present, you’re pitching in.

Pastoral care is often intimate and immediate. Needs are visible. Support comes quickly. But because everything is personal, structures can feel redundant. Why write down what everyone already knows?

That works—until it doesn’t. When conflicts arise, or when someone drifts, the absence of clear processes can create confusion. Boundaries blur. Correction feels awkward. And sometimes, what feels like closeness is actually avoidance.

The Established Church

Established churches come with memory. They have buildings, budgets, bulletins, and often, a settled sense of identity. Programs are already in place. Roles are filled. The church may have seen seasons of growth and decline, with saints who’ve stayed the course through both.

These churches can be deep wells of wisdom. Some members are marked by years of faithful service and theological depth. But they can also be places where change feels threatening. Structures exist, but they may serve to preserve rather than to grow.

Belonging in these settings is often formal—membership rolls, committees, procedures—but it’s not always formative. Sometimes what’s deep isn’t discipleship. It’s entrenchment. People know where they stand, but not always where they’re being led.

The Church Plant

Then there’s the church plant. These congregations radiate clarity around mission. Leaders often work tirelessly to articulate culture, communicate values, and build something from scratch. It’s exciting. There’s energy. Everyone knows why they’re there—because they chose to be.

Church plants often gather a mix: new Christians, spiritual seekers, and Christians transitioning from other churches. That diversity is a gift. But it also means the church is rarely homogenous in theological understanding, spiritual maturity, or expectations around church life.

This generosity of welcome creates a beautifully porous front door. But it also makes it hard to know where people are in the journey—and what belonging looks like after the first six months. Leadership is busy building, preaching, evangelising. But without clear pathways for spiritual growth and shared commitment, some things remain assumed but unspoken.

People may stay on the fringe for years—serving, giving, even leading—without ever knowing if they’re truly part of the family.

And the back door of a church plant is well worn. People leave for all sorts of reasons. Sometimes they simply move on—it wasn’t the right fit, or the connections never quite took. But in some heartbreaking cases, people have left wounded. Churches that prized mission above all else sometimes failed to notice those who were struggling. In rare but real situations, missional zeal has even masked spiritual harm. The shepherds, meant to protect, have instead hurt the sheep. And the damage can run deep.

When Ambiguity Wears Thin

At first, ambiguity on memberships feels like grace. No pressure to commit. Just space to explore. And for many, that’s a gift. It lowers the temperature. It makes room for questions. It lets people breathe.

But grace isn’t the absence of shape.

Over time, that open-endedness starts to fray. Because people don’t just need welcome—they need something to walk toward.

• Discipleship becomes self-managed. Everyone is encouraged to grow, but no one knows what growth looks like here. Or who’s helping them get there.
• Pastoral care becomes foggy. Leaders hesitate to reach out, unsure whether someone sees them as a shepherd or just a speaker.
• Generosity becomes hesitant. People give what they can, when they can, but not out of covenant. More like goodwill. Something extra, not essential.
• And discipline? It vanishes altogether. Not because no one believes in holiness, but because no one’s sure who has consented to the journey. If no one is clearly “in,” no one can be lovingly, clearly called back.

Ambiguity might feel like wisdom, but it’s not the same. It can shelter seekers for a season—but it can’t shape saints. At least not the kind of saints who will take seriously the call to take up their cross and follow Jesus?

Eventually, someone will ask—maybe after a conflict, maybe after being overlooked—“Who is this church for?”

And in that moment, openness won’t be enough. There needs to be something more. Not walls, but foundations. Not exclusion, but definition. A shared understanding of who we are, and what we’re committed to becoming—together.

The Weight of Pastoral Care and Shared Responsibility

Pastors aren’t called to watch over everyone who visits—they’re called to shepherd those who’ve committed to their care (Heb. 13:17).

Without clear membership, this relationship becomes blurry. Is this advice or accountability? Is this a flock or a crowd?

Preaching feels optional. Correction feels invasive. Discipline becomes incoherent.

Jesus envisioned a church where people could be called to repentance—not harshly, but lovingly (Matt. 18:15–17). But that only works when there’s something people have joined.

The goal isn’t control—it’s Christlikeness. And for that to happen, there has to be a clear “us.”

This isn’t about rigid rules. It’s about recovering a framework for serious love. Love that warns. That walks. That says: come home.

That kind of care is weighty. But it’s freeing. It means pastors can lead with clarity. Members can trust one another. And discipline, when needed, is mercy—not rejection.

Toward a Hopeful Recovery: Belonging for the Sake of Growth

Most churches don’t avoid membership because they don’t care. They avoid it because they care deeply—about welcome, accessibility, and openness.

But what if clear belonging isn’t the opposite of welcome? What if it’s the next step?

Membership doesn’t have to be a barrier. It can be a hand held out, a quiet yes, a public prayer. It can say: you are part of us.

Especially in our context—evangelical, Anglican, and planted in a culture of choice—we need ways to say that Christian life is shared life.

Recovering meaningful membership means fresh language and maybe ancient practices: a commitment class, a public welcome, prayerful affirmation. Expectations made clear—shared life, obedience, generosity, care, growth.

It will mean resources going into activities that are for members, not just attenders. Of course, as I've written elsewhere, "church is made up of sinners—some visible, some hidden, some assured, some doubting". We will have members who are not united with Christ. Yet through membership, a means is provided to call people to take a serious account of their faith and life.

Done well, it won’t drive people away. It will draw them deeper.

Because the church isn’t an event. Or a brand.

It’s a body. A people. Clear in its boundaries—not to keep people out, but to help them truly come in as apprentices of the God-Man Jesus Christ.