When Church Looks Like Network Marketing (Part Two)

John Cook • January 25, 2026

When Church Looks Like Network Marketing (Part Two):
Where the Comparison Breaks—and Why It Matters

In Part One, I explored why church and network marketing can feel similar.

Both rely on relationships.


Both grow through word of mouth.


Both involve invitation, commitment, and community.


For a long time, that comparison made sense to me—because I’ve lived in both worlds. I’ve been involved in network marketing for years. I understand how momentum works, how encouragement fuels growth, and how belief in what you’re offering makes all the difference.


But here’s what I didn’t fully understand at first:

The danger isn’t noticing the similarities.
The danger is stopping there.


Because when church is treated too much like a network marketing organization, something subtle but important starts to break.

And it took me a while to see it.


When Metrics Quietly Replace Ministry

In network marketing, numbers matter. They have to.


Volume. Rank. Growth. Retention.


Those metrics tell you whether something is working.


Churches don’t talk about “metrics” the same way—but they exist all the same.

Attendance numbers.

 Offering totals.

 Volunteer counts.
Program participation.


None of those things are wrong on their own. But somewhere along the way, I realized how easy it is for good measurements to become primary motivations.


When growth becomes the goal instead of the fruit.

When people are celebrated more for showing up than for being known.

When success feels louder than transformation.


That’s when church starts drifting into territory it was never meant to occupy.


The Pressure Problem

Network marketing carries pressure by design.


You feel it when you’re expected to recruit.
When you’re encouraged to “push through.”
When positivity becomes mandatory and doubt feels like failure.


What surprised me was recognizing similar pressure in church environments—not always spoken, but often felt.

 Pressure to attend every service.
Pressure to serve quickly.
Pressure to plug in, give, commit, align.


Again, none of those things are inherently bad.

But pressure changes the posture.


Jesus never pressured people into faith.

 He invited them.


“Follow me” wasn’t a quota—it was an open door.


When church shifts from invitation to obligation, people don’t feel drawn—they feel weighed down.


And I’ve felt that weight before.


Why the Gospel Can’t Be Sold

This is where the comparison finally fell apart for me.


Products—even good ones—solve temporary problems.
Faith addresses eternal ones.


In network marketing, clarity and persuasion are essential. You explain benefits. You overcome objections. You help people see value.


But the Gospel doesn’t work that way.


Jesus isn’t a product to be positioned.
Salvation isn’t an offer to be optimized.
Faith isn’t a funnel.


The moment we try to sell the Gospel, we reduce it.


Because transformation doesn’t happen through convincing arguments—it happens through encounter, surrender, and grace.


That realization changed how I view “sharing” my faith.


My Personal Shift

For a long time, I subconsciously treated faith the same way I treated business.


If I shared it well enough, maybe it would “work.”
If I explained it clearly, maybe someone would “buy in.”


But faith isn’t about outcomes I can track.


Now, my focus is different.

I try to show up consistently.
I try to listen more than speak.
I try to love people without attaching a result to it.


I don’t need to close anything.


I just need to be faithful.


A Healthier Way Forward

Church was never meant to run like a business—even a well-intentioned one.


It was meant to be a place of presence, not performance.
A place of patience, not pressure.
A place where people are welcomed before they are counted.


Sharing faith doesn’t require strategy.
It requires authenticity.


And growth—real growth—comes not from systems or slogans, but from lives quietly changed over time.


That’s the difference I finally saw.


And once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

-John

By John Cook January 18, 2026
When Church Looks Like Network Marketing — And Why I Finally Saw the Difference
By John Cook December 25, 2025
On Christmas Eve, we pause between the twinkle of lights and the glow of the manger. It’s a quiet space — somewhere between wrapping paper and reverence, between tradition and truth. The house feels different tonight. Softer. Slower. Even the noise of the season seems to take a breath. And in that pause, I find myself thinking about hope. There is a difference between Santa’s joy and the hope of Jesus — but that doesn’t mean one must cancel out the other. Santa represents something real, even if the character himself isn’t. He brings wonder. Generosity. Imagination. For children especially, Santa becomes a symbol of goodness — that someone is watching, that kindness is rewarded, that joy can show up unexpectedly. Those moments matter. They shape memories. They teach us to give. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But Jesus brings a different kind of hope. A deeper one. While Santa’s joy lives in a season, Jesus’ hope lives beyond it. The Christmas tree sparkles with beauty and warmth. It fills the room and makes everything feel alive. But the manger — simple, quiet, unassuming — tells a story that didn’t begin with comfort and didn’t end with it either. It tells the story of love entering a broken world, not wrapped in luxury, but in humility. Christmas isn’t just about what we celebrate — it’s about why. Jesus didn’t come to create a moment. He came to change eternity. The Bible says, “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.” (Hebrews 6:19) That’s the kind of hope Christmas ultimately points to. A hope that doesn’t fade when the lights come down. A hope that doesn’t disappear when the season ends. A hope that holds steady when life feels uncertain. Faith, at its core, isn’t about having all the answers or getting everything right. It’s about believing that Jesus came out of love — to offer forgiveness, grace, and a relationship with God. It’s about trusting that His birth mattered, not just historically, but personally. And if this season has stirred something in your heart — a curiosity, a longing, a quiet question you haven’t been able to shake — know this: salvation isn’t complicated. It doesn’t require perfection. It begins with trust. With believing. With opening your heart and asking Jesus to lead your life. If that’s something you’re thinking about — or if you’ve made that decision and don’t quite know what comes next — I would genuinely love to hear from you. Send me a message. I’d be honored to talk, listen, or simply walk alongside you in that moment. Tonight, we can celebrate both. The joy of giving. The wonder of tradition. The laughter of children. The warmth of togetherness. But let’s also remember the hope that lasts long after Christmas morning. The hope found not under the tree — but in the manger. Because that hope didn’t just come for a season. It came for you. John Cook • December 24, 2025