There is nothing colder than a North wind sweeping across the Oklahoma plain in January. It bites, cuts, chills and can seem relentless. I served for five years as the Chaplain at the Enid State School for the 1000+ residents that, to one degree or another, were classified as “developmentally disabled”. We as a society have come a long way from the institutions that were at one time considered compassionate care. I replaced a chaplain who had been there 11 years and never held a service for the many residents that died on the campus. I can remember many of those lives that passed, sometimes at ages seven or eight, and others who had lived their entire long life with ESS as their home.
One service that I was reminded of recently came to mind in a theological conversation I was having with a friend. Here is the story:
Charles Batman was the name he was given by the social worker whose care became her responsibility when he was dropped off at a fire station as an newborn. She said, “Batman was really the rage then and I decided he needed a special name”. Charles spent his entire life of nine years living in a hospital bed. He would smile and squeal at those who cared for him daily. We had his memorial service in the chapel which was attached to the hospital unit. As he had no family, his burial was taking place in the “grave yard” that since the early 1900’s similar folks were given their final resting place. Their graves were marked by a cement slab with their name and date of birth and death. That’s all.
I remember very clearly the five of us that braved the cold to say a final goodbye. There was my assistant, the social worker, one nurse, a worker who dug the grave, and me. I remember standing there in the biting wind wondering what I might say. From somewhere inside of me came these words, “Either Charles’s life matters as much as anything in all of creation or nothing matters”. Those words hung in the cold silence. We each recognized that what we remembered about Charles was both his name and his smile.
Perhaps, it is because I am moving towards 77 that I spend a little more time thinking about beginnings, middles and ends. I do find myself asking, ‘does my life matter’? Put this in perspective—“there are approximately two trillion galaxies in the known universe”. How important can I be? Strangely, I take great solace in those words that came “to” me not “from” me at that graveside.
Forgive me if today I am in my very introspective state. I suspect most humans occasionally ask the question that haunted me after seeing the movie—“What’s it All About Alfie”? I never imagined that I would be living at a time when so much of what I thought was solid, (like truth, the rule of law, human dignity and on and on) were actually up for questioning.
I am thinking today of the caregivers. People who get up everyday to care for others. In the past five years I have had three stays in a hospital. Each one of them could have been the curtain call. What I remember about those experiences is the care that I received from each and every person who was just doing their job. They are exceptional.
Charles Whitmer, my mentor, who taught me how to be a pastor, said this to me after a visit with a long time church member who was dying of liver cancer at 58— “Mark, life is precious, never ever forget what a gift we have been given. Ministry does not get easier, it gets harder. You walk through much with people you come to know and love”.
Today I helped to plan a reunion with Brad who I wrote about a few months ago. Brad, who lost parts of all his fingers, and both lower legs as a result of an infection, said this to me about the proposed reunion—“I would love it, I am not going anywhere, I guess we won’t play ‘kick the can’.” And I added also “Kick the Bucket!!!”
Brad reminded me again of the “Four F’s—Faith, Family, Friends, and Fun”. In June a few friends will gather in Taos, we will celebrate that life matters and is precious. What was true at Charles Batman’s graveside…still holds up today
Onward and Upward,
Mark
Lyfting Me Up 