I spent most of today doing pastoral visits or making calls to arrange visits for next week. Highlights included:
*90-something year old lady whose 101-year-old sister I buried: Hello?
Songbird: Hello, Rosebud? It’s Rev. Songbird from Small Church in City By the Sea.
90-something: Well, you don’t ever need to bother calling me again!!!
Phone slams down hard.
(It turns out she has been getting tons of calls from groups, including churches, to which her sister used to give money. She actually thinks I’m great, according to her niece; she is hard-of-hearing and had no idea who she was talking to–I’m supposed to call back and say I’m the *minister,* because that seems to be the keyword. I think I’ll wait until Monday…)
*Charming 96-year-old man, who loves to talk about the history of Small Church and its people, asks me about Delightful 86-year-old man. I give him an update; then he asks, “Do you think he’s gay?”
*Ebullient 80ish woman, essentially confined to a wheelchair in her home due to complications of diabetes, opens a basket to show me the mittens she is making for the church fair. “I have a goal of two pairs a week,” she says. “I’m trying to make 50.”
*Positive Thinking 85-year-old gal, on the subject of her increasingly poor vision due to macular degeneration, which I say must be “frustrating”: “I just don’t let it get to me. I’m just like that! I don’t want to be, but I am!!”
Sometimes people tell me that former pastors didn’t visit much. All I can say is it was their loss.