It started with worship.

I started leading worship in prison.

That’s not where most ministry stories begin, but that’s where mine does. Inside those walls, something shifted. I found that music — real worship, not performance — could reach people that nothing else could. Men who had hardened themselves against everything would let their guard down when we sang together. I didn’t have a plan. I just knew I was supposed to keep doing it.

When I got out, I kept going. I started a worship band called Tribe of Levi around year TBD, city context. We played wherever they’d have us — churches, community events, anywhere God opened a door. For a while, that’s what we were: a worship band with a calling.

But God had something else in mind.

A specific turning point or season — when the vision for transition housing first became clear. (Carl to provide a particular conversation, a particular man, a particular need.)

What we started to see was this: men were getting out of prison or finishing treatment programs, and they had nowhere to go. Not just nowhere safe — nowhere at all. They’d worked hard to change, and then they’d walk out into the same conditions that had pulled them down in the first place. We knew something about that. And we knew the difference a stable place makes.

So Tribe of Levi stopped being just a band and started becoming a home.

“A house, a table, and people who have been where you are.” — Carl Carnnahan

The Wichita Ministry House opened year TBD. We started taking in men coming out of incarceration, out of addiction, out of seasons of life that had left them with nothing. We call it transition housing, because that’s what it is — a bridge. A structured, faith-led community where men can land, stabilize, and rebuild. Not a shelter. A house. With expectations, accountability, and people who actually care what happens to you.

That house has changed lives. One brief story or aggregate stat from Carl. Men who came in with nothing and walked out with jobs, restored relationships, and a foundation they didn’t have before. That doesn’t happen because of a program. It happens because of community.

In 2023, we received our 501(c)(3) status from the IRS — a formal recognition of what we’d been doing for over a decade. It opened new doors for grants, partnerships, and financial accountability. We’re grateful for it. But the status didn’t change who we are. We’re still just a group of people who believe that a stable home, a community of faith, and someone who gives a rip about you can turn a life around.

Now we’re opening a second location.

The Outpost in Wellington, Kansas, is the next chapter. Wellington is a small town — the kind of place where people know each other, where the pace is slower, where a man can get his footing without the noise of a bigger city. There’s something right about it.

We don’t know exactly how big this gets. That’s not really our job to figure out. Our job is to be faithful with the next door God opens, and to take care of the men He brings through it.

If you’ve been looking for a ministry to get behind — or if you’re a man who needs what we’re describing — we’d love to talk. This isn’t a polished program with a waiting list and a brochure. It’s a house, a table, and people who have been where you are.

Come see what God is building.

— Carl Carnnahan, Director
Tribe of Levi Ministry

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