There were two deacons in my boyhood church, Bee Taylor and Orva Jordan. The reason for only two was obvious—they were the only men active in the church. Others moved in and out of the church fabric, but Bee and Orva were the only “deacon material” who were willing to do the job.
That boyhood church of long ago was, in a word, small (although at the time it seemed more than big enough). Rarely did Sunday school attendance exceed 100; and more often than not it numbered only 70 or 80 of the “faithful.” Most of the attendees were hard-pressed culturally and economically, with many families, including my own, struggling to survive in post-Depression America.
Still, I owe that small, culturally and economically deprived church a debt of gratitude for giving me a basic foundation in Bible and Christian living, and ultimately directing me into the ministry. Despite its size (or lack thereof) and low visibility, it did its job.
Today, our high-visibility mentality too often obscures the significant impact of these low-visibility influences. And yet the fact of the matter is that there are more small churches in America than large churches. Anywhere from 50 to 70 percent of most denominations are “small church” (usually under 200 people). And when you have weeded out the deceased, nonresidents, and dropouts, most church rolls could probably be cut as much as 50 percent—all of which means that small churches are often much smaller than their membership rolls indicate.
My guess is that at least 60 percent of you reading this column carry the spiritual legacy of a small church. I would also guess the influence of your small church was disproportionally large for its size. Handicapped by lack of resources, small churches often rise to the challenge and leave big footprints behind them.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m for church growth. Stagnation and ingrown vision are never worthy goals. We are mandated to go and disciple, and therefore we must be in a growth mode.
But despite all our efforts to promote growth, there will always be the many small churches, quietly and in various degrees of effectiveness doing their job. Let me, therefore, draw upon my own small-church experience and suggest four reasons why these low-visibility ministries are so effective.
1. The church was there when I needed it: a small, flickering light, to be sure—but it was a light and it was there.
2. The two deacons, Bee and Orva—low-profile, ordinary men—were there, and they did the job other men would not do. And they kept on doing it when others would have quit. With them, a small band of the faithful cleaned the church, taught Sunday school, gathered funds, played the piano (which was usually out of tune), sang, wrapped Christmas candy, and performed a hundred other tasks in the name of Jesus.
3. A stream of faithful pastors, including the local village blacksmith, served faithfully despite starvation wages—encouraging, winning, praying, preaching, visiting, discipling. Not one of them ever wrote an article or a book, appeared on radio or TV, or attracted much attention beyond our church. But each left important footprints.
4. A family spirit prevailed, with prayer, faithfulness, persistence, and love outweighing human ingenuity and carefully crafted programs.
So, I pay tribute to my boyhood church, and to the tens of thousands of small churches just like it. I salute them all for a quiet but effective job well done.
V. GILBERT BEERS
