In terms of parish size, I think I've served the entire spectrum. My first position as an ordained person was at a cathedral, the second was at a parish so small that it needed to be yoked with another small parish so that the two together would be able to share one priest. For the better part of a decade, I served a parish that could only afford to have me work on Sundays. Fortunately, I had a full-time job as a school chaplain at the time. Our average Sunday attendance was 25 people. I remember the senior warden complimenting me because he had never seen so many people in church.
When I became an interim rector [I believe it's now called "transition minister"; next year, it'll be called something else], I served in small and mid-size parishes, and then spent several years serving so-called "cardinal parishes": one in an upscale suburb, another the largest parish in a state capital, the next the largest parish in a neighboring state's capital. Those three parishes supported a ministry to thousands, along with staffs of an appropriate size. They also enjoyed a great range of races, cultures, educational backgrounds, and income.
At one of these parishes, it was determined by the vestry that we would build an addition to the building to support a growing church school and offer amenities such as an indoor basketball court and small theater complete with professional lighting and sound capability. So, we organized a "building committee" to hire an architect, contractor, and construction crew, and began to solicit for funds.
One day, one of our wealthier members, from whom I had asked for the pledge towards the project, stopped by the office after having just returned from his beach house in Little Compton and asked me to accompany him to the parking lot. There, he opened the trunk of his enormous, and brand new, Mercedes-Benz sedan to reveal a collection of bricks.
"We re-built our gatehouse and these were left over. I thought I'd give them to the construction project. This is more honorable than money."
So, I made two trips to the back of the parish house with an armful of bricks, thanked him for his support, and then wondered if there were any contractors who would build a multi-million dollar structure in return for fourteen bricks. A structure, I might add, that wasn't even going to be made of brick.
This is not an uncommon gesture, especially as it makes the giver feel righteous and costs them nothing or next to it. Unfortunately, it places the receiver in the awkward position of graciously accepting a gift that he or she knows is useless. I suppose that's why I had a closet at that parish full of broken fax machines, obsolete desktop computers, and ruined musical instruments. They were useless to those who gave them but, instead of pitching them, they gave them to the church, claimed a charitable tax deduction, and had a warm sense of relevance. Me? I had to spend time away from pastoral duties either to find someone who wanted an obsolete machine or instrument or arrange the appropriate disposal of them.
I have found this phenomenon in all of the parishes I've served, regardless of size. There are always those who think that donating some token once a year is a gift that enables an active ministry, innovative programs, or comprehensive education for parish youth. In fact, it often amounts to about 35 cents a week and does nothing for the organic work of the parish. The churches in which I've worked where over half of the membership preferred token gifts to planned giving are the parishes which are now closed. If I were of a harsher nature, I'd say "Good riddance." Instead, I'll simply observe that they received their reward.
There are four elements that a true communicant embodies: They attend worship services, they participate in dinners and continuing education programs, they offer gifts-in-kind, and, importantly, they pledge to the operating budget of the parish. There will always be people who present a token gift and do not pledge, but as long as they don't form the majority, the parish will function and remain. Heck, it may even grow.
But when a budget needs to be supported, and all the majority offer is irrelevant material that would be otherwise discarded, it's time to close the parish and permit the true communicants to shake that dust off of their feet and find a place that is worthy of true support.