Visiting one of our aged care homes recently, a huddle of carers—some quite emotional—were standing around a resident. The resident was in a mobile bed and had just been outside for some fresh air. Learning more, I discovered that the carers were so happy because the new piece of equipment—the mobile bed—meant that the resident could now be taken outside with ease. The resident’s mobility issue meant that it had been difficult for them to be transported safely into the sunshine. The resident’s eyes brightened, and the carers were delighted.
In another home, I met an older person who had suffered a life-limiting stroke. He was immobile and without speech. Stretched out in his bed, his wife was tenderly feeding him home-made soup. Stroking his hand, she told me it was his favourite. We chatted about how both their lives had changed since her husband’s stroke. She explained that when she looked at him, she could still see the man she had married so many years ago. She was with him every day—he was her beloved.
In the maternity units at our hospitals, the accompaniment is of a different nature. Mercy Health cares for some of the sickest babies in Victoria, and the care with which our health care workers interact with the tiniest of babies and their families is humbling.
Over the weekend, we have celebrated the Jubilee of the Sick and Health Care Workers. In reflecting on this event, I am reminded that the question of suffering is one with which we are all confronted during our lives. Sometimes it comes shockingly quickly—an unexpected illness, accident, tragedy or loss.
There are times when we may wonder how much suffering the human heart can bear. Physiologically, we know that the heart is the vital organ, animating our every breath. And we also know that our deepest griefs and joys reside there, often side by side.
Faith doesn’t protect from suffering or illness or make those times easier, but the DNA of people of faith is shaped by the stories of those who have gone before them, stories of struggle and happiness and of meaningful survival.
The joys of the heart are easily identified, those moments when we feel at ease with the world and our spirits soar! ‘It doesn’t get better than this!’ we think to ourselves as we sit with a loved one or gaze at something beautiful or bask in the achievement of a secretly held dream. We try to hold on to those moments, even though we know that they will not last forever. This is the way of the only life we have—there will be good times and bad times. For most of us, our quiet moments reassure us that even though there have been life setbacks, our days have been overwhelmingly graced with little joys, little hope-filled encounters—a smile, a kindness, the gentle support of another.
There is no answer to the question of why people suffer illness. But there is a response to the how, perhaps. The how becomes the seeding ground for hope. I think faith speaks into this in a particular way. It doesn’t protect from suffering or illness or make those times easier, but the DNA of people of faith is shaped by the stories of those who have gone before them, stories of struggle and happiness and of meaningful survival.
Christians can find a centre in the stories of Jesus, the one whose heart is moved by the struggles of those around him. They can reach back and draw inspiration from the cries for help that the ancient peoples addressed to their God. And they can be reminded that the accompaniment of a loving and patient God is always available to those who seek it—that God is present in the depths of suffering, accompanying us on the sometimes-slow journey to whatever new life might emerge.
Over the weekend, many people of faith will have listened to the story from John’s Gospel about the woman caught in adultery (8:1–11). Scholars sometimes comment about the insertion of the passage in John’s Gospel, and I too am interested in what it is that God wants us to hear in this passage. Leading into the fifth week of Lent, amid the Pilgrim Year of Hope, on the weekend for the Jubilee of the Sick and Health Care Workers, in a conflict-ridden world, this passage holds a powerful message, I think.
This is hope: the belief that everyone has the capacity to change for the better.
Jesus is teaching a crowd and is interrupted by leaders who bring a woman, hoping he will enable them to punish her by stoning her to death. And what I noticed this year, for the first time, is that Jesus’ thoughtful approach was able to call forth a moment of transformation for all: for the hard of heart, a moment of reflection; for the woman, an opportunity for renewal. An invitation to the path of new life was offered for all. This is hope: the belief that everyone has the capacity to change for the better.
I am sure many of us have been touched by the image of a frail and very unwell Pope over these last weeks. In his homily for this weekend’s Jubilee (which was read for him), he reflects:
I have much in common with you at this time of my life, dear brothers and sisters who are sick: the experience of illness, of weakness, of having to depend on others in so many things, and of needing their support. This is not always easy, but it is a school in which we learn each day to love and to let ourselves be loved, without being demanding or pushing back, without regrets and without despair, but rather with gratitude to God and to our brothers and sisters for the kindness we receive, looking towards the future with acceptance and trust. The hospital room and the sickbed can also be places where we hear the voice of the Lord speak to us: ‘Behold, I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?’ (Is 43:19). In this way, we renew and strengthen our faith.
So, what does hope look like for the sick and health care workers? It looks like a wife making a daily pilgrimage to her extremely sick husband because when she looks at him, she sees her beloved. It looks like health care workers who delight in a piece of equipment that will enable their patient or resident to experience joy. It looks like doctors, nurses, personal care attendants who can see the dignity of the people in their care. It looks like someone experiencing illness who can maintain gratitude and peace of heart.
And it is all of us who know that the only way through in times of illness and suffering is to care for each other in our own little ways. Our steps may sometimes be small, faltering and sadder, but we go on, one foot in front of the other.
So let us pray for the sick and those who care for them in a particular way this week. May the hearts of the well be strong enough to accompany the hearts of the sick. May those who care for the sick look with love upon those for whom they care. And may the sick and suffering among us find healing, hope and peace.
Banner image: Photo by Christian Bowen via Unsplash.
