*These reflections are adapted from emails I send to our Life Group leaders as part of ongoing small group leader training at our church. They are direct reflections on Cloud and Townsend’s Making Small Groups Work, a book we are reading through slowly together.
I’ve been thinking lately about the question of accountability—not in a heavy or programmatic way, but pastorally.
Do we actually hold one another accountable in Christian community? I feel like we probably should. But I also know that in my own small group, I haven’t really been doing that. We’ve even talked about wanting something like accountability, but if I’m honest, I don’t know that we’ve really followed through.
Part of the hesitation, I think, comes from the baggage many of us carry. I’ve heard plenty of horror stories about overbearing, legalistic accountability groups—situations where control masqueraded as care. I’ve never personally been part of one of those, so I don’t have that kind of trauma myself. But I know some people do, and if that’s you, it’s worth acknowledging.
One experience that was genuinely helpful for me was a Protestant ministry of confession through the Samson Society. We didn’t hold one another accountable in a formal or structured way, but there was something deeply freeing about confessing regularly and knowing that if you didn’t want to talk about it afterward, you didn’t have to. Ironically, that freedom is what made you want to keep talking—especially after a scotch, which was part of our after-confession ritual. It really was a helpful road toward holiness, even if it might scandalize some of our brothers and sisters in Christ.
All of that has made me think that our small groups—and really, our Christian communities more broadly—probably do need some form of intentional accountability. I don’t know what that should look like in every context, because I don’t know what particular struggles people are carrying. But I do hope our communities are becoming places where people feel safe enough to say what they’re struggling with, to confess sin, and to ask for prayer.
That doesn’t necessarily mean creating a formal accountability structure. In fact, it might first require a conversation about what we even mean by accountability. For some people, the word itself is loaded. But even without formal language, something simple can happen: when someone shares a struggle, we make a mental note—I should check in with them and see how they’re doing. In that sense, we practice accountability without necessarily calling it that.
At the same time, I don’t think we should abandon the language altogether if it doesn’t trigger people. Scripture envisions communities shaped by mutual care and exhortation. Hebrews 3:13 describes a people who “exhort one another every day, as long as it is called today,” so that none of us may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin.
Many of us avoid accountability because we’ve seen it done badly, or at least heard stories of it being done badly. But we can’t let the misuse of a good thing keep us from its proper use. Instead of refusing to practice accountability, we need to learn how to practice it well. Simple? Of course not. But I’d rather see us attempt it imperfectly than avoid it entirely.
That’s why I keep coming back to this idea from Making Small Groups Work of Christian community being “in the process of growth and repair” (82). That expectation has to be named and cultivated. We encourage accountability by being loving, confronting gently, being grace-filled, and making this kind of care normal—by talking about it and addressing the discomfort people may feel. Growth implies change. Repair implies brokenness. Both require patience, grace, and truth. Accountability, when practiced with love, gentleness, and humility, becomes part of how that process unfolds.
And of course, the hardest part—for me, at least—is being accountable myself. Finding even small ways to confess, to invite others in, and to make myself accountable. Because if accountability is going to be part of our communities, it has to be modeled—not imposed.
Share This Article
