“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” 1 Peter 4:8
A few years ago, I started wondering why our church didn’t have a paid pastoral care position. It seemed like we were all stretched or struggling in some way, like we could all use some extra help. At the same time, it seemed like few of us had the time or energy to do more. If we had it in our budget, why not set someone aside for this important work?
I also remember asking a friend whether she thought our church had done enough for someone who had suffered a great deal. She pointed out that regular, structured support wasn’t the only care that person had received. The help of this or that friend wasn’t some kind of exception to “the church” otherwise not doing “enough”; those friends were the church, and they had shown her love.
More recently, a Christian friend was in hospital, facing the prospect of irreversible, life-altering emergency surgery. You could say “the church” didn’t get involved. There was no roster, no formal “pastoral” visit.
There was no roster, no formal ‘pastoral’ visit. But people from that church community surrounded her.
But people from that church community—people who themselves were burdened with a range of physical, relational, emotional and financial challenges—surrounded her. They cooked for her, cleaned for her, washed her clothes, visited her, messaged her, read the Bible with her, and prayed with her. One even looked after her (very unusual and not very personable) pet stick-insect. And that’s only the care I knew about.
The Body at Work
The collaborative effort brought passages like 1 Corinthians 12 to mind. It’s one thing to know that every member of the church has something vital and unique to give; it’s another to see the body at work—to watch different parts move as one, to comfort and to carry those in need.
I was reminded that caring for one another is something we’re all capable of; something we can all do—even when in need, when stretched, ourselves. Our instinct when in pain can be to scale down our commitments, withdraw and nurse our wounds. But sometimes, in rolling up our sleeves for someone else, we help ourselves.
When I think about it, the friends in our church who have strengthened and encouraged me the most in recent years have probably been those who have suffered the most. Seeing their faith shape their perspective; seeing Christ strengthen them, comfort them, and grow them amidst terrible grief, has been a marvel to behold. I have sought to support them, but all the while they’ve been inspiring me.
Yes, rosters, checklists, and formal roles can help—can make sure people do not fall through cracks—but care given in less structured, more organic, relational ways, is often less taxing, more meaningful, and more effective.
Rostered care “counts”, care given in friendship “counts”, weekly sermons and studies do too. God’s word can strengthen, encourage and anchor us, in good times and bad. Sharing and explaining it is a form of practical help—profoundly so. It might not be delivered one-to-one, or tailored with just one person in mind, but it shouldn’t have to be. It’s not about us.
This is a truth we all-too-easily forget. As Paul David Tripp says in Instruments in the Redeemer’s Hands, our culture has conditioned us to think in an individualistic, transactional way, and this has influenced the way we approach church.
Realistic Expectations
As consumers, we expect our personal preferences to be a service provider’s priority, but as Christians, we’re called to bear with others, to put their needs before our own.
We can’t expect to have our minds read or our every need met.
When it comes to church, great expectations are understandable. It’s Christ’s dwelling place on earth, its people have been born again. But as long as we’re still sinners in a sinful world, we’ll let each other down, we’ll make mistakes and fail. We can expect a church to preach the word. We can expect its people to act with love, humility and grace. We can’t expect to have our minds read or our every need met.
We also have a responsibility for our own wellbeing. If we don’t have close friends in the church, we can join a Bible study group, or invite someone to meet up, one-to-one. We can invest time in relationships, we can share our struggles honestly, and we can ask when we need help.
Our Ultimate Need
Tripp says we could never hire enough paid staff to meet the ministry needs of the average local church; and we shouldn’t have to. Instead, we should stop thinking of the church as a “passive body that pays the professionals” and be prepared to walk alongside each other.
The responsibility of caring for a brother or sister who is weak and vulnerable can feel weighty and intimidating, but as Tripp reminds us, we are not what people ultimately need:
Our purpose is to connect them to a living, active, redeeming Christ. He gives them what they need so they can do what they have been called to do amid the difficulties of life.
These days, I no longer wonder why our church doesn’t pay someone to do pastoral care. I’m glad we invested in additional preaching and teaching roles instead. Partly because preaching and teaching God’s life-giving, life-changing word is a form of care; and partly because we should all, in different ways, be involved in the body’s care.
It’s difficult work, but it’s beautiful work; work we do together, not alone. We can’t expect to do it perfectly—or even well—but we can expect forgiveness when we fail. We can keep looking to the one who loves us perfectly; can labour in a troubled world, trusting that these troubled times won’t last—knowing that one day, the bride will stand before her groom in white.
