My First Appalachian Church

Building my "Worldwide Empire" in Richwood, WV

I married Debbie in the summer of 1993. She had just graduated from high school, and I had just turned 22. We were married in the White Sulphur Springs Church of God on Tuckahoe Road. My dad was the pastor there. For Debbie and me it was a celebration. We loved each other, and we wanted to be one of those young pastoral couples we had idolized at the statewide campmeeting, all dressed up in a fancy dress and a distinguished suit.

As you know, my name is Craig. Her grandmother never got that right. Even the cake she made for us said “Congratulations Greg and Debbie”. When the ceremony and reception was over, we prepared to get in the car and move.

To Houston, Texas.

My stuff was already there. I had taken a position as Minister of Music at a metro church. We couldn’t get out of Appalachia fast enough. We were young and fast and smart, and we were going to make our mark in the city.

Her family lined up in the parking lot like it was a funeral procession. One at a time, they would hug Debbie and sob and then give me a dirty look. Her father cried himself to sleep for three weeks, although they didn’t tell us that until a few years later.

We made stops in Gatlinburg (The Palatial Destination of Destinations for all Appalachian People), Nashville, and New Orleans as we meandered our way to Houston.

We were poor. We counted the money from our wedding cards the first night: $2200. More money than I had ever seen in my life. By the time we got to Houston, we had $300. So we did what any financially savvy young pastoral couple would do:

We bought a fish tank. For $300.

I’ll save the Houston part of the story for another time, but it was an overall pleasant experience. In late November I heard the rumor that the Church of God in Richwood, WV was open. That was the very first church my dad had pastored while he worked at Lucas Tire in Beckley. Wouldn’t that be so cool? To pastor the same church my dad had pastored?

I made the call. The State Overseer didn’t shut me down. I got a 70% vote to go, and the 22 and 18-year-old couple loaded the U-Haul and headed back to the mountains.

I had big plans. I had watched my pastor in Houston, Kevin Taylor, do everything he did with excellence. I was going to replicate that in Richwood, WV, population 2808. (1990 Census)

We moved into the double-wide trailer across the parking lot and got ready for our first service, which just happened to be the Christmas pageant. There were wings cut from cardboard and bath robes as far as the eye could see. There was glitter and tinsel and a makeshift manger. They had been working on it since just after Thanksgiving. There were about 40 people there, way more than had been coming. They were there to see their children in bathrobes and tinsel…and to check out the new ministerial couple.

I watched the play, but I was silently thinking of the profound words I would say at the end…words that would announce our arrival and signal the promise of massive church growth and prosperity under our leadership.

I said something like, “God can reach out on a silent night just like that night, and bring to life a Promise where there was only darkness.” I sat down at the piano and played and sang “Silent Night”. I could tell they were impressed. I felt so proud of my first words as a lead pastor while the ushers handed out brown paper bags, each containing a candy bar, an orange, an apple, some nuts, and a candy cane…all an Appalachian tradition.

We said goodbye to everyone and walked back across the parking lot. We were up late excitedly rehearsing our hopes and dreams to each other. It was nearly midnight when the phone rang. It was a man named Gene. He wanted to drive down to the church and see me.

Super Pastor was ready.

He was holding a solo cup full of beer and got in my car to take a drive. He said the following words to me: “I hope you don’t call that preaching, because I don’t. I like hellfire and brimstone, not whatever you just did.”

I had just been told off by a drunk after midnight on my first night as a pastor. I can’t remember the rest of the conversation, but I do remember going to bed defeated. Debbie and I laughed about it, but inside Imposter Syndrome just started working it’s way through my nervous system.

But I survived.

January brought new days. We had 9 in attendance the second Sunday of January, some because of snow and some because I didn’t know what I was doing. The song leader was a nice lady who dipped snuff while she led the singing.

Offering plates? Check. Song books? Check. Spittoon under the pulpit? Check.

Richwood had pretty harsh winters. And 1993 and 1994 were no exception. I should have worked an outside job, but Debbie pitched in by selling home interior and we scraped by…mostly. The Winter of ‘94 brought a terrible storm which made the little one-lane bridge into Little Italy (where the church was) mostly impassable.

We ate all our food. Then we ate the pinto beans and spaghetti we had left in the pantry. On week three of no pay we were literally eating green beans out of a can. We hadn’t had church for three Sundays. I nervously called the new overseer for help. He sent us $275 to pay the church’s power bill and told me to be more responsible with the church finances. You could feel the love of Jesus dripping through the phone. :)

How dare he accuse the fish tank couple of mismanaging finances!???

Spring came, and we built a flower bed in front of the house. I caught a monster native brown trout from the stream that ran along the church property, along with enough other trout to keep us fed for a month. The fishing was great in Richwood.

And we even managed to build the congregation up to the point where we were regularly having 60 people in worship on Sundays. I printed a banner on my dot matrix printer that said “Vision 94” and slapped that baby over the pulpit…my first attempt at casting a vision.

In the Autumn of 1994 I became the youngest man ever elected to the West Virginia Church of God State Youth and Christian Education Board. Debbie and I jumped up and down in our living room when we got home from the ministers meeting. We were becoming that couple that we had idolized! Were were doing it!

Alas, it wasn’t long after that the new overseer talked to me about a new church! A bigger church! A church with a regular salary! I thought Debbie might pass out. He ran our name against two other preachers at a church just outside of Beckley, and I just knew I was going to get it. I was on the Youth Board, for crying out loud. Those other two yahoos weren’t.

We were sitting on the edge of our bed when the phone rang that night. We were anxious for the coronation. “Hello, Brother Heath". (At least he got my name right) I’m calling to let you know that you didn’t get the vote. Another pastor did.

“What? Um, ok, well, I, um, was it a close vote? How many votes did we get?”

“Zero. I’m as surprised as you are, but he had a family member in the church, and I’m afraid it was all decided before I got there.”

We hung up, absolutely stunned. Debbie cried worse than her family cried on our wedding day. And that’s saying something. I guessed that “Vision ‘94” was going to turn into “Alive in ‘95” or some other dumb thing I would think up.

Before too many weeks had passed, the overseer called us again to ask us about East Kermit Church of God in Mingo County, one of the poorest counties in West Virginia. But it was full time, and the pay would be $450 per week plus a parsonage and all utilities. This time, we got the vote. And we packed our U-Haul and waved goodbye to Richwood, WV.

I made so many mistakes in Richwood. I truly didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t have any business whatsoever pastoring a church yet. I didn’t have enough experience. I could sing and play piano, and that was my ticket in those early days.

One glimpse of that early wisdom? I was frustrated that people weren’t coming to Sunday School. Morning Worship was flying high, but only about 1/3 of those would come an hour early to Sunday School. One Sunday morning, while walking across the parking lot I got an amazing idea!

When 10:00 AM hit, I started morning worship. I sang and preached with such passion! I preached til I spit up blood. (I’m kidding about the spitting up blood, but it really adds to the story.)

Then when the reprobate, uncircumcised Philistines came meandering in for morning worship, I really let them have it. I let them know that they had missed the move of God because of their slothful ways. And then I let Sister Lena teach the Sunday School lesson.

Why that church continued to grow is beyond me. It was truly a work of the grace of a good and patient God.

And that is the condensed story of our very first church. It was full of good people who loved the Lord and loved us. And they are very much a part of our Appalachian story.

—Dr. Craig S. Heath