Deutero Q

FRESNO — Step in, stoop and you'll see a scaled-down sanctuary with miniaturized pulpit and pews, a baptistery the size of a kitchen sink, little Bibles, small guitars, offering plates the size of doll's china — these accoutrements suit the only known Dwarf Church in America. The tiny complex, situated in a residential neighborhood, looks like an assembly of children's playhouses. Members say the church is necessary because standard churches tend to overlook dwarf believers.

"I've been stepped on, carried to the altar, passed over for prayer, even forced to play the boy Jesus in the Easter play," says Daniel, 38, who stands less than four feet tall. "And during worship time — forget it. I couldn't see anything." Others found their faith suffering because of the size differences, so they sojourn here for Sunday morning service. Many have found a life-changing community of similarly-sized believers. "I wouldn't go to church if it wasn't for this place," says Nicholas, a 47-inch-tall, biker-looking man who rides his miniature, and very speedy, Harley-Davidson motorcycle to church.

The slate of heroes reads a little different here. They draw inspiration from the Apostle Paul, whom they believe was a midget (see article). They are devoted to Francis Schaeffer's book No Little People. And hardly a sermon goes by without reference to Zaccheus, the "wee little man" in whom many modern dwarfs find the embodiment of their theology. "Like many of us, he was bitter to begin with," says the pastor one Sunday. "But he was not ashamed to climb that tree." "Amen," says the congregation. "And when that day was done, he stood taller than anyone there," the pastor says. The congregation applauds and whistles. After service, they step into the pint-sized fellowship hall for Dixie cups of juice and donut holes. There is laughter, shared stories and camaraderie. For once, they don't have to think about their abnormality. "In God's sight, everybody is the same size," says Daniel.