Most vestry members were asked. Someone (a warden, a rector, a friend in the pew) caught them off guard during coffee hour or maybe slipped it in quietly at the passing of the peace: “Have you ever thought about serving on the vestry?” And they said yes, maybe with some hesitation, maybe out of a sense of obligation they wouldn’t quite call guilt. They know it’s a hard seat to fill. They show up anyway.
What they probably didn’t expect is what they’d walk away with.
A vestry is the elected lay leadership body of an Episcopal congregation, led alongside the rector. The comparison to a corporate board of directors gets made often, and you can see why. But a vestry is Spirit-led, accountable to a community and a calling, not just a budget and bylaws.
Vestry service can still prepare you for that kind of role. It can prepare you for a lot of things, actually. The church has always been this: a place where people discover gifts they didn’t know they had, in the company of people who want them to succeed.
Think about the singers. Elvis Presley. Whitney Houston. Beyoncé. Katy Perry. They didn’t start on a concert stage. They started in a church choir, with an audience that was rooting for them, a community that showed up week after week to hear them grow. Leadership formation works the same way. When you step up in a parish context, the people around you are invested in your development. They want to see you excel. That’s a rare environment.
The vestry is one of the best places in a person’s life to learn how to lead. Not because it’s easy, but because it matters and the community wants you to succeed. The skills that come out of vestry service are real and specific, not just a vague sense that you’ve “done leadership.” Serve as treasurer for your parish’s annual fundraiser and you’ve got the beginnings of a resume for the school PTO or a local nonprofit board. Stand up to present that report to a room full of people who care deeply about their church, and you’ve just done public speaking under pressure. Run a committee through a contentious decision and you’ve practiced something most corporate managers never get formal training in. And if your parish goes through a rector search while you’re serving, you’ve essentially led an executive search process, navigating discernment, community input, and high-stakes decision-making all at once.
When you carry those skills into the wider community, you go with both experience and a base of support. The parish that helped form you doesn’t disappear. It becomes part of what you bring.
Nobody frames it this way when they ask you to serve; we just say the parish needs you. What we don’t always say is that we’re also forming you for something beyond these walls, and we were never meant to keep that to ourselves. We say it every Sunday, right at the end of the Eucharist: “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” The church has always lifted people up for the world, not just for the pew. Someday you’ll look across the pew and recognize gifts in someone that they haven’t claimed yet. That’s the moment the cycle becomes spiritual: you were lifted up so you could lift someone else.
The observation that the church has always lifted people up for the world, not just for the pew, captures something important about how communities develop leadership in ways that purely transactional institutions cannot replicate, because the investment is relational and the stakes are genuinely shared. What would it mean for schools and trusts to think of themselves in similar terms, as communities that are consciously forming people for something beyond the institution itself?