The One

In my 20s and 30s, I thought a successful church was a large number of people gathered in one room on Sundays. I wanted worship to be vibrant. I wanted lives to be changed. But I also wanted it to be big—the kind of big where fog machines and drone shots felt like ministry essentials. The more people in the room, the more it seemed like our church was meaningful—and that I was a good pastor.

It didn’t occur to me that Jesus never said, “Go and gather as many people as you can in one room.” I wasn’t understanding that Jesus’ ministry wasn’t about assembling crowds—it was about making disciples, and more often, chasing after the one lost sheep.

I should have picked up on it. It’s right there in the Gospels on nearly every page: choosing the twelve, withdrawing from the crowds again and again, slipping away after performing a village-shaking miracle. Sitting and talking with the woman at the well. Eating with Zacchaeus. Stopping to hear the bleeding woman’s long story (shortened for space, no doubt, by Luke).

It took COVID—and losing nearly 60% of my church—for me to finally be open to hearing God about the importance of one person.

Taipei International Church averaged about 150 people per week before I arrived. Within three years, we were closer to 270, and some weeks had over 300. It was an exciting season in the life of the church. College students and young adults were serving with passion. There was a wonderful culture of hospitality led by Paul Thrush. Our services were powerful, and my heart was filled with optimism for the future. We were on the way to fog machines.

Then a theological conflict over healing hit the church. COVID hit. We lost access to our building and had to move twice to different parts of the city. Within a couple of months, 60% of our congregation was gone.

It hurt—but I had faith we would grow back stronger and more unified. And slowly, over the next year, our numbers began to grow again. A deeper unity formed, and services were powerful. We finally found a space to rent and renovations began. I was thrilled.

We were set to move in on Pentecost Sunday. Surely this was a sign—that our church was like a rocket about to launch. My vindication was at hand. The promises we had leaned on, the prayers—we were about to see them come to pass.

Except we didn’t.

A week before our opening Sunday, instead of tongues of fire coming from heaven, the country went into lockdown. We went about three months before we could hold a service. When we finally did, there were only 51 people.

I was pierced to the heart.

Was this church going to survive?
Was I a failure as a pastor?
Was God punishing me for some unknown reason?

My identity was being crushed. I had nothing to show for five years of toil as a pastor. We were half the size we had been when I first began.

I didn’t know what to do. I knew I couldn’t quit on the church—they needed me to lead—but if I had ever felt like I wasn’t strong enough or good enough, this was the time.

I told Bo that we needed to seek the Lord. If no one wanted to join us, fine—but we needed the Lord. We began seeking Him with Joe Phanoella and Dior Yu De Leon. On Sunday afternoons, after others had left, we began worshipping, praying, and repenting. We simply sang, read Scripture, repented, and prayed.

And God began moving.

He moved in our hearts and in the few others who would come and join us. After a few months, in early December, He poured out His Spirit in a special way—filling hearts with joy and mouths with laughter. Little by little, others began to join. God began healing people—physically and in their hearts.

We began sharing testimonies in the Sunday service. But the fire didn’t seem to spread to the rest of the congregation. I began to feel discouraged. The revival we had been praying for seemed limited to about 10–15 people.

One Tuesday morning, Bo, Joe, and I were praying about this, and Bo was reminded of the parable of the lost sheep—how Jesus went after the one.

I thought, Oh—God must be encouraging me because only 15 or so are coming on Wednesday nights.

But that wasn’t quite the message God was trying to send.

The next night, only one person came to our Wednesday service.

At first, I was angry. Angry that only one person came—where was everyone else? But in addition to anger, there was shame. I was ashamed that my teaching could only draw one person. I wanted to cancel. I wanted to go home.

But then I remembered what Bo had shared the day before—and I reasoned: God must have a plan.

God did indeed have a plan.

Since only one person came, he had mine and Bo’s full attention. He shared some deep pain in his heart. We were able to pray together—and it ended up being a pivotal night for his healing. This person later became instrumental in one of the ministries of the church.

I realized: God had arranged for him to be the only one at church that night—so that his heart could be touched.

I began to understand: God values small meetings. He cares about the one.

God would later deepen this conviction through a summer missions initiative called Chasing the One.

Fast forward to my time as a worship and discipleship coordinator at First Covenant. Since I wasn’t preaching and had limited ability to plan services, I had the opportunity to observe church life in ways I never had before.

I began to realize that just having people in the room on Sunday morning wasn’t translating into mature, disciple-making followers of Jesus. Attending on Sunday didn’t mean people were treating one another with love, sharing the Gospel, growing in knowledge, or passionate about kingdom interests and making disciples.

As a participant rather than the preacher, I saw that it was possible to be in church out of routine—because your family was there, because you enjoyed serving, or because you liked connecting with friends.

Over the course of the year, I began to see—more clearly than ever—that the goal cannot be church attendance. It must be helping every believer become someone who is following Jesus and equipped and actively engaged in making disciples.

So when we began putting down on paper what we wanted to be distinct about Nations Church, I knew: every believer must be a disciple-maker. That had to be at the core of who we are.

We didn’t want to start by gathering as many people as we could to launch a service. We wanted to start with a handful—and grow by making disciples and training others to do the same.

We have a vision that everyone who comes to the church will understand: making a decision for Christ and attending Sunday services are part of life in Christ. But every believer is called to be a disciple-maker.

Without the disappointment of attendance crashing during COVID—and without the time as a discipleship coordinator—I’m not sure I would have gotten the message.