Six people died in the Seattle church I served in the first year. A veteran pastor invited me to breakfast to share how he ministered to families in grief. As we watched the boats in the harbor and sipped coffee, he encouraged me. Within three months he was diagnosed with inoperable cancer. Two months later Jon was dead.
Before he died, I heard him say, “When life is threatened, little things mean more than before.” That stuck with me. Ever since then I have looked for small ways to say to those approaching death, “I care.”
Just this week I stopped to see Willie. Doctors told him he had less than a year to live. On one of my visits Willie said he used to play saxophone with a jazz quintet, so I found an album for Willie. I wanted to say I cared.
Often I’ll photocopy a graphic torn from a magazine or the yellow pages to create a piece of unique stationary that calls to mind an individual’s hobby or interest. On that customized letterhead I’ll scratch a personal note.
I’ve found that personal notes are one of the most meaningful small ways I can show the dying that I care. A handwritten note need not be long, but its shelf life is. People can tuck it in a book or drawer and read it over and over again.
Making Personal Visits Personal
Written reminders of our prayer and concern, though important, are not sufficient. A dying person longs for companionship and visits from the pastor and his wife, family, and friends.
Madeleine L’Engle in her book The Summer of the Great Grandmother reflects on her mother’s death. She insists that dying, by definition, must be experienced in community. “Death is not a do-it-yourself activity.”
As death creeps closer, my visits increase. For home visits I stay less than a half-hour. In the hospital I stay ten minutes or less. More important to the dying than the time we stay is what we do while we’re there.
Physical touch is powerful and sacramental. It is an outward sign that you, as caregiver, are entering into their pain. Holding a person’s hand, patting their cheek, or gently placing your hand on their fevered brow conveys much.
For a Christian, nothing penetrates the heart like Scripture. When I read Scripture, I have found it means a great deal to read a favorite passage of the sick person. Discovering those treasured portions is as simple as asking. These favorite Scriptures can be noted for use in the person’s funeral service later.
Often my visits are musical. You could play a favorite CD of uplifting Christian songs. I’ve found singing or listening to them, can be a means of encouraging a dying person’s faith. A familiar tune and cherished words can enlarge the faith housed within a shriveled frame and give assurance.
When I pray, along with asking God to minimize physical discomfort and envelop the patient with a sense of His presence, I help the person turn their eyes and hopes on the glory that awaits them.
Some shy away from the Lord’s Prayer as a mechanical ritual, but I often incorporate it into my prayers with the dying. Familiar words are especially meaningful near death. I have watched parched, lifeless lips begin to move to the cadence of my voice as I recite, “Our Father who art in heaven …” A prayer repeated since childhood can engage the mind of someone decreasingly aware of the present.
The Soul of the Visit
An essential part of my care to those nearing death is to prepare them not only for death but for eternity. Many who face death, however, are afraid to acknowledge the topic.
I have found it helpful simply to ask:
“Are you afraid of what’s ahead?”
“How are you feeling about leaving your family?”
or “Do you feel ready to meet the Lord?”
These opening questions give a dying person an opportunity to express their desire for assurance.
I can’t assume a person who attends church has a strong sense of peace and assurance about life after death. I’ve made it my policy to quote familiar Scriptures of assurance such as Psalm 23, John 14, Romans 8, and 1 Corinthians 15. Such passages indicate God’s companionship is available on the other side. Reading these Scriptures can water their parched faith.
I will read the same verses when I am not sure where a person stands with God. This enables them to see the benefits to which a believer is entitled. I don’t want to give them false assurance if they have not received Christ as Savior. But asking about their fears and hopes allows me to probe their spiritual status. Such probing requires creativity, sensitivity to the circumstances, a sense of timing, and courage to “just do it.” Every person is different.
Home and Family
Many are now finding, when it’s time to die, there is no place like home. In many communities, hospice programs offer in-home nursing care for the terminally ill and their families. Besides medications and medical equipment, hospice provides professional workers who can talk about what is happening and what to expect. I view hospice nurses and social workers as members of my care team.
Many terminally ill people are helped by having not only a place to die but also permission to die. Sometimes the family, especially a spouse, has difficulty adjusting to what lies ahead. That’s when the family needs to give the dying member permission to die. One of the last ways we help someone die is to assure them we will comfort and care for their loved ones after they are gone.
Making Their Last Words Count
The phone rang. “I think we should do it soon,” Bill said. I knew what my middle-aged friend was signaling. It was time to plan his funeral. We did it the next day. Within two weeks Bill was dead. At his funeral the words and music he chose was a powerful witness of his faith to his family and colleagues.
Most people don’t plan ahead as Bill did. When their doctor tells them to put things in order, they don’t think that includes outlining their final visit to church. It’s up to me to encourage the dying to think of such things. Most are receptive to the idea. Planning their own funeral gives the dying a sense of purpose in an otherwise purposeless period of life.
I ask them to choose whom they would like to participate. I encourage them to think of musical selections, Scriptures or readings, hymns or praise songs for the choir or congregation—even sermon themes. When Hap planned his service with me, he gave me a message he wanted his fellow employees to hear. Because he was willing to anticipate the inevitable, his coworkers heard their friend’s values and final goodbyes with unmistakable clarity. Though dead, he still spoke.
People need to know that in God’s health care plan, healing doesn’t always mean getting better. Sometimes it means resurrection.
I reached my friend Eugene less than half-an-hour after he died. I gripped his fragile, still-warm hand beneath the sheet. Tears crawled down my face as I realized that his hand would not grip back this time.
I kissed him and thanked the Lord for his life. Eugene had not only taught me how to serve God and his church, he had taught me how to serve a tennis ball. He showed me how to live. He taught me how to die. He taught me how to escort others to the edge of eternity.
I left his bedroom to comfort the members of his family. As I walked down the hallway, I felt a warmth of contentment surge through me. Despite the sorrow, I had no regrets. For the past six months I had invested my gifts and concern in Eugene’s life.
Helping a person die with grace is one of the most significant privileges in life and ministry.
