I need to start this post with a 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. A lady once told me I was not a good pastor because I didn’t do a good job 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 my struggle 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 with the individual. But a visit requires conversation. Loving someone requires listening, talking, spending time, and 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 during a visit. In a private moment, he said, “I notice you don’t have much to say.” I replied, “Not yet, anyhow.” He smiled and nodded, “Not yet.”
When a pastor visits, he is not there purely on the force of his charisma, 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.
These visits can indeed 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] After all, 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. The feet begin to hurt at some point on an extended walk, 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 were 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 truly wonderful things. 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 many things that had “happened” to her: escaping gunshots, fixing roof leaks, 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. During those visits, I asked her if she remembered attending 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 and then into quarters. She placed it in her mouth with deep reverence; her eyes 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 like 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 He is right here with me.”
… because He is.
The shut-in saints need visitation. Perhaps the pastor feels that he is merely executing his duty – doing his 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 that 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 car 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.