My church is part of a conference, a regional entity, which includes about 50 churches in Indiana, Ohio, and Kentucky. Sometimes we start churches cooperatively. This summer, during our annual meeting, we heard a lot about a new church being started in the Cincinnati area. The church planter trumpeted the location as the fastest growing area in Ohio. So demographic studies show.

I just grinned. It seems like every time we start a new church, no matter where it is in the denomination, the location is billed as “the fastest growing area” in the state, or that part of the state, or maybe in the entire country. We go where new homes are going, and that usually means “the rich suburbs.” We pride ourselves on going to the most-burgeoning and baddest place, even though most other denominations are probably targeting the same place, because they’ve read the same demographic studies.

Meanwhile, I attend a church in a depressed, low-income, working-class (if working at all) area near downtown Fort Wayne, Ind. It’s certainly not a growing area. Mostly starter homes, lots of rentals, a lot of vacancies. I was part of what was basically a church plant in that neighborhood. Technically, it was a restart–the congregation that previously occupied that building closed, and we came in with a whole new leadership team and pretty much started over (except we had a great building already paid for).

I’m weary of bragging about going to the “fastest-growing.” I’m weary of going after the rich. There was a huge need for a church like Anchor in our neighborhood. But if we didn’t already have a foothold in that community, through the previous church, we would never have gone there. Because it’s not a growing neighborhood, not the type of place you think you can build a self-supporting church. It wouldn’t be on the radar of any evangelical denomination. Our neighborhood, with hundreds and hundreds of homes and great human needs, doesn’t grab anyone’s attention.

But amidst these cynical pronouncements, let me pause to pat ourselves on the back. Because we United Brethren did pour money and resources and people into basically starting a new church in that neighborhood. We did it. Good for us. May there be more such aberrations.

I remember when Eugene Habecker was president of Huntington College. He wrote a book in which he talked, in a somewhat passionate way, about the idea of naming a new college building not after a rich donor, but as something like “Widow’s Mite Hall.” Maybe honor all the “little people” (like Pam and I) who give regularly and not without sacrifice, but not in sufficient size to merit getting our name on the building. It was nice theory on Dr. Habecker’s part, but I’m still waiting for anything of the sort to happen. I’m not holding my breath.

Wealth counts. A lot. Let’s not kid ourselves.