GOSHEN — At Goshen Primitive Baptist Church, you won't find a singles group, a quilt club, a financial workshop, a weight control club, a basketball team, a bell choir or a rummage sale fund-raiser.

"We gather here for one purpose," said pastor Ed Reed, 68, who has led the congregation for 34 years, "and that's to praise God."

"We worship in the plain simple way that the Lord did when he was here on Earth, just simple true worship."

The Clark County church has occupied the same property on Goshen Road since its inception in 1797, and the one-room brick structure where the church meets today has stood since 1870.

To remain close to the original, or "primitive," traditions of Christianity, the congregation at Goshen has removed many of what they think are distractions. The walls of the sanctuary are unadorned. There is no piano or organ, no air-conditioning and no plumbing. A portable toilet sits behind the church.

Five years ago, Mike Veirs, 57, found the church by chance while out for a country drive with his wife and father-in-law. They were charmed by the rural setting and intrigued about the primitive Baptist traditions.

"It's such a small congregation," Veirs said. "There's just such a closeness."

"The message that Brother Ed preaches is always a positive message. And I really like that. That's the way I feel, too. It's always positive here."

Veirs was also impressed by the financial workings of the church.

"The pastor is an unpaid position," Veirs said. "Although donations are accepted from the members when they feel appropriate, there is no passing of the hat during the service."

Brotherly love

Member Jesse Reed is more than a brother in the spiritual sense; he is also a biological brother to pastor Ed Reed. He says that the Reed family has been part of Goshen Primitive Baptist for more than 100 years.

"Some call us the 'hard-shell Baptists.' We believe in immersion. I was baptized right down there," Jesse said, pointing to the creek below the ridge from where the church sits. "Pastor W.L. Kash's son got baptized the same day. I was 20 years old."

Jesse remembers one unusual Sunday morning when he was a teen.

"We all got to church, and when the doors were opened we were hit with one heck of a bad smell. It was sheep dung."

A sheep herder passing through the remote Clark County countryside had used the shelter of the church to stop for the night and then gone on his way.

"It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't have let the sheep have the run of the church. I helped the other men clean up. Then we all went home."

That was in the early 1950s in the days when the church was heated by a coal stove. Today a bottled-gas stove has replaced the potbelly. That and a few electric lights in the ceiling are among the only concessions to modernization to be found in the church.

In the presence of the Lord

The service at Goshen Primitive Baptist Church begins with voices joined in harmony for strictly a capella renditions of Farther Along, Blessed Assurance, Precious Memories and other hymns. From a seat near the front, the sturdy voice of Reed's wife, Florence, sets the pace for the singing. Musical instruments are forbidden in the church.

When he feels the time is right, Ed Reed takes the pulpit. Aside from 200 years of tradition, there is no itinerary for the worship service.

He begins in a barely audible conversational tone with a story about how he was first called to preach. About a dozen of the Lord's faithful listen from the pews.

Somewhere in the middle of the sermon, Reed hits his stride. His outstretched hands grip the podium, his voice becomes loud and strong, and a rhythm emerges with each phrase punctuated by a gasp.

The message is wide-ranging — an angel that appeared to Joshua, a fishing parable, a little about Noah. There are some words of caution about "man's modern devices" such as computers.

As the mood winds down, he settles back into the more conversational tone with which he began. He steps down from the podium to offer comfort for the infirm and the afflicted that are not able to attend, followed by a time of friendly handshakes and hugs for all in attendance.

As a final check, Reed questions the congregation to see "if all minds are clear." There being no souls in turmoil, the service is closed with a prayer.

Going where the spirit calls

"I'm a God-called minister," Reed says in reference to the Primitive Baptist position of rejecting formal seminaries. He considers "reverend" a haughty title, preferring to be called "Elder" or "Brother."

In the Primitive Baptist tradition, the church itself is the classroom where an older experienced minister takes an apprentice from the congregation.

Because the Goshen church meets only on first and third Sundays, Reed is able to share his ministerial skills with other primitive Baptist churches. He and his wife have been making the trek to serve a Centerville, Ill., church on second Sundays for 28 years.

On fourth Sundays, Reed divides his time between Primitive Baptist churches in Ashland, Morehead, Indianapolis and Marion, Ohio. He also occasionally serves a church in Florida. To defer costs, he and his wife typically stay in church members' homes.

Despite the austere surroundings, the members of Goshen Primitive Baptist find that the church has a lot to offer.

"There's really a lot happening here" Reed says pressing his hand to his chest. "It's in our hearts."