Randolph Strom had been married to Katrina almost twice as long as I’d been alive. One day he asked me, “Pastor, what do you think? Should I continue to stay in our home after Katrina is no longer with me?”
I was certainly the youngest, the least experienced, and the least intimately involved in the difficult choices confronting him as he faced the imminent death of his beloved Katrina.
Why was he asking me?
Well, I was his pastor. Maturing adults sometimes have great difficulty discussing such issues with their children, and vice-versa. So much is at stake-roles, emotions, finances. Yet often they turn to their pastor for objective advice.
I don’t see myself as an answer man. Nor do I relish being cast in the role of arbiter in another’s domestic decision. Like it or not, though, I find decisions about life transitions are often run by me for my guidance, direction, or blessing.
Pitfalls in the process
Giving counsel can be hazardous. Life-passage decisions often are interwoven with sadness, anger, fear, and grief. Sometimes pastors are asked-overtly or indirectly-to make such decisions on behalf of the parties involved.
And sometimes a change of living situation isn’t the primary issue.
During several visits, a widower in his nineties seemed to want me to tell him whether to move out of his house. Yet any suggestions I’d make, he’d quickly shoot down. I finally realized that he didn’t want to change his living situation. But he was lonely and enjoyed a pastoral audience to vent his discouragement. After this realization, I started responding to his needs for encouragement without getting hooked into fruitless fact-finding missions about retirement communities.
On other occasions, I’ve felt like a fulcrum in a seesaw struggle between aging parents and their adult children. I was asked by an adult daughter to “help Dad see a little bit of reason about this thing” (moving to a retirement community).
I knew her father was against the idea, because I’d been receiving an earful from him. I empathized with the daughter’s frustrations but didn’t volunteer support for the plan. Since neither party appeared interested in sitting down together to talk through the issues or their feelings, I remained neutral.
The family catalyst
Some situations arise, however, in which we can help people make these hard decisions. The goal is to assist families as they arrive at their own decisions-without being personally consumed in the process. I try to act as a catalyst-an agent that helps bring about a reaction without being involved or changed in that reaction itself.
I can be a catalyst, for instance, through the church’s educational ministry. Classes or seminars, especially if led by an outside “expert,” can help seniors address such issues without the direct intervention of a pastor.
It’s especially important to get people to talk about living arrangements before a crisis arises.
Naturally, elderly couples don’t like to contemplate leaving their homes or think about the time they will no longer be independent. Their children also hesitate to broach the subject. It can feel too much like wanting to put in dibs on Mom and Dad’s house, or like shipping parents off to an institutional holding facility until they die.
Nonetheless, if these discussions can be held before a crisis precipitates them, the emotional stress on all involved will be lessened considerably.
Two Sundays in a row, Dan Price, one of the seniors in our church, told me he’d been “a little depressed.” So we arranged to talk. When we did, it became apparent that Dan was not the Dan I’d come to know. His steps were halting and his mind lethargic.
When he shared his concerns about his health, I quietly asked, “Have you and Eleanor ever discussed what you might do if you couldn’t continue to stay in your home?”
“No,” he said, “we haven’t.”
I urged him to raise the matter with Eleanor and his children (especially an unmarried daughter who lived with them) before such a crisis caught them unprepared. He said he’d consider it.
A couple of weeks later, after church, Dan approached me and said he’d thought things over and decided to take my advice. He asked me to sit in on the family discussion and help move it along. I agreed.
“But,” I added, “I only want to help get things rolling. Any decisions belong to you and the family.” He nodded, and we set a date.
When I arrived for that evening, I found Dan and Eleanor and two of their daughters gathered in the living room. After we exchanged greetings, I reiterated my desire to be a catalyst only. I also cautioned them against running fast-forward, immediately comparing, for example, the merits of this or that nursing home.
“First, discuss the preferences and priorities of all involved,” I said. “Talk about your emotions and bring up a variety of options. Only then will hurt feelings and power struggles be avoided.”
Then I gave each of them a list of questions to consider:
1. What is my fondest hope for Dan and Eleanor’s living situation in their remaining years? What can I do to make this happen? What can others do?
2. What is my greatest fear for Dan and Eleanor’s living situation? What can I or others do to help avoid this?
3. What is the hardest part about contemplating changes in Dan and Eleanor’s living situation? What will make this process easier for me? For the others involved?
4. What is the next step to take in this process of discussing Dan and Eleanor’s living situation?
After giving them a few minutes to consider the questions, I helped initiate the discussion on the first two questions. Even after my cautions, they started getting ahead of themselves. So, I gently reiterated that they should first identify the values behind any future decision.
These cautions greatly relieved an apprehensive Eleanor. About twenty minutes into this discussion, I excused myself and let them continue on their own.
After that discussion, Dan’s health improved almost as dramatically as it had faltered prior to our meeting. But the process was started, and that family will be better prepared to make a living transition when it becomes necessary.
I’m also better prepared to respond the next time I’m greeted by a request to help members through one of life’s most difficult transitions.
-Rick McKinniss
Kensington Baptist Church
Kensington, Connecticut
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