The Tapestry of the Pastoral Visit
Something happened when He showed up, full of grace and truth, to be with us (Jn. 1:14). Before we proclaim the love of the cross, we need to encounter the prerogative of the Great Pastor to share life with people in community, to greet them and be greeted by them, to wash their feet and attend to their suffering. We need to see the artistry of presence in a Shepherd meeting the burdens and perplexity of human life with such urgency of witness. It was this intimate relational investment in people—especially “unimportant” people—that gave transformational texture to Jesus’s teaching. A pastor’s preaching is meant to be a reaping—not merely from study but from the rhythms of visitation and service. The sermon is ultimately as efficacious as a pastor’s integrity manifested in communal life is faithful. The opportunities are manifold:
A couple enters financial crisis and a pastor stops by their home to listen, pray, and tap resources in the community.
A man faces a difficult medical diagnosis and a pastor visits the hospital to offer prayer, consolation, and sacrament.
A young woman begins a new job that is both exciting and scary. A pastor meets with her for lunch by her office to talk through it and offer deep encouragement in her vocation.
An exhausted dad is just trying to hold it together raising toddlers but feels he is missing the mark everywhere. A pastor meets him at his favorite coffee shop just to be with him, laugh a little, and express gratitude for the dad’s faithfulness.
Let’s not miss it. Not only did God not “deal with” humanity remotely; he also did not set up office in Jerusalem and make people come to him by appointment-only. He didn’t just arrive on earth to accomplish salvation; He went to people in their homes, on the streets, in the marketplace, on their death beds. He made the rounds daily. To be visited by a person who is motivated by loving relationship communicates something profound. When that person possesses spiritual authority, the visit carries unique relational potency (for good or ill). The title of pastor is not necessary to carry this kind of authority—it may be a friend, mentor, or parent. Regardless, it is the character and embodied presence of the visitor that makes for such healing encounters. These encounters were the foundation of Jesus’s ministry, a tapestry of Kingdom commissions.
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The less time a pastor spends with people of all stripes in the unglamorous and varied contexts of their lives, the more he or she begins to preach to faceless ideas rather than people. The less a pastor willingly absorbs the pain of people’s stories in the unhurried space of a visit, the more he or she will begin to lead out of Executive pretense. Subtly (or not so subtly), many pastors have managed to outsource the incarnational call of shepherding in the name of strategic leadership, efficiency, and vision-casting. As a result, too many unqualified persons are enticed by a repackaged, sexier, and more privileged job description. Are you teeming with personal ambition? Become a pastor! Intellectually gifted? Go to seminary, master the Text, and wait for the call! Want to build something great? Maybe God’s inviting you to lead the next church to reach a city (and beyond)! It’s 2021 and the vocation of pastor remains heavily corporatized in our culture. The relational heavy-lifting of pastoring is too easily marginalized and relegated to those more gifted in the ‘softer skills’ of ministry. Pastoral neglect is now posh.
It’s easier to ‘get something done’ (and commodify people in the process) than to simply be with people because they are infinitely worth your time—especially people incapable of much accomplishment. And yet, Jesus went out of His way to prioritize these very exchanges. As a litmus of character, perhaps the first task of an aspiring pastor is to learn to relate to people as ends rather than means, then to vow publicly never to waiver from that sacred commitment.
Why is it that so many leaders in the church are so reluctant or uninterested in visiting members of their congregation on a regular basis? Among other reasons, many pastors avoid such responsibilities because they’ve seldom visited their own souls in any meaningful way. They haven’t slowed down to untangle their own stories where relational wounds or emotional health are long-neglected. The pastor, as an artist of presence, is first and foremost called to cultivate inward beauty: a soul expanding through attending to one’s own suffering so that he or she may increase in hospitality to the pain of others.
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Something sparked in Jack when I visited him and his wife in their home. Despite his prognosis and even though he had rarely articulated the role of faith as he approached death, now he started opening up. He began to speak of the assurance of his faith in Christ to the surprise of his own wife, who’d barely heard him utter more than a sentence on the topic. He spoke with hope and acceptance. All I did was ask him about his life and listen to the volumes of stories he shared with me, but something about my presence (I’m told) unlocked a willingness from Jack to go deeper. Once he knew it was not only safe but good to share his heart (including fears), he began expressing his feelings about death with an honesty that lifted an enormous burden—not only from him but from his wife especially, who couldn’t get Jack to share much prior to our visits. We prayed together. We read Scripture aloud. About four months later I was given the immense honor to officiate Jack’s funeral.
““Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant…” ”
How is it that pastors have found a way to exempt themselves from serving in tangible ways—beyond teaching—in the church? Many have adopted a hierarchical approach to ministry that allows senior leaders to effectively “graduate” from lowly tasks like serving children on a Sunday or washing dishes after an event. We’ve so elevated the responsibility of teaching (and personality of the teacher) that we now believe we must protect certain pastors from the dangerous arena of ‘being with laypeople’ because we wouldn’t want him or her to feel too taxed! This is not about adding more burden to the backs of pastors who are already stretched—it’s about getting clear about what is (and is not) essential to the vocation. A teacher may be rhetorically and intellectually skilled, but that does not make him or her a pastor. An evangelist may be effective and successful, but that does not mean he or she is qualified as a shepherd called to tend a flock with mercy and relational maturity.
We need to recover the centrality of pastoral visitation not only because it anchors our integrity as ministers, but because our own formation in Christ is bound up with sharing the burdens, milestones, and ordinary rhythms of people’s lives in the body of Christ. The artistry of pastoral presence is not about merely fulfilling a religious duty but beholding the risen Christ as He creates something beautiful in the space between us.
Something happens when we show up, announced or unannounced, to give witness to a person’s unfolding story. Something happens in them—spiritually, emotionally, biologically—every time we communicate by our presence: “no matter how mundane the time together may seem, there’s nothing more important than the delight to be with you right now.” Something happens in us as pastors (or chaplains, counselors, friends, etc.) every time we hold another’s suffering, allow ourselves to be moved, and intercede on their behalf. Something happens when we bend down to wash another’s feet. It’s like we wash away our own self-importance and behold the crystalline beauty of our vocation. So, go!
Visit them when it’s not a crisis.
Visit them at their workplace.
Visit them in their homes.
Visit them at the bedside.
Visit them because your preaching depends on it.
Visit them to reject the corporatization of ministry.
Visit them to know Christ and walk with integrity.
