The tiny old woman smiled, shook my hand, and said, “I’m hard of hearing; I haven’t heard a word you’ve said for the last five years, but I’m sure it was a very good sermon.”

As I turned out the lights and locked up the church I thought of a curmudgeonly elder from decades ago. Floyd had strong opinions on, well, everything, and the scripture that Sunday required me to say things that I knew Floyd would not like. I feared that he would leave the church over the sermon I was about to preach.

To my surprise, after the service, Floyd said, “Best sermon you’ve ever preached, Steve.” As he summarized what he’d heard I realized that he had heard exactly the opposite of what I had preached. Being no fool, I just smiled and said, “Thank you, Floyd.”

I’ve often quipped that by Tuesday no one will remember anything I said on Sunday. It used to be funny. Starting my car today I wondered, “After twenty-seven years in the pulpit have I made any difference? Any difference at all?”

Creeping slowly through the parking lot, I think about that fact that I am among a generation of preachers who have presided over the largest decline in the history of Christianity. By the time I retire, three of the four congregations I have served will have closed their doors, and I’m not so sure about the fourth. This is my legacy, and it hurts, every single day.

This Sunday afternoon my wife and I are traveling to the tiny town in which I was ordained and pastored my first church. We are going to the birthday party of the woman who was my first church secretary. Catherine was like a mom to me. In fact, the whole family sort of adopted me. I am looking forward to reconnecting with these old friends.

We arrive, and I whisper to my wife about how old they’ve all gotten, as if I haven’t. She rolls her eyes. As we sit with old friends eating fried chicken and potato salad and reminiscing, three young adults with toddlers in tow ask for a private moment. In a quiet corner a tall young man, about thirty years old, says, “We all want to thank you for the impact you’ve had on our lives.” He reminded me of something I apparently preached one day in 1999. He would have been maybe ten years old at the time. I have no memory of that sermon, but he said, “That’s always stuck with me, and I’ve tried to live my life accordingly.” Then his cousin, now a young mother, quoted back to me something else I once said. Another cousin remembered another line that “always stuck with me.” The father of the tall young man, inspired by a parable I once told, even wrote a song, put it on a CD, and still sings it.

That was twenty years ago! That little church has closed its doors forever. Those kids grew up, moved on, and in most instances do not attend Disciples churches. But as Isaiah said, “[M]y word…shall not return to me empty…”

They heard, and have not forgotten. I have left a legacy.

Published in the April 2024 issue of For the Messengers

Rev. Steven DeFields-Gambrel is the Senior Minister of East Lynn Christian Church in Anderson, Indiana. Born deep in Appalachia, raised in Florida and Indiana, Steve has been a radio disc jockey, a substance abuse counselor, and a Disciples of Christ pastor for the last twenty-seven years. He has served churches in Indiana and California. A married father of three and grandfather of eleven, for the last few years he has been trying unsuccessfully to retire so that he can pursue his hobbies of writing and guitar, and maybe even learn to sail. 

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