Faithful few
A congregation of 5 members aims to keep its church open
The Rev. Michael Ruk leads the five-member congregation in the Holy Eucharist worship Sept. 27 at
St. Paul's Episcopal Church.
Rev. Ruk chats with parishoners Penny Baroli and Jane and Gary Sutton after Sunday service Sept. 27.
The baptismal font at St. Paul's Episcopal Church. The parish hasn't had a baptism since 2024.
Despite dwindling church membership, "we're not closing," said church warden Penny Baroli.
St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Levittown, Pa.
RELIGION
Morning light catches the pale stone baptismal font at St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Levittown, Pennsylvania. It cascades over rows of angular wood pews and graces a large gold crucifix and tall pipes of the church organ behind it.
Few people in the neighborhood experience the restful silence the place offers.
St. Paul's, among Levittown's original neighborhood churches, has seen its once large congregation dwindle to just five people.
"We're trying to build it back up," said Penny Baroli, the church warden who oversees administration. "And the way we're trying is to hold events here in the church hall."
Her bet is that if she can bring people into St. Paul's for, say, designer bag bingo, or a wedding reception, or birthday celebration or some program or show, they might stay.
It's a come-for-bingo, stay-for salvation model.
Has it worked?
"Not yet," said Baroli, who is 75.
Not that she hasn't tried to build it back.
St. Paul's has hosted Elvis impersonator shows, drawing a crowd that filled almost half of the 130-person capacity.
An even bigger draw was a drag queen show last year. But it also attracted three irate protesters who, while they weren't parishioners, entered the church and angrily denounced the parish.
"I had to call the police to have them leave," Baroli said.
The efforts aren't futile, at least for operating expenses. Financially, St. Paul's is holding its own, but there is a cost: With no full-time pastor, the rectory house along Pensive Lane was sold.
"But as long as we have rentals, we stay open," Baroli said.
'A loss of community'
It's a tough time for churches, especially in blue-collar, working-class neighborhoods such as Levittown, said the Rev. Michael Ruk, who travels from another county to hold services at St. Paul's. He was pastor at the church in the early 2000s.
"Things aren't what they used to be," he said, recalling an Easter service at St. Paul's in 2012 that drew 250 people. "It's really a loss of community."
"This is one of the first churches in Levittown. When it opened (in 1954) they had 500 kids in Sunday school," he said.
He repeated the figure in quiet amazement.
"Five. Hundred."
There were so many that the parish had to pitch a circus tent on the lawn to hold them, Ruk said.
By 2004, there were just five kids in Sunday school. Today, there are none.
The decline is not unique to a church such as St. Paul's. All mainline Protestant denominations, as well as the Catholic church, have seen congregations shrink as young people shun organized religion.
The Episcopal Church in the U.S. peaked in the 1960s, with 3.4 million members. Today, it's approximately 1.8 million and dropping by 2% to 3% a year, according to the Episcopal Church's Parochial Report Data Summary.
One in seven Episcopal parishes closed between 2004 and 2021.
These drops, plus severe shortages of clergy to lead worship, have had a profound effect on St. Paul's bread-and-butter ministries.
The church's last baptism was in 2024, Baroli said. Its last funeral was two years ago.
Its last wedding? Baroli couldn't recall.
"Maybe three years ago," she said.
The silence of the church organ and bell
At St. Paul's, the routine sounds of a church have vanished. The enormous church organ hasn't been heard in years, and there is no singing hymns of praise.
Even the church bell is silent.
"We used to have the kids pull the bell rope," Baroli said. "But we have no more children here. So, we got out of the habit."
But even now she hesitates to ring it. A neighbor along Pinewood Drive complained that he didn't appreciate the Sunday call to worship waking him.
No matter — the five who remain are determined to keep St. Paul's alive. Among them is Lori Campbell of Morrisville, who takes her usual seat in a pew near the sanctuary.
"I was baptized here," she said. "This is my home. It's part of me. I grew up coming here with my parents. When I sit here in this church, I am replenished."
She wipes away a tear.
Across from her are Gary and Jane Sutton, who live two doors away from the church. They've attended St. Paul's for 10 years. They sit with Baroli and her husband in the same pew.
Asked why so few people come to Sunday worship, Gary Sutton said church is a hard sell today, and that was true before the COVID-19 pandemic wreaked havoc.
"Between COVID and the elderly, a lot of people here passed away," he said. "And now it's just hard to get a congregation going again with today's environment."
It's an environment where, on Sunday mornings, the churches are empty and the nearby ballfields and eateries are full.
"Parents have made their decision," Ruk said. Ball and brunch win.
Seeking hope on Pinewood Drive
Baroli sees it this way.
"You have parents with three or four children and two jobs, they're both working to maintain their own homes, and so they don't have time to come to church and thank God for what they have," she said.
But there is a bit of good news: After a year of having Sunday worship once a month, Ruk is to come to celebrate the Holy Eucharist twice a month.
"We're back," he said.
The five who remain at St. Paul's have not lost hope.
On a recent rainswept Sunday, Ruk donned green and white vestments, stood at the altar and led the five in prayer.
They prayed for one another, their neighbors, the world and, if it's God's will, for a comeback along Pinewood Drive.
