Free playbook · Adult
The Multiply Week: Adult.
One sermon, seven days. What publishes, who it's for, what it honestly costs in hours. No email box, nothing held back.
Pastor, I'm handing you the whole method.
Not the outline. The actual week... every piece, in the order it publishes, with the real hours attached and the parts that break named out loud. Scroll and take it.
I should tell you why, because there were years I wouldn't have. I treated a content calendar like a trade secret. Mine looked gorgeous in January and was dead by March, and I still would have sold it to you with a straight face. I was the bottleneck in my own system, and I called that stewardship.
The method was never the hard part. The method fits on one page... this one.
Some churches will read this, run it by hand, and never need me. That's a genuinely good outcome... more churches discipling their people Monday through Saturday is the whole point. Others will make it to week three and watch it fall apart. If that's you, at least you'll know exactly what you're buying when we talk.
None of this is theory. It's the observed rhythm at Christchurch Miami, week after week, where one message becomes a full week for adults. Two playbooks run beside this one: the kids week and the youth week.
One sermon
The week, at a glance.
- The sermon, preached
- Complete service online
- Searchable transcript
- Devotional, day one
- Small-group questions
- Devotional, day two
- Blog post from the sermon
- Devotional, day three
- Groups meet on Sunday
- Devotional, day four
- Pull quotes and clips
- Devotional, day five
- Spanish week complete
- The room gets ready
- Next message in the pipeline
Spanish isn't a Friday task. It runs alongside every piece all week, adapted by a person. Friday is only when somebody confirms the week is whole in both languages.
Day by day
What publishes, and what it costs.
The sermon, preached once.
Everything downstream comes from this one hour, which is why the pastor's job ends when the message does. By that evening three things are live: the complete service, the searchable transcript, the kids episode. The transcript is the piece nobody values until it works... it's how a stranger who typed a phrase at eleven at night lands on you.
Day one, and the group questions.
The daily devotional starts, anchored in a passage the sermon actually worked from. The same morning, the week's small-group questions go out from that message, so groups spend their night on what the church just heard instead of a curriculum with no relationship to Sunday. Two people get served: the member who wants Monday connected to yesterday, and the leader who'd otherwise write questions in a parking lot at 6:52.
Day two, and the searchable post.
Day two lands, and so does the blog post drawn from the sermon. Not a recap. Nobody searches for a recap. This answers what a person types into Google, in the pastor's voice, and it's the only piece of the week built for someone who has never heard your church's name. It's also the first thing a tired team cuts.
Day three, and the room where it lands.
The lightest publishing day, because midweek isn't about publishing. Day three goes up, and the groups meet on Monday's questions. This is where the system stops being content and becomes people in a living room saying out loud what they heard Sunday. A week that only works on screens is a media company with a steeple.
Day four, and the pull quotes.
Day four publishes, plus the social: two or three lines lifted from the message, set as graphics, and the short clips. Every one points somewhere... the sermon page, the devotional, Sunday. Social that points at itself is a scoreboard, and scoreboards don't disciple anybody. This day is for the person who left your church quietly three years ago.
Day five, and the turn toward Sunday.
Day five closes the devotional week, and it should not close with a period. The last thing a reader sees on Friday is next Sunday's passage, named plainly: here is where we're headed, read it before you come. A person who knows what's coming arrives differently than a person who shows up cold... and most churches never tell anybody.
Friday is also when somebody confirms the week exists in Spanish... adapted, not run through a translator. A person who speaks it reads every line, because a devotional that sounds machine-translated tells a family they're the secondary congregation. If you can't do that honestly, ship one language well.
One short thing publishes. The invitation.
Not a sixth devotional. Eighty to a hundred and twenty words carrying three things: next week's passage, one sentence on where the message is going, and a plain invitation to be in the room. Both languages. Send it whenever your people actually pick up the phone on a Saturday, which for most churches is morning and not night.
Behind that, the room gets ready and next week's message is already in the pipeline: the passage, the direction, enough for writing to start Sunday night. Saturday is still the tell. If Saturday is when you start writing next week's devotionals, the week is already lost... you just haven't felt it yet.
Everything Monday through Friday was the week. Saturday is the door back in.
The piece most churches get wrong
What a devotional actually is.
Five of the seven days hang on this one form, so here it is, exactly as we build it. A devotional is not a sermon recap and it isn't a thought for the day. It has a shape, and the shape is why it works on a phone at 6:40.
A title. Short, evocative, naming the idea and not the sermon. "The Thing Worth Standing On," never "Colossians 3 Recap." A label is not a title.
Scripture: one passage, one to three verses. Prefer a passage the sermon actually quoted or worked from. And here's the non-negotiable that separates a church tool from a toy: the verse text is never written by a model. Ever. A model paraphrasing scripture from memory is unacceptable in ministry. It supplies a reference only... the words get fetched and attributed. English from the ESV API, Spanish from API.Bible. If the reference won't resolve, drop the scripture block rather than publish something unverified.
Four paragraphs, 55 to 70 words each. Around 250 to 290 words of body, and each paragraph has a job. One: start inside the passage, slow down on one phrase, say what it means. Two: bring in Sunday, what was actually said, naming the preacher when you can. Three: the context that makes it land... or, when the passage is one people weaponize, say plainly what it does not say. Four: land it in the hearer's real life. Prose, not bullets.
Reflect: one question. Pointed, specific to this message, something a person can sit with for a minute. Not "how can you apply this today."
Pray: 35 to 50 words. First person, honest instead of flowery, specific enough that it could only follow this sermon. Ends with Amen.
Two rules govern all of it. Never invent doctrine, illustrations, or statistics the pastor didn't say... stay inside the sermon. And every AI-assisted word gets human review before a congregation reads it. What comes out of a pipeline is a draft for staff, not a publication. The week a church tells me they've stopped reviewing is the week I'd shut the system off.
Watch it assemble on the demo, using your own sermon.
The honest number
What this costs in hours.
Once a system exists
6 to 10 hours a week
Skilled hours, not warm-body hours. Somebody who can write, who knows what the pastor meant, and who can publish without hunting for a login.
Before it exists
12 to 20 hours a week
The first two or three months, while you build templates, settle the voice, decide your Spanish standard, and find out which parts of your publishing path are held together with tape.
Anybody who tells you two hours has either never run a week of this by hand or isn't counting the review. And the hours aren't really the problem. Any single piece is doable on a given Tuesday. The hard part is doing it fifty-two times... in Advent, in July, the week the sermon lands Saturday night, the week your writer has the flu... without the pastor quietly becoming the bottleneck.
Be ready for this
What breaks first.
Week one is fun. Week two is fine. Week three is where I've watched more churches quit than any other point on the calendar, and it rarely breaks where people expect.
It goes in this order, nearly every time.
- The Saturday invitation goes first. It always goes first. It is small, it is last, and it is the only piece of the week that asks somebody to work on a Saturday... so it is the least defended thing on the list, and the week it disappears is the week nobody says a word.
- Then the Friday close stops naming next Sunday's passage, because nobody knows it yet. This one is not laziness, it's a calendar problem wearing a content problem's clothes. Friday can only point at Sunday if Sunday has been decided by Thursday.
- The devotionals get short. Two hundred and fifty words becomes ninety, and ninety words is a caption. Nobody notices for two weeks. Then nobody reads it.
- Somebody pastes scripture from memory or off a random site because the API was one more step. That's the first integrity failure, and it's the one that should scare you.
- Spanish becomes machine-translated. Then late. Then it stops, and the family who noticed will never mention it to you.
- The blog post gets cut, because it's the only piece nobody in the building complains about... and the only piece written for people who aren't in the building.
- The pastor becomes the reviewer of everything. Then the rewriter. Then the writer. Then it's Saturday night and this is one more weight on the person who already carries Sunday.
- The devotional turns into a sermon recap. That's the death rattle. The people reading Monday morning were never asking what you said... they were asking what to do with their Tuesday.
Notice what isn't on that list. Nothing broke because the method was too complicated. It broke because a fifty-two week rhythm was running on one person's discipline, and discipline is not a system.
And one rule for the two pieces that point forward, because the tempting fix is worse than the problem: never name a passage you have not committed to preach. A person who read it Friday, sat with it Saturday, and walked in Sunday to something else learns that this church says whatever gets them in the room. That costs more than a blank week ever would. If the preaching calendar is not far enough out to be honest, drop the line and keep the devotional... then go have the harder conversation about the calendar, which is the actual problem.
So build for week thirty, not week one. Who writes when your writer is sick? What happens when the sermon isn't done until Saturday at nine? Who writes the invitation on a holiday weekend? How far ahead is the preaching calendar actually committed... not sketched, committed? Decide all of that now, not then. Put the scripture fetch in the tooling so skipping it takes more effort than doing it. And keep the human review on the week you're sure you can't spare it, because that's the week you needed it.
The rest of it
Take these too.
The Multiply Week: Kids
The same Sunday, built for a nine-year-old and the parent driving them home.
The Multiply Week: Youth
Same message, different room. What a student gets Monday through Friday.
Watch it run on your own sermon
Paste in last Sunday's message and watch the week assemble. No signup.
The church that actually does this
Christchurch Miami, week after week, two languages, no new staff hires.
Could your church still be running this in week thirty?
Run it yourself if you can. I mean that. And if week three is where it dies, that's the conversation I'd want to have with you. Thirty minutes, no deck.
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