Giving Is Easier
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Clarissa was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking even more alive than I’d expected. “Just another non-urgent urgency,” I groaned to myself. Although breathing with conspicuous difficulty, she asked if I cared if she smoked. “I won’t be staying long,” I replied, “why don’t you wait just a few minutes.” She agreed. Despite my prejudices, I worked hard at taking an interest in her. It turned out that she had been divorced at a very young age, left with two infant sons whom she had raised as a single parent. One, now middle-aged, lived with her at the present time. The other, the youngest, had died a short time ago at age 53. She talked of her early life with obvious pain and sorrow. Clarissa had earned a living for herself and her children as a concessionaire at carnivals, fairs and other public events. She hawked baby turtles and chameleons, moving to a new spot weekly. I invited her to tell me all about it, and she did with some energy and manifest relish. As I listened, I also heard within myself a distinct important voice: “You aren’t able to enter her suffering. You blame her for causing her own ailments. You are keeping yourself at a distance. You have depersonalized her by being angry about her bigotry, addiction and unattractiveness.” |
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The voice helped push aside the glaring defects repulsing me. “She’s a person, a hurting, suffering human being. This needy, frightened, dying, old woman has had a tough life and is mourning her youngest son’s recent death,” my inner voice insisted.
By
the time our visit closed, I had managed to draw a little closer to her.
My vision cleared, enabling me to
see her as a child of God — yes, conspicuously faulty, but reaching
out as best she could for a word from God. Still mildly repulsed, I placed
my hand on her arm, and offered a prayer. Her other hand promptly slipped
over on top of mine in a clear show of appreciation for my interest and
prayer:
“Thank you God for your presence with Clarissa in this very difficult time and for walking with her throughout her life. May she know you are with her now, love her, and will never leave her or forsake her in this life or the one to come. Bless her now with peace of mind. Clear away all fear and anxiety. Enable her to rest securely in your care, in Jesus’ name. Amen.”
After a silent moment I stood to leave. She thanked me for
coming, and then directed me to put the chair back over in one corner
and to bring up her bedside table. I complied, bade her farewell, and
left.
The
Next Day
The next day I shared the aborted day-off story with pastoral colleagues,
accenting my predominant irritation over the unenjoyable disruption in
my day. I painted a picture of a demanding, unlikable, awful old woman.
But I kept to myself the inner drama that had helped me treat her at least
halfway decently.
Later that day Clarissa’s son called and talked with my secretary. His mother had died that morning. On her instruction, he had discharged her from the hospital and taken her home Monday evening, but toward midnight she had asked to return to the hospital. She succumbed in the early hours of Tuesday about twelve hours after our time together.
Clarissa’s son overflowed with gratitude for the pastoral call. He had never seen his mother in such a state of peace as that evening after he had picked her up from the hospital. “A calmness rested on her like the ‘Spirit of God’,” he said.
The news hit me like a freight train. I was stunned. I felt sad, embarrassed, confused, relieved, surprised, chagrined, gratified.
Sad – she died leaving a caring son but little else of a supportive community. Embarrassed – for speaking about her in such a negative way, and so near to her time of death. Confused – by the mixture of feelings and my mental inventory of whether I had rendered an adequate and appropriate pastoral ministry to her. Relieved – for her sake that her suffering had been transposed to heavenly joy. Also relieved that I made the call when I did, rather than postpone it — a tempting possibility I had dismissed. Surprised – both that Clarissa so promptly died after our conversation and that her son knew about the visit, appreciated it, and called us. Chagrined – that I could be so critical of a sick old woman and jaded in my attitude. Gratified – over the very positive response of Clarissa’s son and gratified that in spite of my flawed outlook I had been there for her in a deep and meaningful way.
Later I pondered the entire episode, wondering what I could salvage and learn from a striking pastoral event like this.
Here’s what I came up with:
- The healing presence of God can be ushered in, with my help, even when I am caught in a resentful state of mind.
- Being present to people can have enormous spirit-affecting and soul-healing results.
- Clarissa apparently experienced the personal presence of Christ, and the assurance of eternal security, just because someone showed up, listened, touched, prayed.
- There are many ways to avoid entering another’s suffering, to stay at arm’s length. One of the most common detaching methods works by seeing reasons for what is happening, and blaming victims for their predicament, distancing us by knowing how the suffering could have been prevented.
Clarissa’s cigarette smoking did this for me. It was part of the justification my spirit used to stay at a distance from hers: “I need not feel for her because she has brought it on herself through a lifetime of nicotine addiction,” the unspoken reasoning said.
I had also latched on to the heart-hardening anti-minority statements in her original request for a Caucasian, male pastor. “Aha” said my heart; “this woman is a bigot deserving little love and only perfunctory care.”
A
third barrier was her appearance. This dowdy, unkempt lady with conspicuously
smoke-dried skin, hardened by decades in the sun, looked unattractive.
How much easier it is to care for beautiful people!
Truths I have learned
Clarissa taught me some truths I have learned before, but will never master.
The primary lesson on this Monday was how the human personality regularly
guards itself from entering another’s world of suffering. One of
the easiest ways to do so is to find fault. (But God comes through anyway).
Other lessons I found:
- Clarissa found peace without a push or “sell,” just by being treated with respect and by having poured upon her the promises of God.
- She may have been waiting for “last rites” or a blessing in order to let go of this life.
- God came to Clarissa and gave her His peace even though she was bigoted, self-destructive, not a churchgoer.
That adds up to quite a few lessons from one brief encounter. My best teachers have always been God’s people: the bent, bashed and broken.
Dr. Kok has included some questions for reflection and discussion. Click here to read them.
Dr. James Kok is Director of Care Ministry for the Crystal Cathedral Congregation of Garden Grove, CA. He has been an ordained minister of the Christian Reformed Church of America for 35 years. He speaks extensively throughout the United States and Canada. His hands-on work as a pastor has led to a profound understanding of the issues and dynamics of personal grief and human suffering on which he has written and spoken at length.
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