From Seminary to Sauna: David Stoffer's Journey Toward Radical Ownership and Rest

David Stoffer was climbing out of his backyard sauna one ordinary evening in Northern Michigan when a stranger came bounding over his fence. Before Stoffer could react, the man blurted out a question that would change the trajectory of his life: "You like to sauna?" He was Finnish. He loved the ritual. And he wanted to know if Stoffer would come sauna at his house that night.

That single moment of neighborly boldness led Stoffer into a basement sauna, then a converted chest-freezer cold plunge, then—three weeks later—a flight to Finland to meet the man's entire extended family, including a sister-in-law who ran a sauna spa in Helsinki. What started as curiosity became a calling. Today, Stoffer owns Nightjar Sauna and Cold Plunge, a Grand Rapids company that designs and builds outdoor backyard saunas across the United States, with a growing team and a 16,000-square-foot shop humming with six builds in progress at any given time.

A Path Through the Books, Not Around Them

Before he ever picked up a saw, Stoffer picked up Hebrew. He finished seminary, having spent years studying ancient Near Eastern languages and the historical context surrounding Jesus's ministry. For a while, he wondered if it had all been wasted time.

"When I first got out of seminary, I was like, wow, I just wasted three years of my life," Stoffer admits. "But now that I've done it and looking back, I'm thankful I took the time to focus on matters that are more eternal—that matter to me more than just learning some more business, trying to close another deal, but being purposeful about life."

What seminary gave him wasn't a perfect theological framework he could deploy like a formula. It gave him something more useful for running a business: a reminder that faith is never just words on a page.

"The message of Jesus is so alive that it's not just words on a page. It's not something that it's—it's a powerful way of being that Jesus gives to us freely."

From Family Rentals to Backyard Cedar Doors

Stoffer's road to entrepreneurship wound through his family's business first. His brother, a Calvin College student, discovered a house for sale next door for $35,000. That single purchase snowballed into seven rundown Easttown properties, and Stoffer—needing a break from the books—dove into gutting and rebuilding them with his hands. Years of high-end remodeling followed, culminating in a massive project that, in his words, "really broke me."

That breaking point became a beginning. He wanted a shop of his own, free from schlepping tools to job sites and wrangling unreliable subcontractors. At the same time, he was building a sauna for himself. A friend saw it and asked for one too. "And then I rented a shop," he says, "and kind of the rest is history."

Leading Like the Cross Demands It

Ask Stoffer how faith shows up in his leadership, and he doesn't reach for a slogan. He reaches for a construction manual and a Roman cross.

He points to Jocko Willink's Extreme Ownership as a framework he's come to see as deeply biblical, even though it wasn't written that way. The core idea—that a leader owns every outcome, never blames the team, and takes responsibility for failures of communication or planning—mirrors, to Stoffer, the posture of Jesus at the cross.

"I'm gonna go to the cross for you. It's that servant leadership that takes the responsibility. It doesn't blame anybody, because ultimately, you got to be a leader, and the leader doesn't blame anyone."

For a self-described entrepreneur with "a very extreme case of wanting to be right," that posture doesn't come naturally. It's a daily discipline of setting aside ego to love the people in the shop—giving them the benefit of the doubt, catching them doing something well, building them up instead of tearing them down when a build sheet was unclear or the electrical spec wasn't communicated.

Living in the "Here and Not Yet"

Stoffer's team moved into their new facility—a former grave vault manufacturing plant—last December. The floors were filthy, the office unfinished, and progress slower than he wanted. He describes the tension using language straight out of his theological training: the "here and not yet."

"How do you live in the here and not yet in your business and your faith? The business is here, the things are happening, but it's also not yet because it's not done yet. But I do have this feeling like it's never done."

Rather than letting unmet expectations curdle into frustration, Stoffer treats the gap between where the business is and where he wants it to be as sacred ground—the same ground every believer stands on between promise and fulfillment.

Stewardship That Stays Close to Home

When it comes to resources—time, talent, treasure—Stoffer resists the instinct to scatter blessings widely and hope for the best. He'd rather steward well what's directly in his hands: his team.

He's installed a gym in the shop so his builders can stay physically strong. He's put in a sauna and cold plunge so the guys building wellness sanctuaries for other families can experience the same restoration themselves. He pays well and offers flexible schedules when life demands it.

"I don't like the idea of just spraying cash into a black hole and thinking that somehow on the other end, there's going to be some sort of monumental blessing. A lot of it, when it's done with intentionality, provides people with lifelong tools that make a pretty significant impact."

What to Do Monday Morning

For leaders early in their journey of integrating faith and business, Stoffer's advice is refreshingly simple: make it fun, and make it real.

"If you don't enjoy it here, it's going to be hard to make other people enjoy it. Make sure to take time to enjoy and celebrate life. That's going to be infectious to the people around you. And if you have people around you who like what they're doing, you can do anything."

That's not a call to shrink from hard work or difficult decisions—Stoffer still wrestles with 3,000-pound structures, unpredictable timelines, and the daily discipline of extreme ownership. But it is a call to remember why the work matters: not to close another deal, but to give people, one backyard at a time, a place to slow down, breathe, and remember they're loved.

This week, take stock of your own orbit—the people closest to your leadership. Ask where you might be spraying resources thin instead of stewarding them with intention. And then ask yourself honestly: are you walking in faith today, or quietly relying on your own strength? Stoffer's story suggests the answer changes everything about how the work gets done.