Greenville, S.C. — For 74 years, Nicholtown Presbyterian Church was a vibrant hub of faith and fellowship, with more than 120 members filling the pews in the 1980s. Over the decades, membership dwindled. In 2025, just four active members remain. Facing insurmountable odds, the church decided to close its doors, holding its final service on Easter Sunday, April 20, 2025.
The decision reflected a harsh reality facing many small Black congregations: aging memberships, declining attendance, and financial strain. Young people who grew up in the church left and never returned. Then came COVID-19.
COVID-19’s toll
Five years ago this spring, the pandemic began claiming the lives of elderly and frail members. Months later, even as conditions improved for hybrid services, many stayed away, caring for loved ones and fearing the virus’s return, said the Rev. Michael Sullivan. He led the congregation through that difficult time, holding remote services on Facebook.
“Let the Lord work through you,” he preached during his first virtual sermon on March 23, 2020. “Let him develop within you his spirit that allows you to become the greatest and most useful human that he can use in this day.”
Nicholtown’s struggle wasn’t unique. In 2019, about 4,500 Protestant churches closed—the first time closures outpaced openings—according to a 2023 report in The Guardian. African American churches suffered especially from the pandemic but were credited with encouraging more vaccinations.
But numbers fail to capture what this loss meant to those who called Nicholtown Presbyterian home.
“My children were baptized here,” said Wanda Williams, a former member who once lived in the Nicholtown neighborhood.
Grappling with the loss of a church that taught her dignity and self-love, Williams said the church’s closing felt like losing a piece of herself.
A neighborhood built on resilience
The church was more than a place of worship, members said. It was a cornerstone of the community that shared its name.
After the Civil War, formerly enslaved African Americans purchased land that became Nicholtown. By the 1950s, it had grown into a thriving Black middle-class neighborhood near downtown Greenville. According to folklore, Nicholtown got its name because you could buy anything there for a nickel.
“This community was self-sustaining,” Williams said, recalling restaurants, gas stations, beauty salons, and a skating rink that made Nicholtown a social hub for Greenville’s Black residents. “We had everything we needed, and the money stayed in the community.”
“This community was self-sustaining … We had everything we needed, and the money stayed in the community.” — Wanda Williams
In the 1970s, the neighborhood struggled with drugs and crime, but later rebounded through housing grants. Today, longtime residents face a new challenge: gentrification and rising property taxes.
Founded in 1954, Nicholtown Presbyterian started with a Sunday school and kindergarten. By 1980, it added a food pantry. But members said its greatest gift was outreach to children.
“The daycare helped parents who wanted to work by providing affordable child care,” said church elder Hilda Sanders. Despite financial struggles, the church’s focus on community service never wavered.
Moment of redemption
In 2017, the church began transporting neighborhood children for breakfast and worship. Funds ran low. Then, in May of that year, two $1,000 checks arrived, accompanied by an unsigned letter from a self-described White racist expressing remorse for decades of hatred.
“Thanks to Jesus and the Holy Spirit alone that I have been cleansed of my former racism,” the donor wrote. The gift helped sustain the children’s program and left the congregation in awe.
Struggling with goodbye
When I visited the church in early April, members were boxing hymnals, packing memories and fielding offers for the church van — practical tasks amid heavy hearts.
A teary-eyed Williams voiced what many felt: “I feel lost. My spirit is troubled.” A deafening silence followed. Moments later, members circled to embrace her.
“I feel lost. My spirit is troubled.” — Wanda Williams
Williams’ words reflected a deeper reality. The 56 sister churches of the Foothills Presbytery, including six African American congregations, face similar struggles: shrinking memberships and aging flocks. The future for this area, and many mainline churches, is unknown.
The final service
The pews were packed on this Easter Sunday afternoon. So many current and former members returned to say goodbye that extra chairs were placed in the center aisle to accommodate them. Blue Presbyterian hymnals, no longer needed, were being given away.
People sang, prayed, cried, and testified about how the church had sustained them. Near the end of the service, Foothills Presbytery Moderator Rev. Trish Gwinn paused at the pulpit, her voice trembling.
“I’ve never experienced so much love for a church,” she said.
“I’ve never experienced so much love for a church.” — Trish Gwinn
She read the official document announcing the church’s closure.
And then, it was done.
