If you’ve ever wondered who really runs the Adventist Church, look no further than the seasoned church politicians who have been in office since the Review & Herald was printed on papyrus. These brothers (and the occasional sister) have mastered the art of staying in power longer than your local church furnace has been overdue for replacement.
And sure, they’ve earned their stripes… but they’ve also earned a certain creakiness — the kind that comes from decades of meetings where the agenda is mostly “Keep Things Exactly the Same Forever.”
Nothing against experience. But let’s be honest: the average age of an Adventist decision-maker is approximately “still remembers when satellite evangelism was edgy.” And unfortunately, that means younger generations — who bring energy, creativity, tech fluency, and the occasional tattoo hidden under a cardigan — are largely decorative in the halls of power. A nice photo-op. A soloist at Annual Council. A token millennial on a committee that reports to the sub-committee that reports to the committee that makes sure nothing actually changes.
Meanwhile, actual influence is still heavily concentrated in a very small, very centralized slice of Adventism headquartered in Silver Spring, MD — a place best known for its abundance of church bureaucracy, beige carpet, and a deep, abiding commitment to doing things the Adventist way (i.e., slowly).
So here’s your friendly BarelyAdventist warning: Beware of the Establishment.
Not because they’re malicious — they’re not.
But because the system is built to preserve itself, not to evolve.
The good news?
There’s a growing wave of voices, creators, thinkers, and regular pew-warmers who aren’t waiting around for permission from a creaky structure. They’re building new spaces, new conversations, and new communities of faith — ones where input isn’t based on age, geography, or your ability to quote the Church Manual from memory.
Silver Spring may still “run” the church.
But the future?
That belongs to everyone else.
