My father was always a laid-back man. It took a lot to upset him, and confrontation was never his style. But when my mom became seriously ill, he reached a point where he couldn’t stay silent anymore. He decided to have a conversation with their pastor.

Before my mom passed away, she spent several months in hospice care at a nursing home. During that time, my dad and our family reached out to the pastor, asking if he could visit her. After all, the nursing home was only a few miles from the church, and my parents had been faithful members for over 60 years. My mom had served as the church pianist, and my dad was involved as an usher, board member, and treasurer. They hosted missionaries and cooked for church events. They were pillars in that community.

Yet, despite all the years of dedication, their request was ignored. No one from the church came to visit my mom.

In response, my dad, frustrated but calm, took the pastor out for breakfast. He told him, point-blank, that the lack of pastoral care was unacceptable. The pastor laughed awkwardly, promised to do better, and assured my dad that he would take him out for breakfast again. My dad, hoping for a change, left the meeting thinking things would improve. They didn’t.

My father continued attending church every Sunday and remained active in his senior group, but the pastor never called. Not once. And this was a pastor who, mind you, worked at a church just blocks away from my dad’s house.

For an entire year, not a single phone call came. The pastor never took my dad to breakfast as promised. It wasn’t just disappointing—it was deeply hurtful.

As a family, we eventually accepted that our efforts to change the church’s disregard for its elderly members were futile. My brother, also a pastor, sat down with the church’s pastor. I confronted him as well. Even my aunt begged him to visit the elderly, to at least show a little care. Each time, he promised to do better, but nothing changed.

That, to me, was the most disturbing part: the empty promises. Don’t tell us you’ll visit and then never follow through. If you don’t want to offer pastoral care, just be honest about it.

It wouldn’t have taken much effort to brighten my dad’s day or make him feel cared for by his pastor. To my father’s generation, these gestures of care meant everything. And the pastor, knowing how much his attention would’ve meant to this faithful man, still chose not to act. This was a small town where families had been in the church for generations, serving without hesitation. It’s heartbreaking that something so simple—just a visit, a phone call—was withheld.

In an age where churches focus on big numbers and tithes to keep the lights on, the elderly and the sick are often overlooked. They’re seen as a drain on resources, and sadly, the faithful who have served for decades are forgotten. Yet, the Bible reminds us in James 1:27 that “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress.”

I’m grateful that in my parents’ case, others stepped in. My dad’s senior group cared for each other, offering the companionship and support he needed. But how many elderly people in churches across the country don’t have that same support? How many are left to feel forgotten?

The church needs to do better. We need to care for the elderly and the sick. This group is in desperate need of our attention. And one day, we will be the ones hoping that others don’t forget about us.

So, talk to your pastors. Organize groups to visit the elderly and those in nursing homes. Do what you can to care for the often-forgotten members of your church community.