But these days, most of the work comes during the week. He is a constant presence in Wee Waa, dashing around in a T-shirt and sneakers. (Long-distance running is his diversion from ministry.)

“I’ve got six days off,” Mr. Gabbott said. “I think that’s the common myth in town.”

Most of the people he encounters will never join him at church. Instead they drop by his office — his regular corner booth at the town bakery. Or they listen to him teach Scripture at school or they run after him as he crosses the street, asking to borrow his car, which he lends them, even though last time it was returned badly dinged.

Sometimes in his “existential moments,” as he puts it, he questions if he’s effective. He has noticed a slight uptick in church attendance, but the offering is dwindling. In nine years, he has converted one person, a cotton farmer he reads the Bible with every Monday.

Now, he said, his church might not make it: It’s just months away from not being able to afford his wage.

“I don’t know if we made any change or difference in town,” he said, sitting in his house one afternoon. “Someone shared with me, I think it’s an urban myth, but 80 percent of ministers who quit in America go into construction because you’ve got something to show at the end of the day.”