When the Real Battle is in the Business Meeting

Let me go ahead and say it so we’re not pretending: Some of the nastiest fights I’ve ever seen didn’t happen in the streets.

They happened in the sanctuary—right after someone opened in prayer.

And I’m not talking about spiritual warfare.

I’m talking about Sister Barbara and Brother Steve arguing over carpet colors like it’s life or death. I’m talking about a “church business meeting” that turns into a courtroom… but messier.

And listen, I get it. People have opinions. People have history. People have feelings about bylaws and bulletins and which side of the church the piano should be on.

But somewhere in the middle of all our budget reports and building plans, we’ve lost the plot.

We’re not fighting for the Kingdom.

We’re fighting to be right.

And we’ve gotten so comfortable with it—so used to the tension, the politics, the side-eyes during announcements—that we’ve started calling dysfunction “just how it is.”

But let me lovingly say this with my whole chest:

If we have more energy for arguing than for intercession, we are off mission.

Church is not a boardroom.

It’s not a place to prop up your preferences, flex your title, or “outvote” someone you don’t like.

It’s the Body of Christ.

And the last time I checked, a body can’t fight itself and still be healthy.

Galatians 5:15 says, “If you bite and devour one another, watch out that you are not consumed by one another.” In other words: y’all are gonna eat each other alive if you don’t stop.

And don’t get me wrong—business meetings are important. Stewardship matters. Order matters. Planning matters. But we’ve got to stop letting our meetings turn into battlegrounds where egos go to war and the Spirit quietly leaves the room.

And I’ll never forget one particular committee meeting I sat in.

The room was already tense—one of those “smiling through gritted teeth” kind of meetings. The subject of internal conflict came up (again), and an older lady—one I actually really respect, who had her hands in pretty much everything—looked at me and said:

“Ashley, if the church voted to paint the conference room purple, but you hated purple, wouldn’t you have a problem with that?”

And without even thinking, I said:

“I’m more concerned about people being fed in this room than I am with what color it is.”

Because seriously… what are we even doing if we care more about the paint than the people?

The carpet than the calling?

The committee than the community?

And look—I’ve seen things I wish I hadn’t.

I’ve seen people position themselves on committees they had no business still serving on—just to control decisions they shouldn’t even have a say in. I’ve watched bylaws be quietly changed without any vote or transparency.

I’ve seen people tear down church employees who were voted in and doing their jobs with excellence—just because they weren’t bending to someone’s completely unreasonable demands.

I’ve sat in meetings where the most vocal people weren’t defending truth—they were bullying the very people keeping the church afloat.

And yes, I’ve seen people argue about paying church staff a livable wage—while we sat on tens of thousands of dollars in a checking account like we were trying to win Church of the Year for best savings strategy.

Since when did the Church become a vault?

The purpose of the Church is not to collect and hoard money—it’s to use it. To serve. To take care of the people who take care of the ministry. To meet the needs of the hurting around us. To be a place of refuge, not a board meeting with a cross over it.

And you know what? It’s always the loudest voices that cause the most division.

It’s rarely the ones showing up early and doing the actual work. It’s the ones who demand control without ever submitting to Christlike humility.

I remember sitting in one meeting while a faithful church employee was being torn apart for no reason—no legitimate concerns, no misconduct, just a campaign to tear her down because she didn’t cater to the wrong people’s egos. She ran things with excellence. You never had to worry when she was in charge. But that wasn’t enough for them.

And in that moment, I felt like I was the only one speaking up.

And because I did? I was painted as the problem.

Not the one causing the harm—but the one refusing to stay silent about it.

Not the one stirring division—but the one calling for accountability. Not the one throwing punches—but the one trying to stop the bleeding.

That’s the danger of church culture that values comfort over conviction: the people who stand for what’s right start looking like the enemy.

So if we’re gonna fight in church—then please let it be for the right reasons. Let it be because we are defending the voiceless. Let it be because someone is being mistreated. Let it be because the culture has become toxic, and nobody wants to say it. Let it be because Jesus flipped tables for less.

This is what happens when we major in the minors. When we confuse preference with purpose. When we think church is about us, instead of about Jesus.

We’re not here to build empires or prove points.

We’re here to make Jesus known.

So the next time you step into a meeting, ask yourself: Is what I’m about to say Spirit-led or self-serving? Am I building the church—or just building my case? Is this really about stewardship… or is it about control?

Because the world is watching.

And they’re not turned off by Jesus.

They’re turned off by us acting like Jesus was optional once we got a title.

Let’s be better.

Let’s hold people accountable with grace.

Let’s express concerns with love.

Let’s disagree without disqualifying.

Let’s lead with humility, not hierarchy.

And for the love of all things holy—can we please pray before we meet?