Pastor John,
Yesterday, while I was working at the hospital, I was walking into a patient’s room and the hospital chaplain came right behind me, asking me where a particular patient was. I told him he was out in the hall, so the chaplain went out there, found the patient, and said to him, “Hi, I’m [so-and-so]; would you like to receive holy communion?” The patient thought for a second, and said, “sure.” I tried to make myself look occupied out in the hallway so it would not be noticeable that I was secretly watching them from a distance. The chaplain said that he would first say an “Our Father.” He began to recite the prayer as the patient repeated it, and pulled out a tiny, beige-colored wafer the size of one of those Chiclet gum candies. He held it above his head with both hands as he prayed, and then presented it to the patient, saying, “the body of Christ.” At this point, I had walked into a vacant room to make a bed. I was filled then, and even now as I write, with this strange anger inside of me. The only thing I could say aloud was, “I’m sorry, Jesus, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” I could only tell Him how sorry I was that people would say and believe such a lie in His name. I told Him, “I know the truth, Lord,” as if to reassure Him that there are some who know the truth about who He really is despite all who do not.
The feelings reminded me of when we were in a cathedral in England. The place was filled with candles and statues of Jesus, and what kept filling my mind repeatedly was, “my Jesus, my Jesus,” as if to say, “no, you all have it all wrong. He’s my Jesus; not this.” At the hospital, I was not thinking about how ridiculous the ritual was, but rather, I felt as if I could feel Jesus feeling misunderstood and I was reassuring Him that not everyone thinks that way, that some know His truth.
Later that day, I had an experience with a different patient that makes this difficult job well worth it. I’ve been working with this one older black lady since January. She had had a stroke and was now in rehab, but had improved so that her planned discharge date was to be this past Friday. Well, sadly, she had another stroke the Tuesday before the Friday she was supposed to go home, so her level of dependence had greatly increased. I had gotten to know her while she was on the upswing, and I really became fond of her. We would cut up and laugh and watch Price Is Right together. So, yesterday, I was giving her a bed bath and I could see it in her face and in the tears welling up that she was very sad and frustrated that she had gone so far downhill so quickly that she now required almost complete help to even bathe herself. I could just feel her sadness and I hated to see her so upset. I was trying to make her feel better, reassure her that she would get stronger, and not to worry. I told her, “Jesus can make you better. Just ask Him.” Her ability to form words has also decreased greatly, but I could hear her say, “I’m in God’s hands.” As I was rubbing her arm, both of us with tears in her eyes, I told her I loved her and that Jesus would take care of her, and I really believe He will. Having that moment with her and being able to share the real Jesus with her felt so good and real compared to that silly ritual I saw earlier.
Anna
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Hi Anna.
May God touch that dear lady, and the other patient, too. Fortunately, God looks on the heart instead of judging us simply by what we do. Maybe he wants the real God and doesn’t know how to find Him. Who knows? Maybe Jesus will even speak to that foolish minister the way he has spoken to us, and maybe that minister will humble himself to come out of ceremonial form into real life in the Spirit. I certainly hope so, for his sake as well as for those who look to him for spiritual guidance.
Pastor John