I knew that Tom’s Parkinson’s had recently strengthened
its attack, but it was still a bit of a shock to see the short note in our
diocesan diaconate newsletter that Deacon Tom “had recently entered hospice at
home”. A blessing of being part of the
diaconate is the sense of community, the sense of family that you feel with
those who have had a similar calling.
Tom entering hospice hit especially close to my heart
because we were ordained together back in 2009.
Of course, being ordained together is so much more than just that one
event. That was the culmination of five
years of formation during which our small group (four) and our wives had bonded
in Christ as we deepened our relationships with God and with each other.
So, it wasn’t surprising to me that I had to take a deep
breath before turning the truck key. I
had made arrangements with Tom’s wife, Sue, to visit Tom at home. A big part of me didn’t want to go, while another
part of me felt compelled to do so. All
hesitation fell away from my heart when Sue answered the door and, after a hug,
she led me into the living room where Tom’s hospital bed was. Tom’s eyes grew larger as he saw me approaching. I bent over and we embraced.
Neither of wanted to waste time talking about the
weather, or our favorite baseball team’s great year so far. There wasn’t the time or the need to fill any
gaps. Tom had had a booming voice, but
now he talked not much over a whisper.
Tom did most of the talking; he had much that he wanted to share, that
he even said that he needed to share.
As I stood up from our embrace I still held his
hand. He looked directly into my eyes, “I
am not afraid,” he said firmly. “But it
is strange because I am not looking forward to dying either.” We talked about the reality that he loves Sue,
his wife of 54 years, their six children and 13 grandchildren. It’s normal that he feels a strong tug on his
heart to remain here for a time yet.
“I don’t hesitate to tell anyone who comes that Jesus
Christ is my Lord.” The brevity of time
remaining leaves no time to be subtle. “I
have to be direct.” There’s no doubt in
reading the letters of St Paul that the power in his words and actions was
fueled by his own growing personal sense of urgency.
“You know, I don’t think that God is testing my faith with
all of this. He knows that I love Him.” I
readily agreed with Tom. I have done a
good deal of my own contemplation of the concept of God testing us. After all, the Bible itself gives us the
story of Abraham and Isaac, so I understand that life has its moments of
testing that God does allow. But God
already knows our heart. So, I believe that
God tests us to reveal, not to Him, but to ourselves how deep our love is, our
trust is, our faith is for our own benefit.
We can either take courage in the answer that we ourselves reveal, or know
that we must seek more of God’s help. A
good way to ask is the prayer that all clergy and religious begin evening
prayer with each nightfall: “God come to my assistance; Lord, make haste to
help me.”
While Tom is unwavering in his faith and trust, he understands
more gratefully than ever now, the need for forgiveness. “I am so blessed to be part of a faith
community where you can be forgiven of your sins. I don’t need to worry at all; I am at peace
with that.” When someone standing at the
threshold is that certain of God’s mercy, it steadies the hearts of everyone
who is blessed to hear it.
We talked about the diaconate of course. “To be allowed to proclaim the Gospel was
amazing.” Then, with arms that appeared
to be so frail and weak, he raised them straight and high, “and to be able to
process into Mass carrying the Book of the Gospels was such an amazing privilege.” Out of everything that Tom could have possibly
wanted more time for, the one thought that he shared with me was that he would
love to have the time to read each Gospel through one last time. He said that he just might start and see how
far he can get.
I brought Jesus in the Most Blessed Sacrament with me
for both Tom and Sue. All three of us joined
hands and prayed. I had to hold the host
steady on Tom’s lips until he could finally take it fully. But as he consumed the host, he relaxed, his
head pressed down into the pillow, and his face was a blend of pure peace and joy.
I had one more present for Tom. It was a prayer cross, carved from olive wood
in the Holy Land. I placed it in his
hand. “Tom, you can hold this while you
pray. And when there are times when you
are tired and struggling to think of the words you want, just hold this cross – that will
be prayer enough.” His fingers closed
over the cross tightly, “Thank you.”
We finished our conversation talking about how Jesus
did not take death out of this world, but He showed us that He is the way
through death, and He is there to guide us. Because those near death have
a sensitivity to the nearness of God, to be with someone who is dying is to
stand on holy ground.
I could see that that Tom was growing tired, so I
hugged him and told him that I love him.
I remembered that there was no time on these moments for smallness. Love large.
“Deacon, would you bless me?” I
asked Tom. I saw the smile. I bent over and he placed his hands on my
head. “Dan, may almighty God bless and
keep you always.” Then, as he traced the
sign of the cross on my forehead, “In the name of the Father, Son and Holy
Spirit.”
Amen my brother, amen.
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Comments
Post a Comment