The soup was delicious. Pastor Chris savored the warm, hearty broth on a brisk, November evening as he sat in the cozy kitchen of Adele’s home. Adele’s home is quaint and cozy with a warm fireplace crackling in the corner and a soft lamplight casting a golden glow over the room. Photos and artwork adorn the walls, giving a glimpse into the memories and passions of the woman who resides there.
The old woman, frail but full of spirit, smiled from her seat across the table. It was his monthly visit with one of his homebound members, a time Chris always cherished for its quiet simplicity and the meaningful conversations they shared.
“Adele, you always make the best soup,” Chris said, setting his spoon down. “I should come here more often just for this!”
Adele chuckled, a soft sound like the rustling of autumn leaves. “You’re always welcome, Pastor. It’s the least I can do for the company you provide.”
Chris smiled warmly, but he knew his visits meant more than just companionship. Adele had been struggling with the infirmities of old age—her body was growing weaker, and her spirit sometimes followed. She often spoke of the pain and the loneliness that crept in during the long, quiet hours of each night. Today, he sensed a particular heaviness in her demeanor.
“How’ve you been feeling, Adele?” he asked gently, leaning forward to show he was fully present.
Adele sighed, her eyes drifting to the window where the afternoon sun cast a gold glow over the garden. “Some days are better than others, Pastor. The pain is constant, but it’s the loneliness that weighs the heaviest. It’s hard not to feel abandoned sometimes, even though I know God is with me.”
Chris nodded, understanding the depth of her struggle from his own past bouts of depression. “It’s natural to feel that way, Adele. We’re human, and our hearts long for connection. But remember, God’s love for you is steadfast, and His presence is with you always.”
Adele’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I try to hold on to that, Pastor. I do. But it’s hard when the nights are long, and the days are quiet. Sometimes, I feel like a burden, like I’m just waiting for the end.”
Chris took her hand in his, feeling the thin, fragile skin beneath his fingers. “Adele, as weird as this will sound, it is a blessing to your Christian brethren to be a burden. You know how much I like Dietrich Bonhoeffer, right?”
She nodded, having heard much of the German Lutheran pastor’s theology at Pastor Chris’ Bible studies.
“In his book, Life Together,” Chris continued, “he talks about the ministry of bearing. I have to paraphrase because I don’t have the whole quote memorized, but basically, he says Christians must suffer and endure their brethren, and that’s the precise moment when we become a brother—or sister—in Christ. Christ Himself bore our burdens on the cross—as a mother carries her child, or as a shepherd carries a lost lamb that’s been found. He says that by bearing with men, God maintained His fellowship with us. He goes on to say that the law of Christ was fulfilled on the cross, and Christians must share in this law. More importantly, now that the law of Christ has been fulfilled, we can bear with our brethren. So you see, Adele, that others and I who bear your burden is really just the love of Christ being given to you through us.”
Adele nodded, a slim smile across her face. “You just reminded me of something St. Paul said—something about power and weakness?”
It was Chris’ turn to nod. “Second Corinthians twelve nine, and I prefer the way the New King James translates it, where Christ said to Paul, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.’”
“I’ve always loved that verse,” Adele said, “but despite those comforting words, it’s still hard to see the purpose in all this suffering.”
Chris looked at her with compassion. “Yes, I know. But remember, even Christ suffered. It’s not easy to understand, but because Christ suffered for us, our suffering can draw us closer to Him. It can help us rely more on His strength and less on our own, which is feeble, as you well know. And through it, we can become a testament to His grace and mercy. Your faith, even your struggles, is a powerful witness.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation setting over them. Then Chris continued, “Let us pray together. Let’s ask God for His comfort and peace.”
Adele nodded, bowing her head. Chris began to pray, his voice steady and soothing. “Lord Jesus Christ, we come before You today with heavy hearts. We ask for Your comfort and peace to surround Adele. In her moments of pain and loneliness, remind her of Your mercy and longsuffering. Strengthen her faith and give her the courage to face each day, knowing You are with her. We thank You for your divine strength, which sustains us in our weakness; for You live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.”
As they finished, Adele looked up, a small but genuine smile on her lips. “Thank you, Pastor. Your visits and prayers mean more to me than I can say.”
As Chris prepared to leave, he felt a deep sense of fulfillment. It was like splashes of warm honey and gentle rays of sunlight wrapping around Chris’ heart and soul, filling him with a sense of purpose and contentment that was unlike anything else.
These visits, though simple, were profound in their impact. They were a reminder of the power of God’s love and providence shining brightly even in the darkest of times. And as he walked out into the bleak afternoon air, he whispered a prayer of thanks for the opportunity to serve and share the grace of his Lord.
The Lutheran Column 