The church you hardly see.

If you look at Cuba from the outside, you can hardly see the church.

David Platt went looking for it.

“I met a guy who had a house church, and that church had planted 60 other churches,” he said. And some of those churches had planted dozens of other churches themselves.

They don’t have buildings. They meet in houses. And the multiplication is insane.

David asked them how they do it, and they said simply, “We make disciples.”

“Oh,” he said with a smile. “That’s all.”

The more we complicate the system with programs and buildings, “the more we stifle church multiplication,” David said. “The Word of God and the Spirit of God – that’s all you need.”

This is the story in Cuba. It’s the story in China. It’s the story in India.

“Don’t we want it to be the story where we live?” David said.

It isn’t for pastors or church planters, he says. It’s for every follower of Christ. It’s biblical Christianity.

Let’s be real – it’s not easy. How do we take our jobs as writers, teachers, sandwich makers, accountants, moms and lawyers and make disciples where we are?

Look for the people beside you, David says. Share Christ with them. Let them into your life and see how you live. Pray and show them how you pray. Read the Bible and invite them to do it with you.

And don’t extract them from their old circles of people.

“Teach them to live the way you live among the people they know, and it will multiply,” David says. “We can shake the nations for his glory. Let’s do it knowing that it is costly but He is worth it.”


Want some practical help to make disciples among the people in your life?

The Multiply material is now available on the Multiply website at It’s downloadable in pdf format.


I know that feeling, the one Francis Chan is talking about. The one where you hear the truth just as Jesus spoke it to the rich young ruler and go away sad, heart rent in two.

And then do nothing.

“Jesus told the rich young ruler what he needed to do, and he went away sad (Luke 18). Then Jesus confronted Zacchaeus, another guy who was rich, and he changed his life (Luke 19).”

One was convicted. The other changed, Francis says. And the same two options exist when it comes to another command of Christ’s …

“Go therefore, and make disciples of all nations.”

“I know it’s hard,” Francis says. “I get that. I don’t like to offend people. I don’t like to share my faith. But God Almighty, God my Creator said go make disciples, so I don’t want to sit here and make excuses.”

We know what conviction feels like.

Ripped apart. Lunches after church where we talk about the beating we’ve just taken, or how convicted we felt after the sermon. And then nothing happened. And by that, I mean we did nothing.

Imagine meeting Christ face to face and answering His last command by not being able to produce a single disciple we’ve made.

“To know that command came from the mouth of Christ, and we can’t point to any disciples … I don’t think we realize how huge it is,” Francis says.

Sometimes we mean well.

We just twist that command to fit what we have gotten used to thinking it looks like, how soft we think the pew should feel and how long we want to sit on it. And that’s not OK.

It’s not for us.

“Jesus didn’t look at His disciples and say, ‘Alright, guys, now pair up and disciple each other.'” David Platt says. “The point of our Christian life is not to coast it out in one church for the rest of our life.”

Matthew 28:19 is not a comfortable call to come be baptized and sit in one place.

“It’s a costly command to go.”

What would happen if we did?

“We are on a mission that is guaranteed to succeed,” David says. “I can sit at lunch with a guy in Birmingham and share the gospel compassionately and confidently and know that it has the power to save him.”

And that lunch, that conversation, that mission … it can shake the nations for His glory.

Sometimes we think if Francis Chan or David Platt could have a conversation with the people we know, they’d come to Christ.

“But God put them beside you, in your life – and He knows what He’s doing,” David said.

You have a better chance of reaching the guy who works beside you at Subway than the guy on the corner with a sign or the preacher in the pulpit does, Francis said.


Want some practical help to make disciples among the people in your life?

The Multiply material is now available on the Multiply website at It’s downloadable in pdf format.

Get in on the Gathering.

All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to Me … go therefore and make disciples …

“A lot of people memorize this passage, but are we doing it? Is it happening?”

I’m not gonna lie, this girl misses England. But I’m so excited to be in Birmingham at the right time to be a part of what’s happening at The Church at Brook Hills tonight … thousands of people gathering at the church and via webcast to figure out how to do this together. Francis Chan will be there. David Platt will be there.

It’s going to be straightforward, practical and real. And I need it.

I’ll be blogging here from the Multiply gathering tonight at 7 CST. Want to watch it, too? You can at


It was dark in the tiny apartment living room, except for the florescent desk lamp, cocked upward to face the room’s occupants like an interrogator’s light looking for answers.

If it was seeking out the truth, it found it. The room was full of it.

It was full, period.

Leaving their shoes in a neat heap at the door, barefooted people packed in the place, sitting reverently on mismatched furniture provided by strangers before the apartment’s residents ever set foot on American soil. A few spoke English well. A few spoke it somewhat, others not at all.

All spoke Nepali.

Just months ago, they were refugees, living on the border between Nepal and Bhutan until the UN decided to bring them to Georgia.

“We say we don’t have citizenship anywhere — we are citizens of Heaven,” 27-year-old Suresh says. They were Nepalese, then Bhutanese, then American. They were refugees first. Then believers. Then disciples.

And now disciplers.

Bill — a Georgia boy — faced the small group of Bhutanese believers, his head silhouetted by the desk lamp, and began to share with them the story of Nicodemus, the idea of rebirth, the glorious climax of John 3:16. They knew going in that they would hear this sermon three times — re-preach it themselves, even. Bill told it to them, and Suresh translated. Then Suresh taught it himself to the group in impassioned Nepali. Then they all helped retell it a third time.

The repetition wasn’t just for good measure.

Sarita, Suresh’s sister, would be teaching it the next night in the home of a Hindu priest where two women had recently accepted Christ. Suresh also led a house church for Nepalis. Two others in the room taught groups of their own.

And in the small, fledgling group of believers, there was still need for one more tonight.

“We’ve had the opportunity to have another Bible study in someone’s home, and I want you to be praying about whether God is speaking to your heart about you being the one to lead it,” Bill said.

What if church was always like that? If we listened to the sermon with the intent that we’d be repeating it to others later? If more than half the people who came to church went out and led churches of their own after the service was over?

“What did you learn from the story of Nicodemus?” Bill asked them.

Suresh said he thought the story would speak especially to people with Hindu beliefs, who might have burning questions inside like he used to before he met Christ. Questions like how, if people have to buy things to get right with their hundreds of millions of gods, how poor people could ever afford to get to god? Could Jesus, who loves the whole world, be that easy to get to?

A young Bhutanese boy raised his hand and, pointing at the desk lamp, said, “I learned people live in darkness until they get in the light.”

Bill broke into a huge grin. I couldn’t blame him.

It’s a dim apartment – but the Light from it shines pretty amazingly bright.


Yasin’s only 9, but he’s been around long enough to know.

Long enough to know he shouldn’t be looking at the pictures of naked women that someone at his school keeps texting him.

Long enough to know that Jesus is important. “If I were a superhero, I’d be Victory Man – like ‘victory in Jesus.'”

Long enough to know that if the church people show up to do a Kids Club at his Atlanta-area apartment complex, he should call all the kids in the neighborhood to come.

But don’t assume Yasin really knows.

“I want you to paint a cross on my arm,” he says determinedly and so everyone could hear him, after all the girls have asked for hearts and flowers and butterflies. After the boys have asked for tiger stripes.

I dip into the brown paint and start a simple cross, painting slowly on purpose.

“You were talking about Jesus’ cross earlier,” I asked him. “What do you know about Jesus?”

“I know that He was a really good man. I know that He died on a cross and that there was blood and chunks and stuff everywhere.”

In Yasin’s mind, that’s where it stops.

But thankfully for him, he’s in a blessed place – an apartment complex filled with a kaleidoscope of nationalities, single parents, chicken-factory workers, Hindu priests, abstract artists, political refugees. A place where reggaeton thumps in the parking lot, curry wafts out the windows and face paint marks adults’ devotion, not just kids’ play.

A place where dozens of languages are spoken but one in particular is speaking louder than the others in recent days.


As Yasin’s getting his cross, students from an Alabama church are singing songs about Jesus with south Asian kids, painting the nails of Indian and African-American girls and chatting with Nepali refugee parents. One teenage girl holds a little girl on each hip, clumsily engaging in a game of freeze tag. It’s not the first time the church has been in the complex loving on the people there and it won’t be the last.


A south Asian boy walks up and says, “I want my arm painted.”

“What do you want on it?”

He thinks about that for a minute.


I start to paint. “Do you know who Jesus is?”

He timidly shakes his head – he doesn’t know.

But he knows he should know. And he knows that the people who come from the church love him.

And that’s a great, great start.