The Small Church

It is hard to see one small country church, or small town church in a rural area close its doors.  It is something which sociologists can explain as they talk about the migration of people from the rural to the urban and the movement of the young away from the farm to the office.  With each departure the small country church finds itself diminished by one more until there are hardly any "one more's" left to depart.  And somewhere in that long line of departures which often spreads over decades, the last worshiping group leaves for another place.     

I recently heard about the closing of the Methodist Church out in the country which nurtured my mother's faith and provided a resting place for my father.  It brought sadness to me.  I, too, was nurtured by that same congregation of people whose names I have long ago forgotten.  Though the names are gone, the memory of the fellowship they offered and the faith they shared is buried deep in my own spiritual life.  These small churches may close,  but their witness lives on and on far beyond what seems possible.    

 And while I ended up serving some larger Methodist churches during my ministry, I am grateful for those small churches where I preached in the earlier days.  The people were long suffering, patient, kind, and loving.  They gave a greenhorn preacher more than he deserved and far more than he realized he was receiving in the moment.  Those small churches out in the middle of nowhere make for good memories, but more important the investment of those folks in my life had a profound effect for which I have always been grateful.