Visitation

Recently, I was invited to make a presentation to a group of younger ministers-to-be, describing what I did as a minister (other than the “Sunday-thing”). Afterwards, there was a time for questions, and one of the ministers-to-be asked me if there was anything that I wished I did better or on which I wished I spent more time in my ministry. And I replied, “I wished I spent more time visiting my members.” And one of the ministers-to-be spoke up and asked, “Oh, do you have a lot of sick members?”
I thought this was an odd question, until I realized that this younger minister-to-be’s only concept of visiting was visiting someone in the hospital. So I explained that I was referring to home visits, to which she said, “Why? What’s the point of visiting people at home if you see them at church?”
In the ministry, one is always learning, and that day I learned that researchers have concluded that those of us who were trained for the ministry before 1990 carry an entirely different concept of what it means to be a pastor from those who were trained after 1990. I graduated from seminary in 1983, which places me in the category of ministers who were taught that our work involved preaching, teaching, and visiting our members—in their home as well as when they went into the hospital. The ministers-to-be who were present that day had graduated in 2010 or 2011, and were fascinated by the novel idea of going to see someone in his or her home. None of them had ever been visited by a minister in their home (although, in fairness, the majority of them had not even joined a church until their college years). And as if she was talking about something that happened in the American Revolution, one minister-to-be spoke up and said, “Oh, I remember my mother talking about how, when she was a little girl, the minister came to Sunday dinner at their house once. Weird.”
Another minister-to-be pressed me to give a compelling reason why visiting in the home was important to my ministerial generation. So I told this group that visiting where a person lived could help you know that person without having to conduct a survey or interview. (I think about the recent survey that we took at HFPC about preferred communication methods, and my mind immediately visualized particular members and their preferred method of communication—I know that person only has a rotary dial phone, or doesn’t own a computer, etc.)
I remember one seminary professor telling us that when we sat in the living rooms or dens of our members, we would see the things that were near and dear to their hearts: photographs of children & grandchildren, collections of shells or figurines, a painting above the sofa that prompts a discussion of the child, now deceased, who painted it, the lemonade one was drinking was a family recipe, diplomas on the walls which spelled out one’s degrees and sports allegiances. Every home or apartment tells a story about a person, couple or family that a hospital room simply can’t tell. What someone has (a huge carving of an elephant) or what someone does not have (there’s no television set) can help ministers connect with their members and even communicate more effectively in a sermon. And often in the comfort of a home, someone will talk about something that please him or bothers her, and an honest conversation ensues.
In a hospital visit, conversation is usually brief and limited to the current situation and the prognosis. Occasionally, there are pictures or flowers about which one can comment, but normally there’s not much more to talk about other than the program being watched by the patient (who is ometimes watching by default, because he or she can’t work the television controls).
Those ministers-to-be were interested in what I was saying, but somewhat skeptical. It wasn’t how they were trained. One commented, “I have had success getting to know my members through the various committee meetings I attend.” Well. . .ok, that works for her and I’m glad. This pre-1990 trained minister has found that my increased number of committee meetings has kept me from doing what I like to do most, even if I don’t do it best: visit my members in their homes, and by doing so, draw closer to them.

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