\nI’ll tell you exactly how I feel about making hospital calls.<\/p>\n
\nWeary.<\/p>\n\n
\nI might even call it “weary in well-doing” if it weren’t for my sneaky suspicion\nthat I am not doing well at it.<\/p>\n\n
\nThe patients, actually, are the easy part. They seem happy to see me. We\npray while I touch whatever part of their body is hurting, with some exceptions,\nof course, in which case I hold their hand. They seem to like the prayer,\n“Bless O Lord this child of thine, Bring him (or her) safely home, Heal him\nbody, soul, and mind, And bring him back to us rejoicing.” They like when\nI ask them what they think the prayer meant. Most people want to know about\nthe rejoicing part. As do I.<\/p>\n\n
\nHospital calling is an assault on my mortality. Before age 40, I was a whiz\nat the hospital. I could cheer up entire floors of the dying. Their fate\nhad nothing to do with mine.<\/p>\n\n
\nBut then I had a bout with a virus for a couple of years. I learned to mistrust\ndoctors, to fear tests, to despise the hurry-up-and-wait of diagnostic procedures\nand the matter-of-factness with which people stuck needles in my arms and\ndrained my blood. Now a human being makes hospital calls. The whiz pastor\ndied.<\/p>\n\n
\nMy new attitude prompted me to develop a new hospital-calling policy, which\nhas a sort of rhythm. If the person is critically ill, I visit daily; if\nchronically ill, every other day; if improving, every three days. If I’m\nthere for a chronically ill person, I visit all the rest. I clearly hope\nfor wellness in my congregation; I’m invested in it.<\/p>\n\n
\nThe hardest part is when the hospital is at a distance. Then I end up using\nthe telephone more and making weekly drives. I don’t feel good about this.\nThe telephone is not much good for caring for the ill.<\/p>\n\n
\nThe best definition of health I’ve heard is that health is “the maintenance\nof our identity under awkward circumstances.” Bags, tubes, interrupting nurses,\nthe decor and food and protocol of hospitals-all are awkward circumstances\nthat, combined with our sickness, weaken our identity. One objective as pastors,\nI suppose, should be to strengthen identity.<\/p>\n\n
\nWhat I do at bedsides is listen for stories. Daughters will call about their\n70-year-old mothers: Do they really have to use the restraints? People will\nreport trying to buzz a nurse for hours. Some are stranded while sitting\non the commode. These kinds of circumstances take a good bit of my hospital\ntime.<\/p>\n\n
\nMy care in the hospital is a finger in the dike: I never know what is going\nto happen; I never know if what I do is enough; and I can always see there\nis room for more. Especially when people cling to my hand as I try to leave.<\/p>\n\n
\nHospital calls remind me about my mortality, my inadequacy, my helplessness.\nIn the hospital, never am I so aware of God’s presence with me. I may be\nweary, but God isn’t.<\/p>\n\n