On the Way to Wonder

A little lady with redish hair and painted eyebrows beamed up at Sr. Wantabee as she entered the room. “May I enter?” Of course she replied. It is late afternoon, the day is long, and a change of pace is welcome. “I see you have a fractured hip. You fell?” Oh no, she shared. Her right knee has been replaced twice, her left knee once, and then her hip last Fall but then something happened and it just broke. “Oh my, the airport system will start beeping, just seeing you coming?” We laughed.

Gradually her story came out. After working as a secretary/dental assistant for 35 years she retired early and they bought 100 acres north of the city and it had a log cabin. Her husband had hoped to restore it but ended up selling it but her three kids and six grandkids loved coming to the homestead to ski, hunt, resort. Her husband, five years older than she, was a carpenter and loved the challenge of building their dream house with bedrooms upstairs. Their small town church provided community and they are happy.

At 71 she will have been married 50 years in October. She commented, “I deserve a medal of honor don’t I!” Sr. Wantabee replied, “Heavens, no, then you’d really set off the airport machines. Go for something nonmetalic.” We had another good laugh.

Driving home Sr. Wantabee reflected on how odd it is that our security systems can identify metal but not medal. The machine that finds the bad guys also pin points the good guys who have served our society and their family. It is hard to tell the difference between “saint” and “sinner” and often we misjudge by appearances.

You would notice this man in any room. He’s probably in his 80’s, possibly 90’s, but that is not distinguishing. His whole face is eclipsed by his nose. He has a huge snozzle that is hawk-like, almost cartoonish. Perhaps it would not look so noticeable if he had teeth but he does not. A little slot, not unlike an ATM machine rests under his nostrils.

The first time I met him, I was assisting the chaplain do communion. She stopped by his wheelchair, after a nod that he wanted to partake, she took a wafer, small, white, dry, dipped it in the juice and slid it in the slot for a mouth. Not unlike my ATM card, it slid right out. His tongue had not grasped it. She slid it in again. It slid out again. And so the routine continued until his tongue grabbed the wafer and there it sat to dissolve.

Wednesday, Ash Wednesday that is, he received the ashes on his forehead and then we weaved our way through the wheel chairs giving communion. Mr. ATM nodded agreement. Into the slot went the crumpled wafer and out it came. The chaplain had moved on so I pushed the reluctant wafer into his mouth a second time and moved on. Sure enough, afterwards on the way back from the elevator from delivering residents to be carried to their floor, I ran into Mr. ATM and the wafer was dangling from his lips. I removed the soggy thing and wondered.

Had the machine read enough of the information on the ATM card to receive the blessing? We believe it is not the saintliness of the giver nor the saintliness of the receiver that makes communion effective. It is God’s word working through the elements. I hope the word is enough for Mr. ATM and his malfunctioning receiver.

Today Sr. Wantabee visited with Mr. J. He suffers from a major stroke that left half his body paralyzed and he is wondering if life is worth living. As we have talked he shared that he was in a foster home at age five and got baptized twice, once in a gym and once in a church. Next he shared that it was good that he was taken from that home or he might have killed his “foster mother” for she held his hand over the stove until it blistered at age five and would send him to bed with his underwear over his head with the accident in his nose. He could never love a god who allowed that.
Sr. Wantabee agreed that “love” is a word we toss around too easily. “If you love me, you’ll sleep with me,” was her experience. It is hard for her to use the word “love” also. How does the word “trust” work? If the god-being is not Santa Clause, perhaps he, she or it understands that “love” is hard for us to say and accepts “trust.” We trust that he walks with us as broken people living in a broken world and is working to make thing right, even when we can’t see or understand. Since we do not do a very good job of it with wars and cruelty, the Christ figure had to come to start setting things straight. He thought it sounded like what his spiritual advisor had told him.
Today I asked him about his spiritual advisor, Jiyo? No, said he. It was Dino. Oh, Gino, said she. No, Dino, said he. Dino, like the piano player, said she. Yes, he works at the City Bar. Sigh, I had thought I was agreeing with the local pastor who visited the Gospel Mission he came from. Some days are humbling.