Jared Soares | The Roanoke Times

The Rev. Lawrence Dodson (left) greets congregants Sunday before a morning service at Windsor Hills Baptist Church in Southwest Roanoke. He has been pastor there for 50 years but said it feels like only yesterday he delivered his "trial sermon" to land the job.

Kyle Green | The Roanoke Times

The Rev. John Fox has pastored at Belmont Baptist Church in Southeast Roanoke for 50 years. He said his church is made up of mostly older people because jobs that attracted young families have left the area over the years.

Celebrating 50 years apiece in the ministry, the Rev. Lawrence Dodson and the Rev. John Fox entered their respective Roanoke sanctuaries on Sunday. And each wondered: Where did their half-centuries go?

"One day you look out at the congregation, and people you knew when they were young are in their nineties. All of a sudden, you're going to visit some of them in nursing homes," said Fox, 71, pastor of Belmont Baptist Church in Southeast Roanoke. His journey has gone by all too quickly, he said. "I loved every day of this opportunity."

Dodson, 78, is the only pastor in the 50-year history of Windsor Hills Baptist Church in Southwest Roanoke. Wearing a purple rose boutonniere, he mingled with well-wishers in the pews for 20 minutes before preaching to an overflow crowd of about 175. He began by saying, "If heaven looks anything like this, I'm ready to go."

He said it seemed like just yesterday when he was required to preach a "trial sermon" to land the Windsor Hills Baptist job in 1958. His message on Sunday was the same as his first one there, he said -- a straightforward assurance of God's love. Neither Dodson nor Fox is the fire-and-brimstone type.

Fox's wife, Juanita, said, "I have been very impressed over the years with his ability to offer words that comfort and inspire." She said he labors over sermon preparation and sometimes frets over whether his message will be good enough. "I have learned that he always comes through," she said.

Dodson's wife, Marian, said she "still gets goose bumps" listening to him in church.

Fox admits that butterflies in the tummy still torment him in the moments before he starts a sermon. He said he "never thought about longevity" when he was ordained in Fort Smith, Ark., in 1958.

Dodson, who is acquainted with Fox and has had his share of butterflies, too, joked that his colleague's nervousness might pass with more experience. After all, Dodson said, "He's just a kid."

Dodson has the sense of humor and air of diplomacy that many preachers say are essential in church politics. "You know how a preacher can last 50 years at one church? Be very careful," he said.

Even the seemingly small affront of momentarily forgetting an influential church member's name can threaten the job security of some pastors, said Robert Benne, director of Roanoke College's Center for Religion and Society.

"They're always on, doing a balancing act -- trying to tend their flocks and at the same time get support from them. My hat is off to anyone who can do that for 50 years," he said.

The careers of Dodson and Fox embody the generations of clergy who serve in relative anonymity: struggling to prepare sermons lively enough to keep parishioners from nodding off, soliciting sufficiently at the offertory to pay the mortgage on the sanctuary and braving the gastronomic risks of covered-dish suppers. Never do most pastors gain fame approaching that of, say, Billy Graham, who counseled presidents. Indeed, Fox's highest profile services have been his occasional invocations before NASCAR races in Martinsville.

And neither Roanoke minister achieved the notoriety of some television evangelists who came and went during their tenures. They didn't produce the spectacle of Jimmy Swaggart, ensnared in scandal and tearfully apologizing on television to millions of people.

Fox, a native of Fort Smith, Ark., has a bachelor's degree from Ouachita Baptist University in Arkadelphia, Ark., and two master's degrees from Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Ky. Belmont Baptist is Fox's latest stop in a career that has included stints with congregations in Arkansas, Indiana and elsewhere in Virginia.

His history at Belmont Baptist includes a term there as minister of education in the late 1960s, when he ran what was then among Roanoke's largest Sunday schools, he said, with a typical weekly attendance of more than 300.

But the demographics of the neighborhood surrounding Belmont Baptist have changed in the past four decades, with manufacturers moving out and the jobs that attracted young families disappearing.

Today, the church has about 100 active members, "mostly old," he said. When preaching, he yearns for a long-lost sound from the pews that was once an annoyance. "Right now," he said, "it would be wonderful to hear a crying baby."

Fox and his wife have raised two daughters and have four grandchildren. They are planning their golden wedding anniversary in June.

Windsor Hills Baptist, located in more prosperous surroundings, has fared better in keeping its base of young families, but relies on parishioners who have been loyal to the church and Dodson for decades. "What he has meant here is pretty wonderful," said Royce Teague, the church's volunteer pianist for 47 years. There's pride in such long-term service, said Nella Manning, the organist for 40 years. She said, jokingly, "We just won't let anyone else in."

Dodson, a native of Martinsville, is a graduate of the University of Richmond and Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary in Wake Forest, N.C.

He actually marked his personal half-century mark in the ministry five years ago, having pastored at three small Baptist churches in Henry County while in seminary before being recruited by Windsor Baptist's founders. Dodson and his wife have three children and seven grandchildren.

Neither of the half-century celebrants has plans to retire. Fox has supposedly cut back to part-time status, sharing pastoring duties at Belmont Baptist with David Burgess, yet he still typically works 30 to 40 hours a week, he said.

"There's no mandatory retirement here," he said, hastening to add that he's too busy with various outreach programs -- such as helping run a food pantry that serves up to 40 people a week -- to simply stay home. "This keeps me going," he said.

Marian Dodson said the prospect of her husband's retirement isn't something the couple have seriously discussed. One reason, she said, is the vigor he shows on the job. Lawrence Dodson's preaching, she said, "is stronger now than ever."