Written on April 18, 2008

[For the April 27, 2008 lectionary: John 14:15-21]

"MR. CONTRADICTION" by Larry Patten

Now, nearing the end of my sabbatical, I think about what I miss, and don’t miss, about life in the church.

Visiting is near the top of the list of what I don’t miss. It’s also near the top of what I do miss. Call me Mr. Contradiction?

Tucked within the monolog-like closing words of Jesus to his disciples (chapters 13-17 in John), the Nazarene promised not to leave them “orphaned.” After he left, he said, they will have the “spirit of Truth.”

For me, visiting another person, whether planned or spontaneous, was where I often felt that “spirit of Truth.”

Though, truth be told, I was lousy at visiting. I was lousy because I put it off. Preaching and teaching—responsibilities I loved—took time. First was the personal preparation, then the public “delivery” at worship or in a class. Going to meetings or completing administrative tasks consumed more hours. The obligations mounted. The clock accelerated. Spending one-on-one time with another person was shoved onto the proverbial backburner.

Anyhow, visiting in the twenty-first century is rife with challenges.

People don’t answer their phones. I think some folks only have them around as ringing or vibrating ornaments. If you call to make an appointment, an answering machine or a cell phone message greets you instead. Castles had moats. We have call waiting.

People have weird schedules. Who works a 9-5 job anymore? Kids demand chauffeurs for activities at all hours. Any pastor making a “cold call” is a fool. You’ll mostly hear the echo of a doorbell ringing in an empty house.

People are dangerous! A home visit can mean a male pastor is alone with a female. Or a female pastor alone with a male. Or any pastor alone with a child, or a vulnerable older adult. Danger with sexual harassment. Danger with any “he said, she said” disagreements.

And yet, I still believe, it’s in visiting where the “spirit of Truth” may slip between two people, and where the Holy, always desiring the creation of community, abides with us.

Earlier this week, I got a phone call from a long-ago church member. No longer part of any congregation, after she identified herself, her opening line was: “So Larry, why does someone call a pastor?”

Easy answer. Hard answer. People call for good news or for bad news. Her mother had died. Could I help with the funeral? And I will. I will visit with the family. Though a time of anguish, I look forward to it.

* * * * * *

I knew, if I maneuvered by the answering machine, and called at the right moment before the kids headed for soccer, that maybe a visit could work out. And I also knew every visit might include good news and bad news, or both. Visiting may be the best of what anyone tramping along with Jesus does. Be with another; take enough time for the spirit to thrive.

Once, living in Wisconsin, I swung by to say “howdy” to a church family on their dairy farm. I wanted to see how the cancer treatments for the mother/wife were going. When I arrived, she was mowing their lawn. A bandana covered her head, hiding hair loss from chemo and radiation. She stopped the mower, greeted me, and I asked one question: “How are you doing?”

For the next moments, she wept. Maybe with her family she had to be strong, but in my simple question, all of the good and bad news flowed forth. With me, she could be scared. She could be honest. I probably said a few other things, but I only remember my first question . . . and a deeply felt and shared “spirit of Truth.”

Once, after teaching a class, a church member lingered. She shared with me about her desire to go into ministry. About feeling a call. Oh, fleetingly, I thought her call was a by-product of my scintillating teaching. What a privilege for her to absorb my inspirational nuggets! But, as I listened, I discovered her “call” had little to do with me. Instead, it was a lifetime journey of being open to God, wrestling with scripture, praying, and with support from many preachers and teachers (including even me).

And so I was excited. What pastor wouldn’t be? But her sharing deepened. Though the congregation I then served openly welcomed queer folk, as a lesbian she would never be ordained to serve the church she loved and the Holy One who beckoned.

What a visit. What a privilege. I could never plan that moment. With her, with both joy and regret, I sensed the “spirit of Truth.”

In the Gospel of John, the Nazarene said, “I will not leave you orphaned.” That’s our calling. That’s the “spirit of Truth.” It’s not fancy theology. It’s two folks, across from each other, where a visit becomes a gift for both.

I don’t like visiting. I love visiting. I wish, in my ministry, I had taken more time to stand with another and ask, with the spirit of Truth hovering nearby, “How are you doing?”

in Peace,

Larry