Walking down the hall of a local, small town hospital. Two men, one wearing a tie with his slacks and shirt and the other a suit,  meet walking in different directions.

          “Bob, how are you?” Good, Larry, how are you?” “Doing pretty well. I’m up here to see Gladys Bittner. What about you?” “Naomi Price. She’s had a slight stroke. She’s going to be fine, I understand, but I just wanted to pop in.” “Sure. Need to do that. Hey, meet me in the cafeteria in about 45 minutes and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.” “Hey, free coffee? I’ll be there!” The two move on. A couple of doors further down another man, also in a suit, steps out of a room.

          “Skip, what brings you out on a rainy day?” “Hey, Larry. Curtis Prine is back in. This looks like it might be day.” “Oh, man, how is Esther doing?” “Well, you know, she was expecting it, but now that it’s really here it is pretty rough on her.” “Oh, my, she’s had a hard way to go. Hey, if you need a break, Bob and I are meeting in the cafeteria in 45 minutes. I’m buying the coffee.” “Thanks, but no. I need to stay here with Esther. Her kids are on the way.” “Alright, buddy, we’ll talk later.”

          A little over an hour later, Bob and Larry step into the room. Skip rises to meet them and they go over to give Esther a hug. Then, with Skip on Curtis’ right hand and Larry on the left and Bob at the foot of the bed, the three men join hands and pray over the dying man. A Lutheran pastor, a Baptist pastor and a non-denominal pastor praying over a Godly Lutheran man, who would soon see the Lord. 2002, Geneva Memorial Hospital, Geneva, Ohio.

          Funny how things change. Just fifteen years ago. The change had already started, but Bob and Skip and I were from a different era, I suppose. Now they are both retired. Bob has just lost his wife, Judy, of 47 years and has moved to Florida. Skip and his wife are living in Rio Grande, Ohio, where Rose Marie teaches at Rio Grande College and Skip, apparently, eats breakfast every morning at the original Bob Evans. I no longer run into pastors at hospitals or nursing homes. It just isn’t something pastors do anymore, I guess. It saddens me.

          For the nine years I worked at the funeral home I made many house calls when someone died at home. It was part of what I was hired to do. A person folks recognize as a pastor walking into your home at such a moment can be a great comfort. I was hesitant at first, not because I didn’t want to go to the homes, but because I didn’t want to offend any pastor. Some pastors, oddly, take offense at another pastor visiting their flock. But, in those nine years, in all of the house calls I made at the point of death, I only encountered two pastors. At that traumatic time. I can’t understand it.

          I mention this now because of a rich blessing I received just last night. This week I have been visiting Sonny Lawson in the hospital. Brenda Ead’s Dad. He is slipping away. He and his wife are wonderful Christian folks who raised their kids in the way of the Lord and always had them in church. They have seen their grandkids come along and now they have 35 great grandkids. They have a musical family and have sung for years and years the great Gospel songs. A magnificent saint of God, getting ready to go Home. I am not his pastor. I don’t really know him that well. But his own pastor doesn’t visit much in that situation. Last Sunday evening, Brenda got hold of me and asked if I could come to the hospital and pray with the family. Dad was getting close. Marsha and I went to the hospital and had that time of prayer. Just to show everyone who was still boss, he rallied and got pretty good over the next few days, even shaving himself one day. But, it turned and he started the slide. Late last night, Brenda texted me an update. Could be any time. I put on my shoes and went up to the hospital. In the darkened room, surrounded by family, I prayed with him again. I haven’t heard yet this morning how he is or even if he is still here, but last night I was overwhelmed with the feeling that in just a short time he was going to be conversing with the Savior. To me, there is no other feeling quite as amazing as being with someone who will soon be with Jesus. Why would anyone pass on it?

          I’ve heard some of the reasons. It’s depressing. It’s time consuming. It is not what I do. There are many others and I refuse to judge. But I still don’t understand.

          A Ministry professor started asking random fellows in his class one day what they wanted to do in the ministry. The answers were pretty standard. Some wanted to build a large church, a few wanted a radio or TV ministry, all, it seemed, wanted to make a great impact. “Well,” the professor said. “You may as well all get out of ministry right now. The word ‘ministry’ means to serve and care. What you all want to do is called ‘being the boss and soaking up fame.” It is true, someone with a heart for ministry wants to minister.

I haven’t been able to that as much here as I would like.  Last October I had my first severe chest pain. For a variety of reason, it was April before I had my by-pass. A month and a half after that I rolled my car over. I am improving, but my chest, from the surgery and then the seatbelt yanking before it was healed, still hurts when I do very much. My ribs still hurt some, too, especially when I sneeze of cough. I have not been able to visit like I want to, but I still plug along. But there is a joy in being a pastor that cannot be explained. I never wanted to be anything else and I thank you for letting me be your pastor.

I think of Sonny Lawson. He is not an ordained minister, but he has been a faithful servant for a long time. Soon he will go home, if he hasn’t already, and that will be a great day! Let’s all minister and serve together.