The Gift

  I got a call on Monday night from the church administrator at a neighboring congregation.  I knew that their pastor traveling for ministry so I had an idea why she might be calling me.  

She told me that someone connected with their congregation had had a stroke, and was entering hospice, and they wanted a pastor to come out the next day.  I said I could come.  

It's not so common any more for me to do a ministry visit with someone I don't know.  I've been at my congregation for a few years, so my ministry calls are usually for people that I have known for a long time.  They are people with whom I share some history.  My colleague and I often say we will cover for each other while we are gone, but frankly, it hasn't been that often that we have had to make good on our offer.  I spoke with a daughter in law, and prepared to go to the hospital and meet the man.  

Also, I had a brand-new communion set, that I had not yet used yet.  I packed it up in the morning, and was looking forward to using it for the first time.  It is cedar, and it smells so good when I open it.  The smell reminds me of the verse in the Old Testament, "let my prayers rise before me as incense."  The cedar smells like prayer to me.  And this one has a place for anointing oil  I have never had anointing oil in my communion set before.  

I will be retiring in just a couple of months.  So perhaps it seems like an odd time to buy a new communion set.  But I got an unexpected gift, and decided that this was the way I would use it.  I'm not sure what this says about me.  I will still have a couple of months to visit people and give communion, to sit with people and pray and read scripture and talk about our lives.  It is all communion.

And then there was Tuesday.  I got to the hospital at about noon.  I introduced myself to the man.  His son had not arrived at the hospital yet.  I introduced myself to him, and we tried to have a conversation, but his stroke made it difficult for either of us to understand the other.  I tried to tell him what church I was from.  I asked him about himself.  Once in awhile I understood something.  He did keep saying, "Open the door."  The door was open, but I opened it wider.

I did sing a couple of songs:  "Amazing Grace, "What a Friend in Jesus," "Jesus Loves Me."  It is one of the things I do when I don't know what to do.  

Then his son arrived.  I introduced myself, and asked what would be most helpful.  His dad was on a feeding tube but he could be anointed.  I could read scripture and pray.  His son said, "He is afraid.  Help him to know he doesn't have to be afraid."  I asked, "Is he afraid of leaving you, or is he afraid for himself?"  "For himself," he said.  "He knows we will be okay."

I remembered how my dad worried before he died.  He worried about his salvation.  Even though he had believed his whole life, now he was worried he was not good enough.  And how I asked my dad, "Do you trust Jesus?" and he said, "Yes."  And I told him, "Then you are okay."  And my dad said, "You mean it's that simple?"

So I said to the man who had had the stroke, "Do you believe that Jesus loves you?"  He nodded.  I said, "Don't be afraid."  And I stretched out my arms and said, "He is ready to welcome you, just like this."  And I read from Isaiah 43, and John 11, and prayed.  And then I opened up my brand new commuion set, and took out the vial of oil.  It smelled a little like balsam.  

And when I anointed him, the oil got all over my hands, like the oil running down Aaron's beard, and it was messy and smelly and wonderful.

All the way home I thought of how the man said, "Open the door", and I wondered what he meant.  The door was open.  And of course I don't know, but suddenly I thought of how Jesus said, "I am the door."  

May Jesus the door be open to him.

May Jesus the door be open to us, all the days of our lives.

It is this I am called to do -- to make the sign of the cross with oil, and remind people who are dying that they are sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked by the cross of Christ forever.  

For two more months and forever -- I am called to remind people they are marked by the cross of Christ.  I am called to remind them of the door that is open, the grace that is wide, the oil running down the beard of Aaron.  The gift.