"His mouth was open, as usual, talking right down into the water," said a guy named Carl Broome, chairman of the deacon board.

"What a preacher we got here," said Annie Broome, Carl's wife of 53 years. "Sunday might be the topper."

The congregation that has boomed in 10 months under Smith's zany leadership raised more than a grand for a mission trip. So the 5-foot, 4-inch -- maybe, with shoes on -- brushcutted wonder will preach Sunday about casting no stones against sinners from the roof of his church.

No guidewires. No ropes. No flat stand. Just 11 a.m. and angled shingles.

"I've done some outlandish things in my life," Smith said. "But Jesus was a maverick, too."

Smith started talking when he was born 38 years ago and hasn't stopped yet. That's why the church members love him, why the place has doubled from fewer than 45 members to better than 90. Why young and old have embraced pies to the face and dunking booths and now rooftop sermons.

This sermon will be about Jesus telling those who wished to stone a woman alleged to have had a bit of a roguish night, "Let him without sin cast the first stone."

"All I know is those rocks started dropping from the accusers' hands when the accusers had to look at themselves," Smith said. "This is another way to reach the unloved. Stand on the roof and preach, maybe the cars driving by will stop. Listen. Come in and see we cast no stones here."

For 11 years, a kid named Kevin Atkinson lived across Springsteen Road from the church. He never set foot in the sanctuary. Then Smith saw Atkinson, now 20, shooting baskets one day in his driveway, ran across the street and played ball for a couple hours. He never stopped endless words for a single breath, and the next thing you know Atkinson was a member at Woodvale.

"I know that if the message gets out to neighbors, it'll work," Atkinson said. "It happened to me."

The roof of the sanctuary slopes -- Smith said he might sit and preach. He might rig a microphone, but this is a guy who needs no amplification. The church members are expected to bring chairs out from the fellowship hall. Others will stand. There won't be a choir behind him like the normal service.

"We tried to talk them into it, but they wouldn't get up there," cracked Annie Broome.

The only thing that might stop Bart Smith is the weather. The sign out front of the church says if it rains, Smith will preach indoors.

"If it's real windy, I probably won't either." Smith said.

"Sign doesn't say nothin' about any wind," said that laughing deacon, Carl Broome, who has found renewed youth in his pastor. "We expect you up there."

"I told him (if) Jesus comes Sunday, he's already closest," Annie Broome said.

Closest, up there on the roof, without a doubt talking nonstop. Without a net. Just faith.