Nursing Homes

Today I had the good pleasure of taking communion to three of our parishioners - one at a nursing home and a married couple shut in at home. I'm not entirely sure I should say "good pleasure," either. Honestly, these visits have me terrified. Specifically, of nursing homes. The first visit was in a nursing home that looked something akin to a dilapidated state college dormitory - replete with mulleted nurses and scroungy looking orderlies that looked like they couldn't wait for their evening romp at the bar. And the people. At least state college students generally look really happy to be in school. These elderly people were sitting on cracked and weathered chairs. Some had their mouths open and looked like they could barely take another breath. Bob Barker reruns, among other trash talk shows, blared loudly down the tacky halls. All of the wizened little Grandmas were hobbling or creeping in wheelchairs down the hall. And the smell. At least hospitals smell sterile. The home smelled strange. Like it just didn't belong. Life here seems like a sentence for having done something "wrong." Like not having exercised enough or being too poor to find a nice home - like those Sunrise homes which look like they belong on the pages of Anne of Green Gables, right?

A lot of these men and women suffer from dementia and Alzheimers. Some have Parkinsons. Most of them have crumpled muscles, unable to scoot them even from one end of the davenport to the other. I visited Agnes and she was just so happy to have a visitor! But she wished she could have a visit - or just communion - a little more often. I can't tell quite why she is "in there." Why was she "sentenced" to life in this dumpy little Indiana building? Its called "Whispering Pines." What a silly name for a nursing home. It reminds me of those "death videos" my CPE hospital would put on in the rooms of the dying. Scenes of nature with elevator music in the background. And then it seemed like such an injustice and almost silly and stupid to turn off that television. As if to say, "shows over, folks! Nothing more to see here! Stay tuned for..."

I couldn't tell if I was afraid of the idea I could end up in one of these places someday. Or that someone I love could end up here. Or that getting old in our culture is to decrease in value to the point that one must be shut away in ugly buildings that the young and vibrant can effectively and comfortably avoid. Sometimes it seems like "getting old" is a disease in our western eyes. No amount of Botox will be able to cure it.

While I visited Agnes and the other couple in their home, I began to think of the disciples arguing about who is the greatest from Matthew 18. Then Jesus puts a little child in the midst of them... any questions?

Matthew 18
1 At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, "Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" 2 He called a little child, whom he placed among them. 3 And he said: "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. 4 Therefore, whoever takes a humble place—becoming like this child—is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. 5 And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.

I'm wondering if it wouldn't be more appropriate for our day and age to replace that little child with one of the little old ladies from the nursing home. Maybe with Agnes. The disciples wouldn't have wanted to become like little children; children were nothing. They were as good as slaves. Society waited to see if they would be of any use. It would be scary for disciples to think they would be judged on the basis of their worthlessness.

Its not much different today either with these old people. The nursing home is frightening for me probably because it is such a stark reminder that while even a short time ago these ladies were brides, cooking, mothering, running, reading, talking, traveling, going out to eat, playing games, calling friends, playing with grandchildren. They were just like me. They all have had hopes and dreams, and probably still do. But now they are all but forgotten. Sitting on rickety chairs watching Springer - because the orderly turned on the telly and none of the ladies legs can carry them all the way to change the channel. These women live in the humble place. A place of helplessness. The place where today I became most uncomfortable with Jesus placing a wrinkly face in front of me and saying, "see? become like this. This, right here, is the kingdom of heaven." These little old ladies are important because God says they are. They are His daughters. They aren't important because I give them the title or because society believes they are all that great. Look at them... they are shut up in a grungy north Indiana nursing home. But here they are. Jesus preachers speaking loud and clear to me about who and what God values. It's a scary lesson for a young intern pastor with big dreams.