Psalm 122

Psalms for Praying

Nan C. Merrill  

    

My spirit soared when a Voice

spoke to me;

"Come, come to the Heart of Love!"

How long I had stood

within the house of fear

yearning to enter the gates of Love. 

 

   

Gilda lives in a community dedicated to the care of those with Alzheimer's and other forms of dementia.  When I first met her, she told me she was Jewish and was not happy to find herself in a Christian service.  However, she readily recited the Lord's Prayer, and knew a few of the hymns.  By the end of our time together, she was quite friendly and affectionate. 

 

I saw her again this week, and I realized I had not seen her since our first meeting.  She greeted me warmly, and I told her I remembered she is Jewish. She smiled and said that she would like a song sheet.  As I began the words of institution for communion with  "On that last Passover night," Gilda looked at me, smiled, and echoed, "Passover."  I wish I could describe the tenderness and sense of remembrance with which she repeated that treasured word.  Her face actually glowed with

 

 gentleness and light.  

 

When the pianist and I first started to visit this home, we worshiped on a different floor.  There, the piano was just behind where the residents gathered. I could see her, but the residents could not unless they turned their bodies around. I did not give this configuration much thought, and even if I had, there was not much I could do about it. However, a few months ago, we were asked if we could go to the floor where we worship now.  I like the room because one door opens out to a patio, and since the residents do not have to be moved from one floor to another, they are more relaxed.  However, that gathering place has not a piano, but rather an eccentric organ.   Fortunately, the volunteer does know how to play the organ, and we have adjusted to its inconsistencies and inclination to throw in a strange drum track now and then.  

 

What is very interesting is how intently the residents watch her as she plays, and several have expressed gratitude for her playing. They seem much more engaged.   I believe there has been a  shift of interest because they now see her, and can see where the music is coming from.  They witness that strange instrument come alive as she cajoles it into playing nicely.  This week, as she always does,  she played a lovely piece during communion.  I watched Gilda take the hand of the person sitting next to her.  They sat and listened together with the rapt attention one might give a concert artist.  Afterwards, they applauded and Gilda said, "How wonderful." 

 

Yes, it is.  I am grateful.