Homespun Homily: On Holy, Vulnerable Ground
By Lori Fontana
How many of you, dear readers, have cared for a loved one who is very ill? I am in the midst of caring for a family member who has suffered a debilitating illness, and it has given me much time to ponder and pray. Seeing her so debilitated is heartbreaking, but it is also breaking my heart open to many truths that I believe God wants to teach me.
My journey to care for my loved one was long and winding, both figuratively and literally. Literally, I had to work feverishly to “clear my calendar” to make the time and space to come. Though I only work part-time (for Robert! – I’m chief cook and bottle-washer, or rather, bookkeeper, event planner, and of course, sometime writer!), most of my work cannot be done remotely. So there was a long “to-do” list to complete before I traveled.
The trip itself was long – across the country; and while I am always amazed at the speed of air travel, gosh those airplane seats are smaller and smaller, and even on a flight of 3,000 miles, all you get for sustenance is a bag of pretzels and some cold water or hot coffee. And don’t get me started on the airplane restrooms…aghhh!
The figurative journey was an interior one – mental and emotional. Before coming, I worried and fretted: would I be physically strong enough to give the needed help? How would we pass the time – the many hours over many days of just being present to each other? Would we be relaxed and comfortable, or tense and uncertain? Would the family like my cooking?
Thankfully, I pushed through the hesitancy and doubt…and here I am. And what a tremendous grace it has been.
On my first day here, I was helping to give my loved one a sponge bath. I’ve given thousands of baths to my babies and toddlers but never to someone near my own age. I was overcome with such a feeling of tenderness and a sense of the holiness of the moment – ministering to someone who is so in need of help and vulnerable. I am aware of my role as caregiver, yes, but in a flash of clarity, I understood that I, too, share in her very same vulnerability and fragility, because I am human. None of us is beyond the reach of illness or accident or aging; and we are all going to die.
Coming face-to-face with this basic truth, I know I have several choices. I can run – to activities, media, fun; I can hide – behind clothes, possessions, obsessive exercise; I can deny – with food, drink, drugs, unhealthy relationships. Or I can embrace the end to which all of us are heading.
It’s just a fact that when we are certain about where we are going, we are better travelers. We move forward with intention, with gusto and JOY, because in the light of eternity, we can see more clearly what really matters. Oh, we can count on making detours. Sometimes we will circle back or veer into dead ends, even with our clearer vision. But we will stay on course to our eternal home, following God’s beckoning, God who is pure love and who loves us completely, totally, without reservation.
Yes, God loves us, but that doesn’t mean we won’t suffer, which points me back to the grace of caring for my loved one. Overnight, much of who she is had seemed to vanish. She can walk only with help; she cannot cook, drive, or write. Individual words are clearly spoken, but her thoughts are often jumbled, especially with the mixing up of “I,” “you,” “she,” “me,” etc. The mystery is that, no matter her physical, mental, emotional state, truly, she is beloved of God. As the Lord tells us in Isaiah 43:4, ”You are precious in my eyes, and glorious [honored], and I love you.” No one is excluded from God’s love.
As I tend to my loved one’s needs, I am so aware that I stand on holy ground and am called to a holy mission. As John Michael Talbot sings, “Christ has no body now but yours, no hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes through which he moves compassion on this world; Christ has no body now on earth but yours.” [from St Teresa of Avila]
I’ve never had this role before. Helping to feed, dress, toilet, and bathe another adult is a very intimate, and sometimes very intimidating, job. But with the eyes of faith, it becomes a sacred duty, an honored task, and an act of love. In this hard and holy work, the Holy Spirit is revealing to me my smallness, my weakness, and also my greatness. I, human, am diminishing each day; but also I, human, am Jesus to another. This is holy ground, indeed!
I’m left with two things to ponder. First, I will be leaving. I will travel to an airport, get on an airplane, and fly across the country, returning to my own daily routine, my own bed. I’m basically in control of my life. I leave these hardships behind, but my loved one remains here, struggling each day to do the most basic life activities such as brushing her teeth. How often do I brush my teeth mindlessly, while doing two or three other things?!
Second, I’m reflecting on the many, many people who cope with a loved one’s debilitating illness every day, for long weeks and months, even years. It can happen in any of our families or circle of close friends. And, taking it a step further, the one with the debilitating accident or illness could be me.
It’s only in faith that I can stave off the anxieties and fears that accompany thoughts of these possibilities. Jesus is our hope; he knows firsthand our human journey, has endured many trials and sufferings, and promises to be with us “in good times and in bad.” And he also gives us the Holy Spirit to strengthen and guide us. That is the power of our faith – not that we avoid all troubles, but that we are given the power and the wisdom to endure them.
