The new auditorium was dedicated on a bright Sunday in December. It had taken four years to build. It seated two thousand people, had air conditioning that actually worked and a sound system that the youth said was better than anything in Jos. The building committee sat in the front row in matching attire. When the senior pastor read out their names one by one, the congregation applauded each of them, and the chairman, a retired permanent secretary, rose to give a speech about vision and sacrifice.
Adamu was not in the front row. He was in a converted storeroom behind the generator house, sitting on the floor.
He was sixty-one, a retired vice-principal of a government secondary school. For six years he had run the church’s class for children with additional needs. There were four of them that morning: a girl with cerebral palsy who used a wheelchair, a boy with Down syndrome who loved to sing, a quiet eight-year-old who had seizures, and a new boy of five with autism who had arrived for the first time that day. The room had one window, a fan, a mat, a box of toys and a cupboard of supplies Adamu had bought mostly with his own pension. A young nurse from the choir sat with him every week, because Adamu would not run the class without two adults present.
He and the building committee chairman had been classmates at secondary school. Earlier that morning, in the car park, the chairman had clapped him on the shoulder. “Adamu, my brother, when will you come and join us on the projects committee? A man with your administrative head is wasting himself in that small room.”
Adamu smiled and said he would think about it. Then he walked to the storeroom, because the new boy’s mother was waiting for him at the door.
Her name was Nneoma. She was holding her son on her hip and she looked as though she had not slept properly in years. She told Adamu, apologising before she had finished the sentence, that she had stopped coming to church eleven months earlier. During a service, her son had become overwhelmed by the noise and begun to scream, and an usher had asked her, not kindly, to take him outside. She had sat in the car park for the rest of the service and cried. She had not come back since. A neighbour had told her about Adamu’s class. “I do not know if he will stay,” she said. “He does not stay anywhere.”
I will tell you what happened that morning at the end of this teaching. For now, consider the two rooms. One was enormous, celebrated and full of people. The other was a storeroom with four children in it. If you had to say which assignment was larger, you would probably choose the auditorium. Scripture asks us to look again.
Measured by the wrong thing
We tend to measure an assignment by its visibility. How many people will see it? How many will it affect? Will my name be read out? Is it on the platform or behind the generator house? By that measure, Adamu’s work was very small.
But visibility measures the size of the audience. It does not measure the value of the people being served. Four children are not a small thing to God. Each one of them was made in His image. Each one was precious enough for Christ to die for. Their worth does not shrink because there are only four of them, or because they cannot sing in the choir or sit still through a sermon.
This is where this teaching wants to begin. In an earlier article in this series, we considered how faithfulness in little things already matters to the person depending on it. Here I want to press further. When an assignment appears small, the question is not only who is depending on it, but how God values the people it serves. If you value them as He does, the assignment will grow in your eyes. Not in visibility, but in weight.
And there is a second error close to the first. We often accept a small assignment only as preparation for a larger one. Serve in the children’s department for a while, and one day you may be given the pulpit. There is truth in the idea that faithfulness in little things prepares a person for greater responsibility. But if that becomes the main reason for the small task, we have quietly turned the people we serve into a training ground for our own advancement. The four children in Adamu’s room were not a rehearsal. They were the point.
The members we think less honourable
Paul’s picture of the church as a body speaks directly to this:
And the eye cannot say unto the hand, I have no need of thee: nor again the head to the feet, I have no need of you. Nay, much more those members of the body, which seem to be more feeble, are necessary: And those members of the body, which we think to be less honourable, upon these we bestow more abundant honour; and our uncomely parts have more abundant comeliness. For our comely parts have no need: but God hath tempered the body together, having given more abundant honour to that part which lacked: That there should be no schism in the body; but that the members should have the same care one for another. And whether one member suffer, all the members suffer with it; or one member be honoured, all the members rejoice with it.
“The eye cannot say unto the hand, I have no need of thee.” This is usually applied to gifts, and rightly so. But Paul is speaking about members, about people. Some members of the body “seem to be more feeble.” Some “we think to be less honourable.” Paul does not say these members are less necessary. He says the opposite: “much more those members of the body, which seem to be more feeble, are necessary.”
Think about what that means for a church. The child who cannot sit still, the elderly man who cannot climb stairs, the woman with a mental illness who struggles in crowds, the young person with a learning disability: these are not optional extras that the church accommodates when it has spare resources. They are members of the body. Paul calls them necessary.
And notice how God responds to the members who seem to lack honour: “God hath tempered the body together, having given more abundant honour to that part which lacked.” God’s way is to give special honour exactly where the world gives least. So an assignment that serves the members of the body who seem feeble is not a minor department. It is an expression of the way God Himself arranges His church.
The purpose of this arrangement is “That there should be no schism in the body; but that the members should have the same care one for another.” A church in which the gifted and the visible receive all the attention, while the vulnerable are sent outside to the car park, has a schism in it, even if everyone is smiling in the front row. Adamu’s little room was one of the ways his church was keeping the body together.
One sheep, one child
Jesus told a short parable about value that has nothing to do with numbers:
How think ye? if a man have an hundred sheep, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray? And if so be that he find it, verily I say unto you, he rejoiceth more of that sheep , than of the ninety and nine which went not astray. Even so it is not the will of your Father which is in heaven, that one of these little ones should perish.
A shepherd with a hundred sheep loses one. By any measure of efficiency, he should accept the loss and stay with the ninety-nine. One per cent is a small number. But the shepherd “goeth into the mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray.” He goes after the one. And when he finds it, “he rejoiceth more of that sheep, than of the ninety and nine which went not astray.”
Then Jesus applies it: “Even so it is not the will of your Father which is in heaven, that one of these little ones should perish.” One of these little ones. Just before this parable, Jesus had placed a child in the middle of His disciples and warned, “Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 18:10).
Small assignments very often concern one person, or a handful of people. One child who needs patient teaching. One elderly neighbour who needs a visit. One new believer who needs someone to read the Bible with her. One colleague who needs a friend. By the arithmetic of visibility, these are tiny. By the arithmetic of heaven, the Father’s attention is on precisely these little ones. When your assignment is to care for one, you are doing the very thing the Good Shepherd does.
PunchlineAn assignment’s visibility measures the size of its audience. It does not measure the value of the people it serves, and God’s attention is fixed on the little ones.
Those who cannot repay you
At a dinner in the house of a leading Pharisee, Jesus turned to His host and gave him some unexpected advice:
Then said he also to him that bade him, When thou makest a dinner or a supper, call not thy friends, nor thy brethren, neither thy kinsmen, nor thy rich neighbours; lest they also bid thee again, and a recompence be made thee. But when thou makest a feast, call the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind: And thou shalt be blessed; for they cannot recompense thee: for thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just.
The custom of the day was to invite people who could return the favour. A good dinner was a social investment. You fed people who could feed you, honour people who could honour you, and so build a network of mutual benefit. That custom is very familiar in Nigeria too. We know whom to invite to the wedding, whose burial to attend, which events will be seen and remembered.
Jesus told His host to break the pattern. “When thou makest a feast, call the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind: And thou shalt be blessed; for they cannot recompense thee.” Notice who He names. The very people who were most often excluded from honoured places are the ones He tells His host to invite. And the reason is precisely that they cannot repay. Service to people who can give nothing back is service that cannot be done for the sake of return.
Many small assignments are like this. The people you serve cannot promote you, pay you or make you famous. A child with severe disabilities will not write a recommendation letter. An old woman in a village will not invite you to speak at a conference. That is exactly what makes such service pure. It is done for their sake, and for the Lord’s.
And Jesus does promise a reward: “thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just.” But look at when the reward comes. Not in a promotion next year. At the resurrection. Meanwhile, the blessing is already present: “thou shalt be blessed.” There is a blessedness now in serving those who cannot repay, and it is complete without anything else being added.
By the stuff
There is a remarkable story in the life of David that speaks to anyone whose role keeps them away from the visible action. While David and his men were away, raiders attacked their town of Ziklag, burned it and carried off their wives and children. David set out in pursuit with six hundred men. By the time they reached the brook Besor, two hundred were too exhausted to go on. David left them there to guard the baggage, and went ahead with four hundred. They overtook the raiders, defeated them and recovered everything. Then they came back:
And David came to the two hundred men, which were so faint that they could not follow David, whom they had made also to abide at the brook Besor: and they went forth to meet David, and to meet the people that were with him: and when David came near to the people, he saluted them. Then answered all the wicked men and men of Belial, of those that went with David, and said, Because they went not with us, we will not give them ought of the spoil that we have recovered, save to every man his wife and his children, that they may lead them away, and depart. Then said David, Ye shall not do so, my brethren, with that which the LORD hath given us, who hath preserved us, and delivered the company that came against us into our hand. For who will hearken unto you in this matter? but as his part is that goeth down to the battle, so shall his part be that tarrieth by the stuff: they shall part alike. And it was so from that day forward, that he made it a statute and an ordinance for Israel unto this day.
Some of the men who had fought did not want to share the spoil with those who had stayed behind. “Because they went not with us, we will not give them ought.” They had been at the battle. The others had only sat by the baggage.
David refused. He reminded them that the victory came from “the LORD,” and then he established a principle: “as his part is that goeth down to the battle, so shall his part be that tarrieth by the stuff: they shall part alike.” It became a permanent statute in Israel.
The men by the stuff were not at the front. Nobody would write songs about them. Their task was to guard the supplies, which is about as unglamorous as military service gets. But without them, the army could not have moved quickly. And David, who knew what it was to be overlooked as a young shepherd, would not allow their work to be despised.
Every church has people who stay by the stuff. They count the offering, guard the car park, clean after the vigil, run the crèche, fix the generator, keep the records and sit in storerooms with children who cannot manage the main service. Their part is the same as the part of those on the platform. God has made it a statute in His kingdom.
The care a small task requires
If small assignments are this valuable, they deserve real care. Paul’s instruction to the Colossians applies here as much as anywhere: “And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men; Knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ” (Colossians 3:23-24).
Heartily means from the soul. A small assignment done half-heartedly is not a small offering; it is a careless one. And often the most apparently minor responsibilities require the most attentive care, precisely because the people they serve are vulnerable.
Think about what Adamu’s work actually involved. He had learned each child’s needs in detail. He knew that the girl in the wheelchair needed to be repositioned every hour. He knew what to do if the eight-year-old had a seizure, and he kept her mother’s written instructions taped inside the cupboard door. He kept a register of who had arrived and who had collected each child, and he would not release a child to anyone the parents had not named. He never worked alone with the children, and he made sure the nurse who helped him was properly checked by the church. He had read books on autism and attended a workshop at a hospital in Jos. None of this was visible. All of it was necessary.
That is what faithfulness in a small assignment looks like. It is not a matter of turning up and doing the minimum. It is a matter of learning what the people you serve actually need, preparing properly, keeping good records, following safeguarding procedures and caring for them as though you were caring for Christ Himself, which, in a real sense, you are. Jesus said that whatever is done “unto one of the least of these my brethren” is done unto Him (Matthew 25:40).
Zechariah asked a question that still needs to be heard in churches: “For who hath despised the day of small things?” (Zechariah 4:10). The prophet was speaking to people discouraged by the modest beginnings of the rebuilt temple. God would not have them despise what He was doing simply because it looked small. The same applies to the small things He is doing through you.
What Jesus saw at the treasury
In the last week of His earthly ministry, Jesus sat in the temple court opposite the place where people brought their offerings:
And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much. And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing. And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury: For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living.
“And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld.” He was watching. He saw the rich people cast in much, and no doubt others saw them too. Large gifts in the temple courts did not go unnoticed. Then a poor widow came and dropped in two tiny copper coins. Mark explains that they made a farthing, among the smallest denominations in circulation. Nobody would have looked twice.
NuggetJesus called His disciples and told them she had given more than all the rest. “For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living.”
Notice two things. First, Jesus measured differently. The size of the gift in the world’s eyes was tiny. In His eyes it was the largest gift of the day, because of what it cost her and the trust it expressed. Second, notice what Jesus did not say. He did not say that her small gift would one day lead to a larger one. He did not promise her a ministry, a platform or a promotion. The story ends where it is. Her act was complete in itself, and Jesus honoured it as it was.
That is the freedom of faithfulness in a small assignment. It does not have to become something bigger to be meaningful. The widow’s two coins were seen and treasured by the Son of God on the day she gave them. Adamu’s Sunday mornings on the floor of a storeroom are seen and treasured by the same Lord.
God is not unrighteous to forget
The letter to the Hebrews was written to believers who were tempted to give up. They had suffered, and some were losing heart. In the middle of a severe warning, the writer pauses to encourage them:
For God is not unrighteous to forget your work and labour of love, which ye have shewed toward his name, in that ye have ministered to the saints, and do minister.
“For God is not unrighteous to forget your work and labour of love.” The writer appeals to God’s justice. It would be unrighteous of God to forget what His people have done in love, and God is never unrighteous. Whatever you have done for His name, He remembers.
Notice the phrase labour of love. The word for labour implies toil, the kind of effort that makes you tired. Small assignments are often exhausting precisely because they are unrelenting and unseen. Changing a nappy, lifting a wheelchair, cleaning up after a child who has been sick, sitting with someone who cannot speak: these are labours. God calls them labours of love, and He does not forget them.
Then look at the tense: “in that ye have ministered to the saints, and do minister.” They had served, and they were still serving. The writer honours their ongoing faithfulness, not only a past achievement. The present Sunday counts as much as the remembered one. Your faithfulness this week has meaning this week.
Two guard-rails belong here. First, church leaders have a responsibility to people serving in small, hidden assignments. Paul tells us to bestow “more abundant honour” on the less visible members. That means resourcing these ministries properly, rather than leaving a retired man to fund a disability class from his pension. It means naming and thanking those who serve, and making sure nobody serves for years without support, rest or relief. Second, faithfulness in a small assignment does not mean you can never move on. Seasons change. God may call you elsewhere. It is right to hand over a responsibility carefully when the time comes. What matters is that while you hold it, you hold it as the real thing.
“And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not” (Galatians 6:9). Paul promises a harvest. But he also tells us that our labour is already “not in vain in the Lord” (1 Corinthians 15:58). Both are true. The harvest is coming, and the work is not wasted now.
That December morning, Nneoma’s son screamed for the first ten minutes in the storeroom. Adamu did not try to stop him. He turned off the fan, closed the window against the sound of the generator, lowered his voice and sat on the mat a little distance away. He took a jar of plastic bottle tops from the cupboard and began sorting them by colour, very slowly, into a row. He did not look at the boy.
After a while the screaming stopped. The boy watched. Then he crawled over and picked up a blue bottle top and put it next to the other blue ones. Adamu said, quietly, “Yes. Blue.” The boy put down another.
Nneoma stood in the doorway with tears running down her face. The nurse touched her arm and told her to go into the service. “We have him,” she said. “We have your number. Go.”
She went. She sat at the back of the new auditorium for the whole service. She told Adamu afterwards that it was the first sermon she had heard from beginning to end in eleven months. She could not remember most of it. What she remembered was that, for two hours, nobody had asked her to leave.
When she came back to collect her son, he was still on the mat with Adamu, surrounded by rows of bottle tops in every colour. The building committee chairman had come looking for his classmate after the reception, and he stood in the doorway for a moment, watching. Then he quietly went away.
PunchlineThe next week, he sent a cheque for the class. The week after that, the church council voted to give the room a proper budget and to make it accessible for wheelchairs.
Adamu never joined the projects committee. “My friend thinks I am wasting myself,” he told me. “But these children are members of the body of Christ. Paul says they are necessary. Jesus says their angels behold the face of the Father. When I sit on this floor, I am not waiting for something more important. I am already doing it.”
Perhaps your assignment appears small. Few people see it. Your name will never be read out at a dedication. Look again at the people you serve. They are as precious to God as anyone in the front row. Give your work your whole heart, because the Lord who sat over against the treasury still sees, and He is not unrighteous to forget.
Teaching Companion
For Reflection
- Which of your current responsibilities appears small? How would your view of it change if you measured it by the value of the people it serves?
- Have you treated a small assignment mainly as preparation for something bigger? What effect has that had on the way you serve?
- Who in your church might be the “feeble” or “less honourable” members Paul describes? How is your church caring for them?
- What practical care does your assignment require that you may have been neglecting: preparation, records, training, safeguarding, attention to individual needs?
- Jesus did not promise the widow a larger ministry. What does it mean for you that faithfulness can be complete in itself?
This Week
Choose the smallest assignment you currently carry, at church, at work or at home. Write down the names of the people it serves. This week, learn one new thing about what those people actually need, and make one concrete improvement in how you serve them: better preparation, a safer procedure, a kinder word, a more careful record. Then find one person in your church who serves in a hidden assignment, and thank them specifically for what they do.
A Prayer
Lord Jesus, You sat over against the treasury and saw the widow’s two coins. Thank You that You see what others overlook. Forgive me for measuring my assignments by their visibility and for treating the people I serve as stepping stones to something bigger. Teach me to value them as You do. Give me the patience and care that small responsibilities require, and help me to serve heartily, as to You. Where I am weary, strengthen me. Let me remember that You are not unrighteous to forget my labour of love, and that my faithfulness has meaning today. Amen.
Truth received brings freedom. Truth believed establishes the heart.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version. · Illustrations using first names only are composites unless stated otherwise.