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I grew up in small churches. I say churches, but really there were only 2. We weren't church hoppers, or shoppers. My family instilled in me the importance of the Church being family, you don't bail when it gets hard, but you stay and work things out, no matter what. We used that no matter what more than once, sometimes through tears and heartache, always with a lot of prayer.
When I moved to college, it's a little odd that I didn't plug into a small church, but a large one. Part of it was because I didn't want to church hop, so I just started going to one church and stayed there, volunteered there, and found a home there.
In some ways I loved my time away from the small church scene. It gave me some perspective I didn't have before, and it prepared me for ministry as associate staff. Mostly because small churches don't hire associate staff, they usually have the need, but not the funds. Despite what some of the churches I worked at may think, they weren't small.
Over half the churches in the United States have less than 75 people. I am now, again, part of the majority of churches. Our average attendance runs around 10.
Leaving the small church for larger churches and coming back to a small church again (this time as Pastor) has given me a new found love and appreciation for my small church heritage. I appreciate many things about the small church life, and the churches I grew up in, but one of the biggest things I've grown to value is how much work my pastors put in.
I can remember all of their names. How they knew mine. The way they would ask about my week, the way they prayed and care for me and my family. They weren't perfect, but they were there. They had an incredibly hard job, that often went criticized and undervalued. They were lucky to get one month out of the year (October) set aside to be appreciated, but a lot of the time, they worked long hours, expected to be there each week with a sermon that took hours to prepare, expected to show up during every family crisis despite what may be going on in their own lives. They may have gotten to choose their day off, or go home for lunch (perks of the trade), but those were often set aside if something more pressing came to them. They didn't have a staff to do pulpit supply if they wanted a Sunday off, or were sick. They didn't have secretaries to take phone calls. I also know, that some went years without pay raises, and some took pay cuts, living off the health insurance of spouses (or none at all, praying nothing happened), just to keep the church lights on.
Why do I bring this up in conjunction with snow days? Because it hasn't snowed that much this winter over all, yet I am out there shoveling snow at the church. Making sure the sidewalks are clear so no one falls. Spreading ice melt on the icy spots. Checking anytime I walk into the office that people won't slip, and memories flooded back to me of seeing my pastors shoveling the parking lot and walk way of my small churches. Covered in snow over their best suits (my pastors were all men). During the time they usually would be sitting in their office praying over their sermon one last time, or sitting at home with their own families, they were out there shoveling so we could get into church.
Being from Michigan, I only remember a handful of times our church services were cancelled due to the weather, which means there were lots of snowy services. Which means, there were lots of Sundays they were up, super early, to get the sidewalk and parking lot ready for service.
In the scheme of things, maybe it's not a huge thing. I know that most pastors I know wouldn't think twice about shoveling the snow. One of my pastors told me that being a pastor means there are no tasks too big or too small for you to do, and you must be willing to do them all, including cleaning toilets. This sentiment was later restated by professors as I was studying to become a pastor myself.
Sometimes my head gets big, about my ability to communicate through sermons and writing, but I can remember only a few sermons. What I do remember, what is forever cemented in my mind, are pastors with snow shovels in hand, snowflakes covering their best suits, asking me how my week was, despite their cold feet and the knowledge of the immense tasks of the day yet to come.
Maybe it isn't the sermon or the pastoral prayer that communicates our love for the people God has given us the task of caring for. Maybe sometimes the way we best communicate God's love to the world, is in the simple, yet profound, act of shoveling snow.
