In a televised sermon, an internationally known pastor of a large urban church recently stated that families who raise their children in churches of less than several hundred are “stinkin’ selfish” and “care nothing about the next generation.”
His uncharitable comments reflected ignorance. Fully half of Christian churches (Protestant, Catholic and Orthodox) in the US (more in Canada) have an average attendance of seventy-five or fewer. Most of those churches are in small communities far from urban mega-churches.
Churchgoers flooded social media with negative feedback. To his credit, the pastor humbly (and quickly) retracted his comments, saying that after reflection, his words even offended himself.
God himself attends churches of all size. Sometimes his presence is felt in unusual ways. That happened at our small church last week. The lights went out. The electric piano stopped like a staccato note. And when the words to the song disappeared off the Powerpoint screen, our voices faded away like the tail end of a heavy sigh. But no one could deny the sweet spirit that entered the sanctuary the moment the power died.
A smattering of chuckles spread between the pews. Still holding the mic, my pastor son-in-law reassured us that our worship service would carry on, though somewhat differently. Suddenly he stopped, laughed and laid the microphone down. “Why am I still talking into this thing?”
We had no electric piano, no Powerpoint, no amplification or overhead lights. But the sun filtered softly through narrow windows and an unusual atmosphere of joyful and holy expectation infused the sanctuary. At Pastor Kendall’s encouragement, one person after another stood to address their church family. The two eldest grandbeans, along with the rest of us, heard everything from prayer requests to words of heartfelt gratitude for answered prayer. Some people rose simply to express their faith and confidence that God is sovereign, even amidst our current times of social confusion, political craziness and global terror.
Those words sit long in a child’s heart – I know, for I heard similar ones as a child.
My daughter stood too, commenting that too often we judge the value of churches by things like programs, congregation size, gadgets, the latest worship music and high-powered worship teams. She quoted lyrics from a worship song by composer Michael W. Smith. Apt words for our quiet sanctuary, reminding us that “When the music fades and all is stripped away” we can approach God in simplicity, and bless him with a heart full of praise and humility. If there’s anything we need to pass on to the next generation, that’s it.
The lights went out at our little church last week. But we had music anyway. Someone suggested a beloved hymn. Someone else pulled out a harmonica and supplied accompaniment. And despite the dimmed sanctuary, the Son shone bright. Jesus himself, a King of endless worth who sees straight into our hearts and reminds us of what he most desires, no matter our congregation size: a simple heart of worship.
