I feel I need to start this post
with a word of confession: I am not particularly “good” at shut-in visits. I
find them difficult to begin. Part of me resists putting down the
administrative “to-do list” to go out and make calls. I once had a lady tell me
I am not a good pastor because I didn’t do a good job of visiting her regularly
(or long enough).[1]
That being said, shut-in ministry
has given me some of the most meaningful moments in my work as a pastor. I
understand that these people are beloved of the Lord, children for whom the
Lamb of God was crucified. This is important work, especially as I am
privileged to bring the Lord’s Supper to these members of the body of Christ
who are, in a way, cut off from the corporate experience of worship.
Part of the struggle for me is that
I am not particularly good at small talk. Usually, shut-ins are lonely men and
women. I tend to be task driven. In my head my purpose is to commune the
individual. But a visit requires conversation. Loving someone requires listening,
talking, and spending time as well as delivering God’s gifts. It isn’t necessary
to chat away mindlessly as if a visitation were mere entertainment or
distraction. Sometimes being present and comfortably listening is what is
needed. Eventually, though, the Word must be spoken, the gifts given. The preceding
conversation can communicate love and care, and prepare the person to receive
the Word and gifts.
Some time ago an elderly pastor
observed me on a visit. In a private moment he said to me, “I notice you don’t
have a lot to say.” I replied, “Not yet, anyhow.” He smiled and nodded, “Not
yet.”
You see, when a pastor visits, he
is not there purely on the force of his charisma or wisdom or even friendship.
The pastor[2] is
there as a representative of the Good Shepherd to tend a lamb or lambs of His,
that is Jesus’, flock who have been entrusted to the pastor’s care. If the
pastor spends all the time speaking, he will not hear the hurts and dreams of
the one he came to serve on Christ’s behalf. Worse, he will not hear the
stories of the saints. Worse yet, he might miss the confession that needs
absolution. And if he is absent doing, “more important things,” all of this is
moot.
When a pastor is visiting a
shut-in, this is a person whose life has been swept up into the life of Christ.
Baptized into Jesus’ death, they live in the hope of the resurrection.[3]
This person’s story is tied to Jesus. His salvation is playing out in that
person’s life.
It is true that these visits can be
very mundane. I visited a man for years who told me the same stories every time
I visited him. He loved cars and informed me on every visit that FIAT was an
acronym for: Fabbrica Italiana Automobili Torino.[4]
Nevertheless, these were his stories. This was his life. It was my privilege to
listen and, when the time was right, to bring the conversation around, to speak
of God’s grace to him, and to deliver that grace through Holy Absolution and
the Lord’s Supper.
Outwardly that can seem very …
boring. Even the food – bread[5]
and wine – are outwardly very common and not very exciting. But this is an
important realization for the Christian. Our lives are generally not glamorous.
They are often normal, mundane, and, yes, boring. For pastors and laity alike
much of life can feel like, “a long obedience in one direction.”[6]
Afterall, does not the psalmist pray for God to teach him to walk in His
ways? The picture of the Christian life here is walking: one step after another,
day by day, making our way on our long journey home. At some point on an
extended walk the feet begin to hurt and the walker just wants to be done.
Sometimes the places we stop are comfortable and it is tempting to remain
there. And sometimes the walk is driven simply by the necessity of overcoming
the distance. Purpose and mission are replaced by duty and function.
Life can be like that, too. Tasks
are taken out of duty. “This is what must be accomplished today.” Truth be
told, sometimes I do my visits purely out of obedience – walking the path God
has called me to walk as a pastor. I wish that was not the case.[7]
Even shepherds need help sometimes to find joy in the journey when everything
feels like one more thing that must be accomplished.
There are times, however, on walks
when we see things that are truly wonderful. A walk in the woods might reveal a
big buck. Going up a hill might expose a great view over the tops of trees. And
sometimes on my walks in my calling among God’s people, I have seen amazing
things that touch the heart and make the formerly plodding steps a purposeful
walk in the privilege of following the Good Shepherd.
May I share an example?[8]
There was a lady I visited who had
dementia. Our conversations were difficult. She often thought that she was part
of a show she was watching.[9]
She told me of many things that had “happened” to her: escaping gun shots,
fixing leaks in roofs, making trips to and from Europe in a day. It would pour
out like a slow and steady stream, and I would listen to droning fantasy. On
those visits I would ask her if she remembered going to church. Sometimes she
did, sometimes not. Then I asked her about the Lord’s Supper. Her eyes focused
as she looked at me and said, “That’s Jesus’ body and blood for my
forgiveness.”
“Would you like to receive the
Lord’s Supper?”
“Oh, yes!” she said with a longing
I rarely hear among the healthy.
We prayed the Lord’s Prayer
together. I spoke the Words of Institution. I handed her a wafer of bread
saying, “Take and eat the body of Christ given for you.”
She took it and stared at it for a
moment. “Oh, no!” I thought. Had I made a mistake. Was she aware of what we were
doing?
She broke it in half; then
quarters. She placed it in her mouth with deep reverence. Her eyes were closed
as if each chew were a prayer.
I took the little plastic cup of
wine and said, “Take and drink the blood of Christ shed for you.” She reached
out with both hands and took the tiny cup as though is where a great golden
chalice. She raised it to her lips and sipped, sipped, sipped – eyes closed
savoring the flavor of forgiveness.
She said, “Thank you! I feel
better. I think I will be better now. God is with me. Sometimes I feel He is
far away, but, when I receive this, I feel like He is right here with me.”
… because He is.
The shut-in saints need visitation.
Perhaps it feels more like a duty – doing a job. But there are times when it is
clear that the Good Shepherd is the One at work, the One leading this long walk
in one direction. I have found when Jesus leads the walking His blessings
abound, not just to the shut-in, but to the pastor, too, as we see Him tend His
sheep through our hands and lips. Holding on to those moments, remembering them
and the people involved, can help us keep walking faithfully, trusting that the
Good Shepherd does good work through and for His pastors and people.
[1] I asked this dear sainted
lady to pray for me to be a better pastor. I think it helped.
[2] It is good to remember
that the title pastor comes from the Latin word for shepherd.
[3] See Romans 6.
[4] Which roughly means that
the care was made in Turin, Italy.
[5] Those round mass produced
wafters taste like Styrofoam!
[6] I took this phrase from
Eugene Peterson’s book by that title, but he got it from Friedrich Nietzsche.
[7] Years ago, I asked my
office administrator to schedule my visits for me because I won’t get around to
scheduling them, but I will keep the appointment that are made for me!
[8] This is an amalgamation of
several experiences with the same person.
[9] Marx commented that
religion is the opiate of the masses, but from my observations at nursing homes
it might actually be television that is the opiate of the masses as the
residents stare at these screens, often alone, in their rooms.
Comments