Hello,
It was 5:37 in the evening and my phone rang. It was the church secretary where I am doing an interim ministry, a distance that I travel 1 ½ hours each way. She was calling because she had received a call concerning a member who has been battling cancer, now in a hospice facility, and it appeared that she would not make it through the night. What is a pastor to do?
The facility is 2 hours from my house. Should I go? I spoke with the family. They were worried and troubled. “Is your mother alert?”, I asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
So, I quickly changed and hopped in my car, hoping that I would make it in time. My GPS set me out on the Turnpike, and when a car going a bit faster than everyone else passed me, I got behind it and stayed on its tale. About 2/3 the way there I ran into road construction, slowing me down to a snail’s pace. Wishing that I had a set of police lights to clear the way, I tried to remain patient all the while looking as far as I could to see what was holding everything up. A passing thunderstorm slowed things up after I escaped the construction, and the traffic was fairly heavy on the two lane local road, strewn with traffic lights that seemed programmed to turn red upon my arrival.
Finally, I made it to the facility, which I had never been to before, and walked up to the door, only to find it locked. Setting off around the building to see if there was another door, and there was. I walked in, asked the lady at the information desk directions to the room I was looking for, and it turns out that I was in the wrong building. Following her directions through several hallways, down an elevator, and through an alarmed door that took me several times to put the right code in, I made it to my parishioner’s room.
Thankfully in time! In and out of awareness and not able to speak with any clarity, nevertheless, I could tell that she knew who I was and that her family was there. I took hold of her hand, called her by name, and said, “Looks like things are pretty tough.”
“Pretty tough,” she silently mouthed back.
We gathered around her bed, and had a prayer together. Tears intermingled our words. We finished saying the Lord’s Prayer together, and I marked her forehead with the sign of the cross, and said, “The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you. The Lord look upon you with favor, and give you his peace.”
Sniffles and silence. I stayed there about a half hour. Talked with the family, and making sure that they knew they could call me anytime if they needed someone to talk to, I left the room and made my way back home.
That is what pastors do. We go to the dark places that most avoid. We stand in the midst of sorrow and grief. We drive 4 hours to spend 30 minutes.
Why? It is not because we are more important than anyone else. It is not because we can fix things that are falling apart. We do these things because people, through the Spirit’s guide, have asked us to do these things….things that bring the realization of God’s presence. We have been asked to be the ones who come and make visible and audible the presence of God. In seminary we called it the ministry of presence…..our presence….God’s presence.
I don’t know what your day has brought you, but I hope that this Bungee Cord, and every Bungee Cord, is a ministry of God’s presence in your life. You are not alone. There is no hole so deep that God won’t take hold of you. When your knees are weak, God will steady you with his grace. When the darkness is so deep that you can’t see a thing, God speaks in the still silence, saying, “I am here.” The ministry of presence….that is what this pastor does….in hospice facilities and in a writing called the Bungee Cord.
Have a great week.
God’s grace and peace, (ggap)
Pastor Jerry Nuernberger
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