Every Wednesday morning, after I’ve said mass, I go over to the local care home. I have a loyal group of about 3 or 4 elderly men and women who receive the sacrament. But not recently…
I’ll spare this institution’s blushes (and my duty of confidentiality) by refraining to name it. It’s always been pretty disorganised, but over recent weeks disorganisation has developed into a form of fine art.
Hitherto I’d arrive, as if unexpectedly, though I come at the same time every week. There’d be a brief flurry of activity, and after about 10 minutes my small but faithful cohort would arrive in one of the lounges, and we’d begin.
But no longer. For the last three weeks, I’ve been greeted politely enough, and despatched to the room we normally use. And then left. And left.
Eventually, after 30 minutes of being entirely ignored, I’ve gone down to the reception to enquire what has happened. And I’m met with a blank stare, and asked if no-one turned up? No, no-one was brought – since the frail and frequently confused old people cannot possibly just “turn up”. And I’m told, “Oh, I don’t know what’s happened then.”
So I asked to talk to the centre manager. He was all apologies and saying that he’ll make a note in the diary, and it won’t happen again.
Except that it did. So I talked to him again. I said that I realised organising the frail and confused can’t be easy, but surely it would be possible, since I always come at the same time give or take 5 minutes, to start asking the regulars about 30 minutes before I’m due to arrive if they wish to receive the sacrament, and to start preparing those that do to come to the lounge. Ah yes, of course, Father, that’s what I’ll do.
Except, Mr Oh-so-polite care home manager, you didn’t, did you? And today was exactly the same. And as always, after 30 minutes I have to give up because I’m due at another nursing home immediately after this one.
I’ve had yet another interview with the manager today. I’ve expressed my frustration and disappointment. But, much more important than either of those, I expressed my anger and sadness on behalf of these communicants who now, for over a month, have not been able to receive the body of our Lord.
And this is what has led me to entitle this post as I have. For the sad, frequently demented, often lonely, always disabled in one way or another, residents, this place seems nothing more than a storage facility for those inconveniently and stubbornly clinging to life.
A kindly storage facility, for sure, as far as I can tell. I see no evidence for abuse as that word is generally understood.
But there is another, perhaps more subtle, abuse here. I am convinced that for some of these ‘scraps’ of attenuated and almost emptied remnants of human persons, receiving the body of Jesus is the only thing they have left. A thing that requires no qualifications, no reciprocations, no human responses, no ‘payment’ of any kind. Just the freely offered gift of a God who cares passionately for each one of them, when perhaps we no longer know what there is to care for, or about, in these residents of death’s waiting room.
I’m angry that those paid for the care of these elderly people cannot organise themselves sufficiently, or care enough, to enable their spiritual sustenance to be brought to them. Not that my anger is either here or there. This really is not about me. It’s about a few old people. And where’s the importance in that?
Fr Stephen Brown 