My heart has been geared toward helping small, pastorless churches ever since I entered the ministry in 2006. I was about 30 years old when our pastor retired, and the pastor search began. At first, we struggled to find someone to fill our pulpit. Then we struggled to find a suitable candidate to replace him. Around that same time, I became aware of several small churches that were closing or on the brink of closure.
I often drove past a small white church building surrounded by National Forest near our hunting camp. A dairy farmer told me the church had been looking for a pastor for years. My initial response was to blame God, after all, it was the Lord’s church. As I drove by, I thought to myself, “This church is over 100 years old! How can God just let the doors shut for good?” My very next thought permanently rattled me: “Why don’t you pastor them?”
Oh boy, I had a thousand reasons why I couldn’t be their pastor, chiefly that I was not a preacher. I had never even contemplated pastoring a church. I had just returned from my employer’s national meeting, where I’d been recognized as the top salesman in the company. I had a promising career ahead of me. God needed to crack the whip on one of His preachers, fill this vacancy, and leave me alone.
Well, God did crack the whip; He began whipping me. I could not shake the thought of pastoring that little church in the “wildwood.” My wife’s grandparents had been members there before they passed away. I had heard stories of her granddad lighting the wood stove each Lord’s Day. Her ancestors had settled that slice of the Ouachita Mountains and organized Union Hope Baptist Church in 1877. All my objections to preaching and pastoring seemed insignificant in light of closing a 129-year-old church.
Long story short, I soon told my new pastor that God had called me to preach and that I would go to any “little church” that would have me. Union Hope eventually found a pastor, but they still closed for good a decade later. I never did preach there, but God wasted no time opening doors for me elsewhere. Within a few months, I was pastoring a little country church of my own. A year later, God moved me to a church in town and prospered my ministry there until I was no longer pastoring a little church. Still, my longing to serve those small churches never went away.
Over the years, our church began hosting a conference to equip small churches and encourage bi-vocational pastors. We helped young preachers find pulpits and old churches find preachers. Sometimes we helped retired pastors with wheelchair ramps and other physical needs. Other times, we paid utilities or helped young preachers move when they got fired. From time to time, I would be asked to visit a church and offer advice about their situation.
With a growing church and an expanding ministry to other churches and pastors, the demands were starting to wear on me. I began praying for an associate pastor or an elder to help carry the load so I could still serve the small, struggling churches. I was never cut out for office work, committee reports and conference rooms anyway. Being a decorated veteran of hard-headed numbskull combat, I was slow to accept God’s new direction. Every excuse I made to stay on as pastor into my fifteenth year seemed foolish as I watched church after church fold up and close for lack of leadership.
I couldn’t shake the thought that I was uniquely gifted to serve churches in turmoil. The church I pastored was easy to pastor; they loved me, and I loved them. Yet I felt as though a battle raged in these broken churches. I was sitting in the rear of the army, serving hot chow when I should have been on the battle line slinging hot lead. Remember, I’m dense; God has to practically spell it out for me, and He did. I resigned as pastor and began a ministry to serve churches in times of trouble and to encourage weary preachers.
Here I am with twenty years of pastoral experience, and I’m right back where I began, where my heart has always been: as a missionary to the small church and weary pastors. In the last four years, I have served two churches as an interim pastor, and by the Lord’s grace, both are thriving today. The Lord has sent me across the country to preach revivals, consult with churches, encourage pastors, speak at conferences, address church revitalization and write articles and books on the subject.
It’s an odd calling, but it’s my calling. I don’t know anyone who does exactly what I do, but I know exactly what I’m supposed to do. It took me 30 years to start it and 20 more to figure it out. Now, if the Lord will give me 50 years to perfect it, I can die happy at 100. If not, He still hasn’t wasted any time; the journey itself is what made me what He wanted me to be all along.
We often scratch our heads, wondering why this happened or what’s coming next. When God changes our direction, it can seem overwhelming and out of place. Our problem is that we cannot see beyond the sunset. Our solution is to look back at all the sunsets we have observed over the years. His mercy has been new every morning, while the oil and the meal have not run out. I don’t know where you are, but I know this: God doesn’t waste any time, and He is never late. We simply need to keep walking in the light that we have, growing in the grace we are given, loving the people we pass, and looking for a King who promised to return.
