Community Without Commitment Isn’t Really Community
Phil Smith and Jill Heisey

For several years, we’ve researched and written about loneliness and the longing Christians share for deep, Christ-centered community.  So when we recently read that 68 percent of church small-group participants say their group would support them in a time of need, we felt encouraged. A majority, it seems, are experiencing something like real belonging.

But 68 percent is not everyone. And since only about four in ten people who attend church are involved in a small group at all, likely well under half of those gathering with us on Sunday would say they have a Christian community they can count on when life gets hard.

That reality feels far from the heart of God.

In Genesis 2, God declares that it is not good for humans to be alone. In response, He creates for Adam an ezer—a helper, someone who comes to the rescue. This word, often used in Scripture to describe God Himself, reveals something profound: We reflect God’s image when we show up for one another in moments of real vulnerability and need.

Jesus’ life and teaching reinforce this vision. On the night before His crucifixion, He commanded His disciples to love one another, explaining that this love would be the distinguishing mark of His followers. Christian love was always meant to look different from the norms of the surrounding culture. It asks us to keep showing up beyond convenience, to lean in when walking away would be easier, and to remain present when support becomes costly.

The New Testament writers echo this call through forty-seven “one another” commands: serve one another, pray for one another, welcome one another, bear one another’s burdens, encourage one another, show hospitality to one another, and many more. When we step back and consider these instructions together, one word captures their essence: commitment.

Commitment stands in tension with a culture shaped by convenience. We prefer relationships that are efficient, reciprocal, and comfortable. Yet many seasons of community invite unequal investment. They require patience, persistence, and care. By design, deep relationships disrupt our “what’s in it for me” instincts.

Relational commitment always costs us something. It costs time—rearranging schedules, lingering longer than planned, making room for people who don’t fit neatly into our lives. It costs emotional energy—listening deeply, staying present, choosing empathy over efficiency. Sometimes it costs far more: resources, reputation, comfort, even certainty.

And yet we have seen people gladly pay that cost—and be transformed by it.

The Power of Capital Shared in Community
In our work with HOPE International, a Christ-centered global economic development nonprofit, we’ve spent years observing savings groups around the world. In contexts where formal financial services are readily available, it can be hard to imagine the transformative potential of having access to a lump sum of capital. But for people marginalized by poverty, these groups are often a lifeline.

Groups comprise roughly twenty members, each contributing a small weekly sum. Over time, the pooled savings enable members to offer loans to one another to invest in income-generating opportunities that help them gradually work their way out of poverty. But as these groups meet week after week, another remarkable transformation takes shape: Members begin to care for one another like family.

This kind of commitment changes lives. Sometimes quietly. Sometimes dramatically. And sometimes, as in the story of Jeanette—a savings group member in Rwanda—it does both at once.

Jeanette’s Story
Jeanette grew up in circumstances no child should have to endure. She was abused, rejected, and eventually driven from her home by her stepfather. Without education and bearing the effects of years of physical abuse, she struggled to find work. She survived by begging and slept in bushes on the outskirts of town.

Her life became even more precarious when she became pregnant through rape. The stigma of unwed motherhood further isolated her; even her church turned her away. Jeanette was not only homeless and vulnerable, but spiritually alone. Her young son was her sole source of love, companionship, and hope.

Eventually, Jeanette encountered a female pastor who welcomed her without conditions and introduced her to one of HOPE’s savings groups. For the members of that group, however, welcoming Jeanette could have been seen as a counterintuitive decision.

She arrived with immense need and little to offer materially. She had no job, no spouse, no family safety net—only a child entirely dependent on her. The group members, whose own resources were modest, could have reasonably chosen self-protection. Instead, they chose commitment.

They welcomed Jeanette. They helped her find work carrying water from a public tank to neighbors’ homes, empowering her to stop begging. But when the group learned where Jeanette had been living, they faced another decision: Would they look away, or step in?

One day, the group’s president gave voice to what many felt. How, he asked, could they rest in their homes while their “daughter,” Jeanette, and her son slept outside with no shelter? To do nothing, he said, would be a shame before God.

What followed was not debate but action. The group decided to build a house for Jeanette. They contributed what they had—tools, labor, time, and money from both their emergency fund and personal resources. Week after week they worked, even as neighbors mocked them for investing so much in someone with such low social standing. As one member explained, “We wanted to show our neighbors that a church is not just a temple, but a loving and caring family.”

When Jeanette and her son moved into the house, she dedicated it as a house of prayer. Every Friday night she opened her door to others. Over time, neighbors gathered, prayers were shared, and people came to faith. What began as compassion became a compelling witness: See how they love one another.

Jeanette’s story does not end as we might hope. Her estranged family reclaimed the land on which her house was built, forcing her to start over in another town—safe from abuse, but separated from the community that had become her family. From the outside, the group’s effort might have appeared wasted.

But when asked whether they would do it again, the question puzzled them. Of course they would. Jeanette is family.

That response reveals the heart of Christ-centered community. Love is not measured by outcomes, nor is commitment validated only by visible success. Sometimes faithfulness bears obvious fruit. Sometimes it does not. Either way, love remains worth it.

Stories like Jeanette’s can inspire—but they can also overwhelm. Not everyone can build a house. Still, the heart of Christian community is not found in extraordinary capacity, but in ordinary commitment.

If it is truly not good for us to be alone, then our communities should increasingly make that truth visible—not in theory, but in practice. 

So what might it look like to live this out, faithfully and imperfectly, where we are? To show our neighbors—and remind ourselves—that the church is a loving and caring family?

Here are a few places to begin:

1. Choose Presence Over Efficiency: Stay longer. Ask a second question. Listen without rushing to fix. Presence—especially when inconvenient—is often the first real cost of belonging.
2. Commit Before You Feel Ready: Community rarely forms after conditions improve; it forms when people choose one another even amid uncertainty.
3. Redesign Your Rhythms: Deep relationships require more than leftover time. Consider what needs to change so community becomes a priority rather than an optional add-on.
4. Pray for a Sensitive Spirit: Ask God to help you see and then respond to needs around you. Covenant that in your Christian community, no one walks through hardship alone. 
5. Start Small, Start Where You Are: One relationship. One invitation. One act of consistent presence. Faithfulness, sustained over time, transforms us and others.

We long for a Church where relationships deepen rather than dissolve when life feels like it’s falling apart. With God’s grace, let’s commit to building it—together.

Phillip N. Smith is the Senior Development Ambassador at HOPE International. He previously served as HOPE’s senior director of savings group programs, leading the organization’s global team. Prior to joining HOPE, Phil served as an executive pastor, corporate executive, and in senior leadership with World Relief, and has served on many boards over the years. Phil and his wife, Becca, have lived in the United Kingdom, Canada, and Rwanda, and currently reside in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. He is coauthor of The Way Back to One Another.

Jill Heisey is a writer who is passionate about helping leaders and nonprofits share their stories. She has collaborated on the books Lead with Prayer, Rooting for Rivals, and The Gift of Disillusionment; written the children’s book Keza Paints a Bright Future; and authored articles featured on Christianity Today’s Better Samaritan blog. She is coauthor of How Leaders Lose Their Way. Jill graduated from Messiah University with degrees in politics and Spanish and resides outside Washington, DC, with her husband, Bryan, and their two daughters.