Small is Beautiful. Over two thirds of Unitarian Universalist congregations worldwide are small. Is that bad? Is that good? Or is it just a fact?
Reading for Small is Beautiful sermon, by Anne Lamott
[A little background: the writer Anne Lamott, in her youth, was an alcoholic and drug abuser. She lived — and continues to live — in Marin County, California. As she was getting closer to sobering up, she would spend Sundays at the local flea market. It was there that she discovered the small congregation that she would eventually become an active member of…. but, that took a while. Here’s her story that shows to me the power of the loving, small congregation:]
If I happened to be there (the Flea Market) between eleven and one on Sundays, I could hear gospel music coming from a church right across the street. It was called St. Andrew Presbyterian, and it looked homely and impoverished, a ramshackle building with a cross on top, sitting on a small parcel of land with a few skinny pine trees. But the music wafting out was so pretty that I would stop and listen. I knew a lot of the hymns from the times I’d gone to church with my grandparents, and from the albums we’d had of spirituals.
Finally, I began stopping in at St. Andrew from time to time, standing in the doorway to listen to the songs. I couldn’t believe how run-down it was, with terrible linoleum that was brown and over shined, and plastic stained-glass windows. But it had a choir of five black women and one rather Amish-looking white man making all that glorious noise, and a congregation of thirty people or so, radiating kindness and warmth. During the time when people hugged and greeted each other, various people would come back to where I stood to shake my hand or try to hug me; I was as frozen and stiff as Richard Nixon. After this, Scripture was read, and then the minister who was as tall and handsome as Marvin Gaye would preach, and it would be all about social injustice — and Jesus, which would be enough to send me back to the sanctuary of the flea market.
I went back to St. Andrew about once a month. No one tried to con me into sitting down or staying. I always left before the sermon. I loved singing, even about Jesus, but I just didn’t want to be preached at about him. To me, Jesus made about as much sense as Scientology or dowsing. But the church smelled wonderful, like the air had nourishment in it, or like it was composed of people’s exhalations, of warmth and faith and peace. There were always children running around, or being embraced… and every other week they brought huge tubs of great food for the homeless families living at the shelter… I loved this. But it was the singing that pulled me in and split me wide open….
Eventually, a few months after I started coming, I took a seat in one of the folding chairs, off by myself. Then the singing enveloped me. It was furry and resonant, coming from everyone’s heart. There was no sense of performance or judgement, only that music was breath and food.
Something inside me that was stiff and rotting would feel soft and tender. Somehow the singing wore down the boundaries and distinctions that kept me so isolated. Sitting there, standing with them to sing, sometimes so shaky and sick that I felt I might tip over, I felt bigger than myself, like I was being taken care of, tricked into coming back to life. But I had to leave before the sermon…..
[Anne soon became sober, and then had a child, Sam, on her own. She goes on:]
Then there would be thousands of slides of Sam and me at St. Andrew. I think we have missed church ten times in twelve years. Sam would be snuggled in people’s arms in the earlier shots, shyly trying to wriggle free of hugs in the later ones. There would be different pastors along the way, none of them exactly right for us until a few years ago when a tall African-American woman named Veronica came to lead us.
She has huge gentle doctor hands, with dimples where the knuckles should be, like a baby’s fists. She stepped into us, the wonderful old worn pair of pants that is St. Andrew, and they fit. She sings to us sometimes from the pulpit and tells us stories of when she was a child. She told us this story just the other day:
When she was about seven, her best friend got lost one day. The little girl ran up and down the streets of the big town where they lived, but she couldn’t find a single landmark. She was very frightened. Finally a police officer stopped to help her. He put her in the passenger seat of his car, and they drove around until she finally saw her church. She pointed it out to the police officer, and then she told him firmly, “You could let me out now. This is my church, and I can always find my way home from here.”
And that is why I have stayed so close to mine — because no matter how bad I am feeling, how lost or lonely or frightened, when I see the faces of the people at my church, and hear their tawny voices, I can always find my way home.
Small is Beautiful
Feb. 9, 2025
© the Rev. Jane Dwinell
You may not meet in a traditional “church” building like the little girl in Anne Lamott’s story, but I imagine that many of you, if not all of you, feel something when you approach this building — or log onto Zoom — on Sunday morning. Perhaps you look forward to seeing your friends, having some time in quiet and contemplation, hearing some inspiring words, singing together, listening to music… even having coffee or lunch together after the service.
This is a community that y’all are creating, and it doesn’t matter what size you are. Same with your fellow Unitarian Universalists in London, New York City, Toronto, LA, New Orleans. All big cities with small UU congregations. Some big ones, too, but that doesn’t matter. Or take Caribou, Maine, North Hatley, Quebec, Butte, Montana or Saranac Lake, NY. All with UU congregations that will never be anything but small — there simply are not enough people living there.
In any case, you are “small” — for a congregation. Is that bad? How many times have I heard, “We’re just a little church. I’m just a small church minister. We only have thirty in worship. We’re small now, but we our pews used to be full. We can’t afford a minister — part time, full time, it doesn’t matter.” In my years as a small congregation consultant, these thoughts were on constant repeat.
Do people feel inadequate and “less than” about their churches? We hear way too much about mega-churches, church growth, and the pressure to be bigger, bigger, and even bigger. It can be hard to live with.
But you’re in good company. Two-thirds of UU congregations are small.
Here are some facts.
There are four sizes of churches:
Group-centered churches (sometime called very small) generally have 50 or less in worship. Leader-centered churches (sometimes called small) generally have 50-150 in worship. After that comes the Program-size church (also known as “mid-size”) that runs 150-350 in worship, and then finally the big kids, the Corporate-size (or “large”) church with more than 350 in worship.
So here are the questions: How big could this fellowship be? And, much more importantly, how big do you want to be? How many people would be interested in being part of an organized religious community of a liberal faith? In the US, there is what is being called a “Trump-bump” after the election. All of a sudden, people are seeking religious community. Now Paris is not the US, but there is political chaos of some kind in nearly every country these days, and people want comfort and connection in these uncertain times.
What can you offer?
Here’s the beauty and strength of the small congregation — intimacy. It’s a place where everyone knows your name, notices whether or not you’re here on Sunday, and probably knows a few important details about your life. As a group gets bigger, that intimacy gets harder to hold onto.
Is there a way to encourage and develop the relationships among you, and at the same time, keep this fellowship strong? It is important to know that this group will survive and thrive long after all of you are gone. Our world needs the voice and reason of liberal religion, and the helping hands that come with it.
So what to do?
Focus on the Three Cs — Centering, Connecting, and Creating Change.
First, Centering. This is the nuts and bolts of your group. How you choose leaders, how the leaders work together, and how you get things done. This is about how you communicate with one another — formally — and how you handle conflict. This is about the stewardship of your resources and how you handle your money. But even if these tasks of Centering don’t seem as important or exciting as those of Connecting and Creating Change, it’s important to be strong in all three areas — it makes a congregation well-balanced, like a three-legged stool.
Next comes Connecting — what’s that?
It’s about the full Sunday morning experience – which includes the words and the music and the silence of the worship service, religious education for children, and the time for socializing after the service. It also includes the caring and sharing that goes on formally and informally among you, in small groups, when someone loses a loved one, when someone is struggling with a personal issue, when someone is lonely, or when someone is dying. It’s the looking out for one another, all in the context of a religious community – we are seeking to deepen our own lives, and our own spiritual beliefs – and we find strength by knowing that we are not alone.
Then there is Creating Change. It’s about reaching out to the larger community and finding that place where your congregation’s passions and skills meet the city’s larger needs. This is called your mission. A congregation that does not have a mission is a Sunday morning social club, not a religious community. Our faith calls us to create heaven on earth, and we can’t do everything, but we can do something.
What is your mission – what does this congregation do well? Mission can take many forms. Some support their local food shelf, others put on a free holiday meal, some offer classes in the arts, still others provide a safe space for LGBTQ youth. In December you gathered hats, mittens and scarves for those who needed them. What else do you do? What else can you do?
Having one mission is enough. You don’t have to choose six different things to do – no sense in burning yourself out – one quality focus is plenty. You would know best what skills y’all have that intersect with what is needed here.
So, how does your congregation handle these things? Do you have a strong organizational foundation so that your Connecting and Creating Change are deep and important, and can make a lasting impact here?
It’s important to know that you are not alone — that there are many small UU congregations worldwide that are struggling to find their mission, and build a strong foundation. It’s hard work. But that’s what makes the church community even more important. The heart and soul of the small congregation is its members and friends, those people who know how important it is to worship together on Sunday morning, to look in on each other when crisis comes, or a face is missing for a while, and to reach out into the community to fulfill a need.
The world is full of pressing needs, both within our community and outside of it. We are here to help, to listen, to encourage, to teach, to praise and to sing. Our world needs joy, and it needs care, and before the Religious Right becomes the only community of faith to do this, we need to get out there and offer our liberal viewpoint. It, too, has a saving message.
Centering, Connecting, and Creating Change — the life-blood of the small congregation — of every congregation.
Buddhist teachings tell us about mindfulness, compassion, and gratitude. Christian teachings remind us to love our neighbor as ourselves. Pagan teachings tell us to harm none. Humanist teachings remind us that the saving grace of the world comes in the form of acts of caring among people.
Sounds pretty much the same to me – and it’s the message of Unitarian Universalism.
We are all people in need, with gifts and strengths, as well as weaknesses and failures. Can we come together as our whole selves, and take a risk? Can we open up, with honesty and trust, and bring our heart to our religious community? Can we recognize our limitations, in balance with our desires, and find a way to honor both?
Can we find a way to remember that this fellowship is a gift, and it doesn’t matter what size it is?
I have preached before a congregation of 6 and a congregation of 600. They’re very different experiences. But the thing I always tell myself, even if I don’t know everyone’s names, and can’t even really see everyone’s faces, is that everyone listening is someone in need – and someone who wants to help.
It is human nature to want to be accepted and loved, and to be of use. The poet Marge Piercy puts it best:
The people I love the best
Jump into work headfirst
Without dallying in the shallows
And swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
The black sleek heads of seals
Bouncing like half-submerged balls.
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
Who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
Who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
Who do what has to be done, again and again.
I want to be with people who submerge
In the task, who go into the fields to harvest
And work in a row and pass the bags along,
Who are not parlor generals and field deserters
But move in a common rhythm
When the food must come in or the fire be put out.
The work of the world is as common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
Has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums,
But you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
And a person for work that is real.
People do not come here for no reason at all. Do you remember the first time you came here, and what you felt, and what you knew? Do you remember why you came back, why you decided to commit to the community?
As the Rev. Dr. Rebecca Parker said in talking about the first church she served:
“I was a bit taken aback when I discovered that people weren’t looking for a committee to serve on, a potluck to go to, a rummage sale that needed organizing, or an intellectual discussion that had already happened twenty times before.
“They were looking for the well-spring, for healing and refreshing water.
“They were looking for quietness lit with fire, for a sanctuary of peace, and a welcome table spread for all.
“They were looking for the path of compassion and service.
“They were looking for the song of overflowing joy, and the prayer too deep for words.”
No matter the size, every religious community can greet the stranger as if he or she were the Messiah, and understand that some joy, or sorrow, or loneliness, or depth of questioning brought that stranger to you. Open your arms and welcome them. Find out what gifts they have to share. Let them join you in Centering, Connecting, and Creating Change.
Because this fellowship is important, and together, you can change your lives and the lives of others.
Amen.