Twenty-eight agents keep vigil over your congregation — noticing who has drifted, who is unwell, who gave for the first time, which lamp is dimming — and bring it to you each Monday as a list of people, not a dashboard of numbers.
Adaeze Okoro was admitted Thursday. Deacon Musa is proposed for a 4 PM visit; the meal train is covered through Friday.
Samuel Johnson has attended once in eight Sundays — since his mother's funeral in June. Warm outreach drafted, no guilt in it.
Two giving dips track absence, not disaffection. Recommended: connection calls, never money calls.
Mrs. Okonkwo — widowed in June — came Sunday, sat alone, left early. Women of Grace visit her Thursday.
A database will tell you what you already asked it. It will not tell you what you didn't think to ask — and that is exactly where people slip away.
Nobody announces that they have stopped coming. By the time a pastor notices, it has usually been months.
Giving falls, attendance thins, a face disappears from a row. The signals exist. Nobody is reading them together.
The pastor. Rosters, bulletins, receipts, filings, follow-up lists — hours a week that were meant for people.
A car blocks the gate, a child needs a parent — and the whole congregation hears about it from the pulpit.
Every agent belongs to a division, the way every worker belongs to a department. They prepare; you decide. Nothing is sent, drafted or begun without a human.
The same morning, told by the things that did not happen.
Route A leaves Ikate with a manifest assigned by need — a wheelchair lift, a new mother, a member three weeks post-surgery — and a briefing written for the driver, because for many riders he is the first minister they meet.
An usher taps a name at the door; the counter climbs. A first-timer is welcomed in one motion, and her journey opens before she reaches her seat.
No announcement. One phone lights up — the owner's — with a kind sentence and a marshal waiting at the gate. Read in forty seconds. Reparked. The congregation never knew.
He is reached where he sits: Amara is asking for you at the Ark Room — she's fine, just tearful. No rush; a worker is with her. Nobody else hears a word of it.
The choir's set is published to the church's own playlists, the message is transcribed into an archive searchable by verse, and Monday's devotional is armed — drawn from the very sermon they heard.
Members open a link, confirm the phone number the church already has for them, and they are recognised — not registered. Then they add it to their home screen. No app store, no download, nothing to approve.
Inside: every sermon ever preached, the choir's own music, giving in one tap with a receipt, a prayer or a visit requested privately, their seat on the bus, directions to any campus, and a doctor when they need one.
And for members without smartphones, everything essential still arrives — by WhatsApp and SMS.
These are not settings. They are enforced in the database itself, where no one can quietly change them — including us.
Offerings settle straight into your church's own bank account. EKKLESIA never holds a congregation's funds.
Leadership sees that requests exist and how fast they are answered — never who came, never what was said.
No transaction can be changed or deleted by anyone. Corrections are new entries. Audits become short conversations.
No background check, no access to the children's room. No exceptions, no overrides, no "just this once."
Agents draft, detect and prepare. A pastor approves. If no one approves, nothing happens.
Keep the giving platform, the website, the systems that work. EKKLESIA bridges them into one ledger and one voice.
No technical staff. No migration project. Bring the spreadsheet your secretary has kept for eleven years — we read it as it is.
Its own space, its funds, and your pastoral account — created in one form, in about a minute.
Upload Excel, CSV or Word exactly as it is. Columns are read and mapped for you; nothing is duplicated, nothing deleted.
A Paystack subaccount in Nigeria, Stripe Connect in the United States. Gifts settle to you, directly.
One QR code on the screens, one link on the Line. They confirm a phone number and they are in.
Check in at the door, whisper instead of announcing, publish the message that evening — and read your first brief on Monday.
Every hour EKKLESIA saves is meant to be spent on people — not recovered as leisure. Tell us about your church and we will walk you through a Sunday on the platform.
House fellowships to megachurches · Nigeria & the United States · WhatsApp, SMS and offline-ready