When I first met Paul, I was fairly certain that he would not be taking Communion. He sits very still in his wheelchair with his head slightly bent, never looking up. His skin is pale; not a sickly pale, but the paleness of one who seldom spent time in the sun. His hair is white, and while he does not seem to be one of the old old, he is clearly not robust. Yet, he always has a slight smile on his face.
Regardless of whatever assumptions I may hastily make, I do always ask if one would like Communion. Here is where Paul continues to surprise me. He still does not look up, and the smile stays on his face. He nods a yes, and then quietly speaks the only words I have ever heard him utter: "Thank you, Jesus."
Those words linger. Even when our lives seemingly become small, those three words of gratitude can keep our hearts ever expanding. I recently came across some writing of Teresa de Cartagena, a 15th century Cistercian nun who in her work, "On Eternal Health," wrote of the "convent of the infirm." She knew that convent well because she eventually became deaf, and was often dismissed as being inconsequential by the church leaders of her day. I believe many of those who are frail would benefit from a Christ (or whatever their faith tradition) centered place of healing and being. In too many communities, attention is pulled away from any spiritual needs with continual coaxings to be happy and to take part in various activities and distractions. Of course, none of that is without merit, but there needs to be a balance. Bingo has its place, but spiritual hunger cannot be fed by anything but a deepening sense of God in our lives. Most of us need to experience this deepening with others. We have a responsibility to those in long-term care to try to see that those needs are met.
Recently, I walked into a community dedicated to memory care. The home is kept clean and there is much natural light in the activity room that opens to a tidy garden patio. Some of the staff I have known for awhile, but I know there is a struggle with being understaffed (I have expressed concern about this more than once, so on that day I was assured that some new staff members were starting next week). However, for now the activity director is often pulled into other roles. When I walked into the activity room I discovered some residents sitting in front of a tv showing a dvd of Joel Osteen preaching to a packed stadium. Despite his enormous popularity, the likelihood of his sermon having any meaning for those few gathered in that room was pretty much nil, although I must acknowledge this attempt to create some sort of worship space. However, when a dementia patient experiences a lack of meaning, such disconnect can have a detrimental effect; the residents simply disengage and move into even deeper isolation. Fortunately, the pianist who joins me here is a teacher of music, and she is often effective in bringing at least some of the residents' focus back into the room, often with smiles, clapping, and laughter. Eventually several of us celebrated Communion, including one resident who came into the room just as I was leaving. She came up to me and began earnestly speaking. However, I could not understand her words. Fortunately, Sarah, a resident who is generally alert and articulate (I think of her as the mayor) said, "I think she wants Communion." This was a little surprising to me as I did not have on my collar so my role was not readily recognizable. However, Sarah was right, and ultimately, Communion is what we all want. We yearn for that connection with what is sacred and eternally alive within us, regardless of our physical and mental health. There Christ is, and I believe that is the monastery where Paul sits smiling.
I will close with some of Sister Teresa's writing. While several centuries separate our theological understandings, I agree with her heart. I love her reminder that God "never resents our crosses," but will always hold us and renew us as we journey. A valuable message for us all, regardless of our age.
"So let us forsake what forsakes us, and desire only him who desires us, and love only him who gives us these sufferings, so that we might abandon the world and love him who loves us. And that is, without a doubt, the true Father, the loving Father, the only one who never resents our crosses. It is he who heals our infirmities, who keeps us from stumbling and delivers us from danger, who will crown us with great mercies. He will bring our desires to good ends and will renew our youth like an eagle. So let us who are dying of hunger for bodily health in this foreign land search instead for him with fervent desire, for in him we will find true repose, in which our temporal, human sadness will become eternal, spiritual joy. But in the aforementioned things, patience should reign, for if patience does not rule the convent of the infirm, all our suffering will be fruitless."
Sister Teresa Cartegena, "On Eternal Health," as published in Plough Weekly, July 19, 2018
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