Tears and Rain.

As a minister, visiting old folk’s homes was never my favourite task. I especially found it difficult to see forgotten people sitting around in the shadow of death doing nothing in particular. I used to wonder what their families were doing at this moment.  Come visit with me.

 It’s raining…and the drops splatter like tears on the long driveway leading to a dreary brick building. Nothing on the outside distinguishes this institution from others in the neighborhood. The same leaden sky hangs overall.

Open the glass double doors and peer inside; walk down the murky stale corridors; smell the faint odours of things old and sterile. Shudder as your senses are assaulted with the reminders of those waiting for death. You have entered a home for the incurables. Look at the patients sitting quietly in their rooms. Notice their faces, forgotten by their families; the apathy, boredom, and resignation in their eyes; the poorly concealed despair. Offer a word of encouragement, tell a joke, grasp a wrinkled hand. Try to keep back the tears as they eagerly respond to your attention.

Here is Jimmy. Many years ago, he was a promising young pianist. Read the newspaper clipping he has saved that acclaims his rare technical virtuosity and sensitivity – at age 17. But now he has multiple sclerosis. Today it is a major effort for him to hold a cup steady or even pick up a sandwich.

Look into the eyes of the demented and see the youthfulness of their past. Speak to the frail and they will tell you of the young mind with dreams and hopes, trapped in this old body. Come into the lounge area and play a few recorded hymns for your new friends. They ask for “I Need Thee Every Hour,” “There is a blessed Hope,” and “Jesus Loves Me.” These people are beyond the superficial. God is their last and only hope; they have no one else on whom to depend.

When it is time to go, tair yourself guiltily away from them. Retrace your steps down those sea-coloured halls, out of the double glass doors, and into the clean-smelling air. Feel ashamed of everything you ever complained about your whole life and wish with all your heart that you could share your own health with those fragments of humanity. Cry a little, maybe…and watch the rain. Pray “even so come Lord Jesus.”