By Larry W. Lundstrom
The first time I saw a global map light up in real time—each dot representing someone watching The Chosen in a different language—it didn’t feel like data. It felt like Pentecost.
Streams of color pulsed from Cairo to São Paulo to Seoul, and somewhere between the dashboards and the prayers, I realized: we’re not just broadcasting stories; we’re building systems of encounter.
That tension has followed me for twenty-five years. I’ve worked with megachurches and start-ups, Silicon Valley engineers and street-level pastors. I’ve watched algorithms outpace attention spans and mission teams out-pray budgets. Somewhere in the middle sits a question I can’t shake:
How do we design for spiritual transformation in an age obsessed with scale?
The Myth of Scale and the Miracle of Presence
Every leadership book promises scale. Bigger audiences, larger funnels, exponential reach. And yet the Gospel has always moved at the speed of presence—Jesus walking, touching, noticing.
I’ve watched ministries chase growth through automation only to discover they’ve automated themselves out of relationship. Technology makes a great servant but a terrible shepherd.
The most transformative systems I’ve ever built were never about bandwidth; they were about belonging. In one season we wired up a virtual support center during the pandemic—450 volunteers, 2,500 neighbors served, a city held together by prayer and cloud telephony. The code was useful, but the miracle was that strangers became family across a fiber line.
What Shifted
When the world shut down, the church’s operating system was tested. Suddenly “digital ministry” wasn’t an innovation—it was survival. Sermons streamed from living rooms. Small groups became Zoom rooms. Donations moved online overnight.
Many discovered that the church wasn’t a building at all; it was a distributed network of hearts.
Out of that chaos came a deeper clarity for me: every system—every CRM, every campaign—should exist to amplify care. The goal isn’t virality; it’s visibility of the people who might otherwise be invisible.
That’s why I started building what I now call “mission architecture”: frameworks that let compassion scale without becoming mechanical.
Organizations That ‘Get It’ Have THIS IN Common
Across continents, I’ve seen a new generation of faith-driven organizations who “get it.”
They treat storytelling as discipleship, data as discernment, and technology as table-setting.
A church in São Paulo uses audience analytics not to chase clicks but to find pockets of spiritual hunger.
A nonprofit in Cairo built a multilingual chatbot—not to replace missionaries but to connect seekers safely under censorship.
A network in Bangkok integrates broadcast, WhatsApp groups, and in-person gatherings so seamlessly that a digital visitor can find a living community within days.
Each one is architecting impact: designing with empathy, not ego.
Designing for Depth
Discipleship is slow work. Algorithms reward speed.
If we’re not careful, we build cathedrals of content that never form souls.
The architecture of faith impact demands new metrics.
Instead of asking, How many watched? we should ask, Who was changed?
Instead of, How fast did we grow? try, How deeply did we love?
This requires cross-functional teams who pray as readily as they prototype. Engineers who understand incarnational ministry. Pastors who speak the language of data ethics. Boards willing to invest not only in marketing but in mental health and mentoring for their teams.
That’s what a kingdom operating system looks like—one where human dignity is the default setting.
The Quiet Technology Beneath It All
For the tech enthusiasts: yes, the infrastructure matters.
Automation can free humans to do more human work.
Cloud systems can make generosity frictionless.
AI can personalize pathways for seekers in ways a single staff could never manage.
But these tools are only holy if they serve the mission, not supplant it.
My rule of thumb is simple: If it doesn’t increase empathy, it’s not innovation—it’s noise.
I love building elegant systems, but elegance without empathy is just efficient emptiness.
What’s Next
I believe the next decade of global ministry will be defined by integrated design—where technology, theology, and community development converge.
Imagine global networks sharing open-source discipleship tools the way developers share code.
Imagine donor platforms that measure outcomes in baptisms and community health, not just dollars.
Imagine mission agencies collaborating across continents through shared data standards that protect privacy and promote partnership.
We don’t need another app; we need an architecture of alignment—where purpose drives product.
That’s the frontier I’m chasing: systems that help the Church live out Ephesians 4 in digital form—equipping the saints for the work of ministry, until we all reach unity in the faith.
A NEW Blueprint IS EMERGING
If you lead, build, code, or create in the name of Christ, here’s the blueprint I keep taped inside my journal:
- Presence over performance. People before dashboards.
- Formation over frequency. Depth beats output.
- Integration over imitation. Design from conviction, not competition.
- Humility over hype. Technology changes; truth doesn’t.
- Love as the ultimate metric. If it doesn’t increase love, start over.
The future of faith isn’t about keeping up with innovation—it’s about leading it with integrity. We’re not just managing content or campaigns; we’re architecting encounters with the living God.
And if we do it right, the systems we build will fade into the background, and what will remain are people who found hope, justice, and joy because the Church learned to speak in the language of their century.
The hum of servers continues, but so does the still, small voice. May we design spaces where both can be heard—and where every click becomes a doorway to grace.
The Collective Agency : : Marketing, Creative & Innovation for Faith-Based Impact 