Ministry Companions: Who to Plant Alongside
By W.J de Kock, ThD
Educational Consultant to Partners in Ministry
Professor of Practical Theology at Palmer Theological Seminary of Eastern University
8 minute read
The smart gardeners are already out there playing botanical matchmaker. While everyone else debates whether to water or not to water, they're plotting companion gardens with the glee of someone arranging the world's most productive dinner party. This is the season for strategic partnerships—where beans climb corn stalks, basil keeps aphids away from tomatoes, and marigolds stand guard like floral bouncers against unwanted pests. The ancient wisdom still holds: some partnerships make each plant stronger, while others compete for the same patch of soil until nobody thrives. Companion planting isn't cute; it's science. It's also prophecy for ministry leaders who've spent too many seasons trying to grow in isolation.
Out in the veggie patch, they call it the "Three Sisters"—corn, beans, and squash planted together in an ancient dance of cooperation. The corn provides a natural trellis for the beans to climb. The beans fix nitrogen in the soil, feeding their tall companion. The squash spreads wide at ground level, its broad leaves shading the soil and keeping moisture in while prickly stems deter possums and other uninvited dinner guests. Each sister contributes what the others need most. None of them could pull off this magic solo. It's Indigenous agriculture at its most elegant: diversity creating resilience, cooperation producing abundance.[i]
Ministry works the same way, when we're brave enough to plant thoughtfully. The church wasn't designed as a collection of individual pots lined up in neat, non-touching rows. It's a living ecosystem where different gifts, temperaments, and callings are meant to support each other's growth. Some relationships provide structure for others to lean on. Some fix the spiritual nitrogen that feeds the whole community. Some spread wide, creating protective cover for the more vulnerable plantings. And yes, some partnerships naturally deter the ministry pests that love to nibble tender shoots—burnout, isolation, that peculiar brand of criticism that sucks the life out of everything it touches.
The Preacher in Ecclesiastes knew this
"Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor. If either of them falls down, one can help the other up."[ii] Then comes the kicker: "A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."³ That's not just friendship advice; it's agricultural wisdom translated into Hebrew poetry. Strong partnerships aren't accidents. They're planted with intention, tended with care, and spaced according to what each person needs to flourish.
Start with identifying your ministry corn—the tall, sturdy types who provide structure others can rely on. These are the leaders with deep roots and steady presence, the ones who don't bend in every wind but offer reliable support when the growing gets tough. They're not necessarily the loudest voices or the busiest hands. Often, they're the quiet anchors who show up consistently, hold space gracefully, and somehow make everyone around them feel a little braver. If you're lucky enough to have corn people in your congregation, plant yourself close enough to benefit from their strength without crowding their root system.
Then there are the beans—the nitrogen-fixers who enrich the soil wherever they grow. These are the encouragers, the ones who leave people feeling more hopeful than when they arrived. They have the gift of drawing life from thin air and sharing it generously. Beans people often don't realise their own value because what they do looks so natural. They're the church members who remember to check on the shy teenager, who notice when someone's missing, who somehow make newcomers feel like they've found home. They need something to rely on, but they give back more than they take.. Let them wind their way into your ministry. The whole ecosystem will be richer for it.²
And every healthy ministry garden needs its squash people—the ones who spread wide, creating protective cover and keeping the weeds at bay. These are your boundary-setters, your practical wisdom keepers, your "loving no" specialists who somehow manage to shield the community from drama while still letting the good stuff grow. Squash people often get taken for granted because they work at ground level, doing the unglamorous job of covering the vulnerable spaces. But without them, the tender shoots get scorched and the pests move in unchallenged. Honour your squash people. Learn from them. And if you happen to be one yourself, know that the spreading work is holy work, even when nobody notices.[iii]
Companion planting also teaches the art of pest deterrence through partnership.
In the garden, certain plants naturally repel insects that would otherwise feast on their neighbours. Basil keeps aphids away from tomatoes. Chives discourage carrot flies. Nasturtiums act as trap crops, luring cucumber beetles away from the vegetables you actually want to harvest. In ministry, some relationships have the same protective quality. That mentor who helps you recognise unhealthy patterns before they take root. The peer who laughs at the right moments and refuses to let you take yourself too seriously. The wise elder who's seen enough seasons to spot trouble brewing and gentle enough to redirect without shaming.
But here's where the metaphor gets uncomfortable: not every plant makes a good companion. Some combinations compete for the same nutrients. Others release chemicals that inhibit their neighbours' growth. Eucalyptus trees are notorious for this—they produce allopathic compounds that can knock the life out of tomatoes, capsicum, and spuds planted too close. It's nature's version of "this patch is mine, mate," and it works a treat. In ministry terms, there are relationships that look healthy on the surface but slowly poison the soil around them. The colleague whose constant complaints begin to shape your own perspective. The volunteer whose need for control strangles initiatives before they can take root. The friendship that only flourishes when feeding on gossip about others.
This isn't about judgment; it's about ecology. Some people are wonderful individually but toxic in certain combinations. The key is learning to recognise these patterns before they damage the whole garden. Sometimes it means creating physical distance. Sometimes it means setting clearer boundaries. And sometimes it means the hard work of changing your own growing conditions so the relationship can shift from competitive to complementary.[iv]
The timing of companion planting matters too.
Some seeds need to be started together. Others require staggered planting—corn established first, then beans planted a few weeks later when the stalks are strong enough to support climbers. In ministry relationships, this translates to understanding seasons of vulnerability and strength. New leaders need different companions than seasoned veterans. People in crisis need different support than those in growth phases. The mentor who's perfect for launching a new ministry might not be the right companion for sustaining it long-term.
Spacing is equally crucial.
Plant too close and you create competition for resources—sunlight, water, nutrients. Plant too far apart and you lose the mutual benefits that make companion planting worthwhile. Ministry relationships require the same delicate calibration. Some partnerships thrive on frequent, close contact. Others need breathing room to maintain their distinctive contributions. The art is reading the signs: when someone starts looking a bit wilted despite good intentions, when conversations begin feeling strained rather than life-giving, when the fruits of partnership diminish rather than multiply.
Perhaps most importantly, companion planting teaches the value of diversity. Monocultures—whether corn fields or church leadership teams—are vulnerable to pests and disease in ways that diverse ecosystems resist naturally. A congregation filled with only one personality type, one generation, one socioeconomic background, or one theological perspective is like a garden with only tomatoes: efficient to maintain, perhaps, but fragile in the face of challenges that require different kinds of resilience.
The strongest ministry ecosystems cultivate intentional diversity—not just in demographics, but in spiritual gifts, temperaments, life experiences, and ways of engaging faith. They make space for the contemplatives and the activists, the detail-oriented and the big-picture thinkers, the steady anchors and the creative disruptors. They understand that the corn people need the bean people need the squash people, and that trying to create a garden with only your favourite variety is a recipe for eventual collapse.³
This is where the theological rubber meets the road.
Paul's image of the body of Christ isn't just poetic metaphor; it's agricultural wisdom applied to spiritual community. "The eye cannot say to the hand, 'I don't need you!' And the head cannot say to the feet, 'I don't need you!'"[v] Each part contributes something essential that the others lack. The diversity isn't a bug to be managed; it's a feature to be celebrated and cultivated.
As October winds down and summer looms, the companion gardeners are already seeing the fruit of their strategic partnerships. The corn stands tall and strong. The beans are climbing vigorously, their roots busy fixing nitrogen for next season's abundance. The squash is spreading its protective canopy, keeping the soil cool and the weeds discouraged. Each sister is doing what she does best, and the whole plot is thriving in ways that would be impossible if they were growing in isolation.
The invitation for ministry leaders is equally clear: stop trying to grow alone. Look around your ecosystem with new eyes. Who are your corn people, providing structure and stability? Who are your beans people, enriching the soil with encouragement and hope? Who are your squash people, creating protective space and deterring the pests that would otherwise nibble everyone to death? And what kind of companion are you to others? What do you bring to the shared soil that makes everyone else stronger?
Plant with intention. Tend with wisdom. Trust that diversity creates resilience and that the strongest cord is woven from multiple strands. In the economy of the kingdom, as in the ecology of the garden, we were never meant to bear fruit in isolation. The Three Sisters have been teaching this lesson for centuries. Maybe we are ready to listen.
[i] "Milkwood. "Companion Planting with Permaculture: Follow The Plants." February 19, 2025. https://www.milkwood.net/2025/02/19/companion-planting-with-permaculture/.
[ii] Ecclesiastes 4:9-12, NIV
[iii] Sustainable Brisbane. "A Beginner's Guide to Companion Planting." Last modified September 29, 2025. https://www.sustainablebrisbane.com.au/a-beginners-guide-to-companion-planting/.
[iv] Same as above.
[v] 1 Corinthians 12:21, NIV.