Though You Are Small

"But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are small among the clans of Judah, out of you will come for me one who will be ruler over Israel, whose origins are from of old, from ancient times."

Micah 5:2

The mission of God is so vitally important to churches. When a church veers off the path of hearing and doing, the result is aimless wandering, which results in death in the desert. As a young church planter, I knew this intuitively. Our whole church could fit in a large closet, and we were dirt road poor, but if I had anything to do with it, we would stay on mission. Our mission explained in one word is, "others." I had read an account years before of Salvation Army founder General William Booth, a man whose faithfulness and character I wished to emulate. On Christmas Eve in 1910, the General was ill and within months of his death. His weakened state had prevented him from attending the Army's annual convention. Booth decided to send a telegram greeting instead of going himself, to encourage his "troops" who had labored so tirelessly through the winter cold. As usual, the Army had limited funds, and lengthy telegrams cost more. General Booth thought back through the years to craft a one-word message so that the monies they did have could continue helping the needy.

As the many delegates to the convention gathered, the convention's moderator stood to bring greetings from their beloved leader. The message was on a small slip of paper. It read: "Others!"

Though we were small, our mission was others! I had preached from Micah 5:2 in the morning service on Christmas Eve. That night we gathered to deliver help and Christmas cheer to an elderly couple caring for their ten grandchildren. The children's parents died in a tragic automobile accident. Our small band collected money, food, toys, clothes, and shoes as these were the items that our local social services person had suggested. A remarkable thing in those days was that when we did something, everyone in the church attended. No one thought, "this isn't for me" or "they don't need me." We met at our rented community building, loaded our three vehicles' trunks with our store, and headed out to an isolated rural home. It was a throwback to many older houses I had seen in South Carolina during my boyhood. The house stood with a high profile in a swept yard under two massive oak trees' shelter. Its wooden steps lead up to a wrap-around porch. At one time, it had been considered a lovely house. Now it was showing its age, just like those who lived there. I knocked on its door, opened by an older man who turned to call his wife. They both welcomed us in, but with the late hour and our need to unload, I thanked them and said, "we would love to, but it is after eight and very cold, so if it is all right, we will unload and have a prayer with you. The couple consented and said that we could bring our gifts in and set them "here" on the floor. The front door had opened into the center hall where the heater stood. Even devoid of furnishings, which was an essential room in a house like that. I knew because I had spent many days lying in front of a heater during the holidays looking at the Sears Christmas catalog.

 Looking into that space also revealed numerous doors leading to a kitchen and all the house's bedrooms.  We first brought in the groceries, which the grandparents quickly helped us carry to the kitchen table and cabinets. Next, we moved in the toys stacking them together on the floor. One of the most unusual things about our Christmas Eve visit was that they had ten children, and we had not heard a peep from them. Nor had we seen any of them. At the same time, I had the notion that every visible doorknob probably had a little hand wrapped around it on the door's opposite side. The lady at our County Social Services Department had told us that the children needed clothing and shoes more than anything else, so we went all out to meet that need. Our small team of "elves" started carrying the boxes of clothes and putting the shoes nearby on the floor. Most of the time, they would carry things up the stairs and then hand them to me as I stood at the door of the house. It was so cold that I kept the door closed as much as possible. I remember putting a couple of pairs of shoes down on the floor, but when I went back in with the next load, they had disappeared. The same thing happened when I came back the next time, so I laid several pairs out and returned to the porch. This time though, I cracked the door so that I could quietly watch the shoes. As soon as I left the room, I watched several doors open at once, and as quickly and quietly as mice, the shoes exited the room being carried by children who had the biggest smiles on their faces. I motioned for the others to join me at the door as we unloaded the remainder of the shoes so they could watch those doors open and our gifts disappear. I cried a little that night for Joe and Margaret and those ten children who needed shoes more than they wanted toys. We prayed and wiped tears with the grandparents before we drove back to our homes. The tender memories of this night in the late seventies are with me today, and I hope they will always remain.

It is so vital that no matter the size, you and your church remain on the mission of God. "Don't look down on small beginnings," and don't quit because of weakness or tiredness. Stopping will lead to fear and malaise, and faithless behavior. Death haunts the desert places of disobedience.  Though, as a church, we were small, on that night, we were not insignificant. We had started living for others, and over the years, our church grew with the others who helped reach still others. Our church grew because as our hearts grew, God filled them with many gifts of His tender mercies and grace. My wife and I, along with our church of ten people, will never forget the magic doors in that house, which opened to show us how we could make a difference in our corner of the world!