Part of my job as a pastor is to visit those in the hospital. To be honest, I've never considered that to be a part of the job that I do well. It's not that I am uncomfortable being around the sick and suffering - the Lord prepared me for that with the early deaths of both my parents, which I experienced up close. I think my insecurity comes from a sense of inadequacy. What could I possibly say that would make things any better? What truth do I have, even from God's Word, that would bring peace into a room where someone is suffering? Does this person even want me to be there?  Sure, there are right and Christian answers I could give. There are promises of comfort I could recite from the Bible. But in most cases, I'm not telling people things they haven't already heard. So really, what difference am I making?

     God, in his wisdom, determined that I had spent enough time for now visiting those in the hospital. It was time to be visited. I'm not used to being the one in the bed. I'm used to being the one in the chair, visiting the one in the bed. And what a wonderful learning experience it was for me to be the guy in the bed.

     I'm going to brag about my church for a little bit: I had no shortage of visitors while I was in the hospital. Not everyone was able to visit in person, but many did. More, in fact, than my time in the hospital allowed. I even had one church member who graciously took on the task of scheduling my daily visitors so that I would not be overwhelmed. During those visits, I cried a lot. It was an emotional time and I was processing it with the people God has placed in my life. And I can't begin to express how much it meant for each of those people to be there. But several of them expressed the same concerns I just shared above - what could they say to me, their pastor, as I lay there facing the threat of death? What could they say that I didn't already know? And since I did already know it, what could they possibly do to persuade me to believe the gospel that I needed to hear?  How could they comfort me, while they themselves felt the need for comfort?

     But I didn't need to hear new truths. I didn't need to have old truths re-explained. I just needed the people of God to be present with me. I needed someone to hang up a hand-written Bible verse on the wall. I needed kids to draw me pictures of Christmas trees and angels. I needed someone to read to me the words of their favorite hymn. I needed someone to play a tune on a harmonica. I needed someone to throw a foam ball back and forth across the room with me so that the physical therapist would be happy that I was doing my exercises. I needed someone to help set up my dinner plate so I could reach it better. I needed to hear people talk about all the things in their lives that had nothing to do with my cancer, just so I could be reminded that there's more to this world than hospitals and surgeries and doctors and nurses. Every visit reminded me that I am a part of something that is bigger than me - I am a member of the body of Christ. When one part hurts, the whole body hurts with it (1 Corinthians 12:26).

     Every single person who visited me brought something of value into that room. And maybe what they brought wasn't always what they intended to bring. That's part of the beauty of visitation ministry. In a book called "Spiritual Care," Dietrich Bonhoeffer writes about all the many aspects of the shepherding work of a pastor. He reflects, "I expect naught from myself, everything from the work of Christ. My service has its objectivity in that expectation and by it I am freed from all anxiety about my insufficiency and failure." In other words, Christ works through us, putting to rest any fears about my own inadequacy. It reminds me of something a mentor of mine once shared with me - 90% of ministry is just showing up. That's not to say we shouldn't have proper learning and right training (ministers of the gospel are in fact encouraged to prepare well - 2 Timothy 2:15). But all the knowledge and training in the world does no good if we're not there when people need us.  The point is that the burden of healing a soul is one that none of us is meant to carry. God ministers through us, and he does so when we show up.

     After all, we serve a God who showed up. When we physically, tangibly minister to people with our bodily presence, we are following in the footsteps of the God who took on a human body and entered a messy, hurting world (Philippians 2:5-8). He is the God who sat at a table with sinners, held the hands of lepers, made eye contact with the sick and suffering, washed the feet of his disciples, and ultimately showed up to be crucified. He is a transcendent God who yet made himself physically, bodily present for us and for our salvation.  He did that because salvation is not just a mental, spiritual event. Salvation is a redeeming of the created world, a making new of the groaning creation. Salvation includes binding up the wounds of broken people.  God, in his wisdom, uses human voices to proclaim the gospel message (Romans 10:13-15), human hands to rescue the suffering (Proverbs 24:11), human feet to carry good news (Isaiah 52:7). He promises to work through us (Philippians 2:13; Hebrews 13:20-21), but that requires us to show up.

     If we feel insufficient to minister in God's name, it might help to read 2 Corinthians 3:5-6 "Not that we are sufficient in ourselves to claim anything as coming from us, but our sufficiency is from God, who has made us sufficient to be ministers of a new covenant." I am not sufficient. You are not sufficient. The Bible confirms it. If we stopped there, we wouldn't dream of doing any ministry in God's name, not even a simple hospital visit. So keep reading. Those who are insufficient are made sufficient by God. That's the only reason we dare preach, teach, serve, etc. That's the reason we show up.

     So consider me a well-chastised pastor. I had thought too much of my own importance when sitting in the chair (and the same could be said of standing in the pulpit, or anywhere else a pastor finds himself carrying out his duties). And thinking too much of myself had made me insecure. What the people of God need from me and from one another is our presence. To know that we are there and that we share in this life in Christ together. To show that we are available for whatever service God chooses to provide through us. Because, oddly enough, that's how God works: through people. Imperfect, unprepared, unqualified people. And when those people show up and love those who need to be loved, God does something amazing.