On my last visit to the nursing home, I had two separate encounters that spoke to my heart about how we use our most valuable resource: time.
The first experience was not exactly unique in that we deal with this every Sunday. There’s a resident who is incredibly vocally impaired. His mind is perfect. It’s his body that has failed him. He can’t even use his hands to write down what he wants to say because his hands are drawn up and unable to grasp a pen. This does not stop him from participating in our church gatherings. He always has a prayer request, and he often has comments related to whatever our discussion happens to be about that day. Sometimes we can understand him, but most of the time it takes a fair amount of guessing to decipher what he’s trying to communicate. It’s frustrating for him and for us because we genuinely want to be able to understand. As a leader, I struggle with how long to let this guessing game continue. I’m aware that the other residents are waiting. I’m aware of the time and what else is planned for us to do next. I’m afraid the others will lose interest or become tired of sitting there waiting, especially when some of them cannot hear well enough to know what exactly is going on.
This ended up being one of those times when we simply could not figure out what it was this resident wanted to tell us. For the sake of privacy, let’s call him John. We spent what felt like 20 minutes (though it was probably more like 5) trying to understand but eventually had to let it go. When I took John back to his room, I said, “Do you want to try again to tell me what you were saying earlier?” He said yes, and instructed me to go to his closet by pointing. After several attempts of touching things until I got to what he wanted, he had me take out a photo album. I brought it over and opened it. It had the names of family members next to each photo, which became the tool we needed to help our conversation. As we looked at pictures and talked, I was finally able to understand what it was he had been saying earlier in church. It was a happy moment; he felt heard and I felt grateful.
When I went back to the dining room to gather my things, there were still a few residents from church in there. I was excited as I told them how I figured out what John was trying to tell us earlier, and then I shared with them how I worry about balancing his needs and theirs. I thanked them for being patient as I took time during church to decipher what John was saying. They looked at me as though they were confused, and said, “We don’t mind. It’s ok.” At that moment, it struck me–what else do they have to do? I have places to go next and many things to accomplish with my time. Yet all they have is time. And what’s more, they are full of compassion for John because they recognize, perhaps more than most, what it means to be heard, what it means for someone to slow down and really listen. It was an important reminder for me.
The second experience happened when I visited a resident in her room. Let’s call her Sarah (again, to respect her privacy). I was asking Sarah about her local home church. She was an active member for decades. She sang in the choir and helped with activities. I asked her if she ever had visitors from her church. She said, “The pastor has never been here.” I asked about other staff. Only one had come, and only once. She has been in the nursing home for seven years. There is one church member who comes and brings her reading materials, but she travels often to see her grandchildren and can’t visit as regularly as she used to. She said, “I know everyone’s l busy, but maybe they could make a schedule and take turns coming.” Can you imagine what thirty minutes of her pastor’s time once a month would mean to her? I know that pastors wear many hats. I know they have to put guardrails their schedules and how available they make themselves.
I frequently refer to James 1:27 when I encourage folks to go visit nursing home residents. “Pure and undefiled religion before God the Father is this: to care for orphans and widows in their misfortune and to keep oneself unstained by the world.” Recently, I read an article that changed the way we might interpret that verse. The author pointed out that this verse is not written as a command; there are no imperatives. Rather, this verse is a description. It describes pure and undefiled religion. He goes on to say, “Perhaps {James} is suggesting that there is a particular outward expression of the gospel which is one of the “cleanest”, purest, and most vivid we could participate in. And not only is it pure in its demonstration but perhaps it’s also cleansing to us in its application. Participating in it somehow cleanses us as well.”
We know we are commanded to take the gospel to all people. Pastors work hard each week to prepare sermons; lay folks attend training on how to share our faith and explain the plan of salvation with our neighbors. We tell our children to tell people at school about Jesus. We wear t-shirts with Bible verses on them. We give out Bibles as gifts. We invite people to church. And yet James says that pure religion visits and cares for widows and orphans in their distress; the principle being that how we live out the gospel is more important than how well we can articulate it to someone. Explaining the gospel is fairly simple and takes very little time in comparison to demonstrating it consistently in our lives.
Time. There it is again. What does God want me to learn about time?
In my next post…I’ll consider the second way James describes pure religion–keeping oneself unstained by the world. And I’ll dig into how that intersects with the ways we spend the time God has given us.
