Every church has a few of them. Some have many — people who live with chronic pain or illness. Some of them live in families or in retirement communities, but many of them live at home, getting by the best they can. If deacons cannot minister effectively to these members because of the numbers, perhaps they can lead the church to begin a new care ministry aimed at “shut-ins.”
I have a new empathy for such people having experienced just a taste of what they endure day in, day out. As I write this, I am home where I have been for nearly three weeks. On May 14, I had a total right ankle replacement. I came home that same day with my foot ensconced in a large plaster “bandage.” For two weeks, I couldn’t put any weight at all on that foot. I have gained some proficiency in the use of crutches, but most of my time has been spent on the sofa with my foot elevated and my computer on my lap.
Jim White
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I have always been one who tries to learn whatever I can from every experience, and this is no exception.
I learned how important the people around us are. My wife, Connie, despite her own set of aches and pains, efficiently assumed the role of nurse as my personal Florence Nightingale. My children provided chauffeur services to hospital and moved furniture to accommodate a temporary bed on the first floor of our home. Even my granddaughters slipped easily into care-giving roles, bringing me cool concoctions of their own devising and placing a small silver call bell within my reach. Families are wonderful!
But all this welcome attention has caused me to wonder: “What about those who are alone?” I knew from the beginning that my circumstance was temporary. What about those whose conditions are chronic? Specifically, what about those church members in almost every church who live alone with chronic conditions that limit their abilities to get out?
Brief research led me to read testimonials of such people and the common element appears to be loneliness. They see others participating in life that seems to be passing them by and they become discouraged because they seen no signs that things will get better for them. One church devised a daily email of encouragement for its shut-ins. Although my first thought was how impersonal this seemed, the people re-ceiving them were very appreciative. Those who could not use email, received these encouraging messages through the postal service.
I learned that a meal brought in feeds more than the body. Connie and I have been blessed by people who brought in food because they wanted to do something to help us. The food was delicious, but more than physical nourishment, it was a symbol of being connected with people who care about us. I do not recommend ankle replacement as a means of discovering that you are important to others, but it has been humbling and even, in a sense, gratifying to be on the receiving end of ministry.
I learned how frustrating pain can be. I don’t want to overstate this. The pain I experienced hardly merits mention compared to what some people live with constantly. I experienced just enough of it to know that it wears on you. The unrelenting presence of even moderate pain makes rest difficult and during those long hours of the night, time seems to stand still.
While there may be little we can to do alleviate pain, being aware of it can make us more sensitive to their needs. In visits with them, deacon caregivers can ask, “What is it like for you living within your body day after day?” But, don’t ask unless you are prepared to listen.
Aside from being temporarily sidelined while my ankle heals, I am not really handicapped. Even so, I noticed how hard it is to get some medications opened and even to read the dosages on other over-the-counter medications. Some of our church members who have arthritis may have a hard time just getting their medications opened!
I learned that a card in the mail has remarkable recuperative powers. Much more than the card, itself, or even the message included, I have been humbled that people would actually go to all the trouble of getting a card, signing and addressing it, stamping it and mailing it. This represents a considerable amount of trouble when they could have skipped the whole thing!
For this reason, every card carried with it the time, effort and best wishes of the sender. Every card was touching, and every card made me feel good.
In your ministry to church members, never underestimate the potential of a simple card. There is nothing wrong, of course, with electronic contacts. These, too, are helpful. But there is something about getting a card in the mailbox that is especially encouraging.
I learned how important it is to have something to look forward to. Anticipating something good is almost as good as the event itself. I came to see the value of scheduling appointments with those who cannot get out as opposed to dropping by.
While these thoughts are somewhat random and do not reflect the depth of isolation and pain some people in our churches routinely face, they at least can help focus the attention of deacons on these special church members.
Jim White ([email protected]) is executive editor of the Religious Herald.