Bayside: Loving and Learning from the Ill and the Aged

                        Fairly bursting with good intentions, we may decide to join an outreach ministry to help others less fortunate than ourselves—only to discover, when we start, that the people we are helping are helping us even more. They become our teachers, modeling for us the living meaning of courage, of patience, of good humor, of faith, and we are both humbled and enriched by what they have to teach.  Nowhere does this show more plainly that at Bayside Care Center, where volunteers from St. Paul's conduct a Sunday communion service and visit the bedridden, on Sundays and also during the week.

            Let's look in on a typical Sunday…Our congregation is arriving, some walking but most in wheelchairs: Jan is here, and Maxine. They are well along in Alzheimer's:  Maxine is mostly silent and Jan does not know where she is when she is taken ten feet from her room. But the spirit is still vividly alive in them, as it is in the others. Jan is sunny, upbeat, amused at everything. Maxine still holds fast within her the fun-loving girl she once was; she is overcome with glee when we race her down the corridor (against all the rules, we suspect) in her wheelchair.   Our own Bob Medley, so long a parishioner at St. Paul's, is here. So is Ron, an unbeliever who is on the way to believing, and his friend Edna. And others—we usually have anywhere from 8 to 15 residents attending—all of them physically and/or mentally impaired. They sit in twin rows of wheelchairs while Ethel, our beloved keyboardist, (and former St. Paul's organist) plays her prelude. Then the service begins.  It is modified, simplified, shortened, but any of us could recognize in it the framework of the liturgy we know. At the peace, we embrace and kiss people who have not known an affectionate touch for a long time (some here have not been visited by anyone for months or even years). We pray for those of our little congregation who have died or are bedridden; there are too many. We distribute communion. And, at the end, we sing, led by Bob Morris, who started this ministry.  The old voices rise, quavering. Maxine, who can no longer read, has perfect pitch, knows the old hymns by heart, and whistles accompaniment.  Then it is over. We take people back to their rooms, and visit those who are bedridden.  Perhaps Blanche, who is over ninety but so sharp in mind and generous of spirit we can only envy her.  Perhaps people in the halls, wheelchair bound and unaware of where they are, who only need a human touch, a human voice, to comfort them and bring them out of confusion. 

And so Sunday ends.  This ministry costs nothing. It is organic, in that it grew naturally out of Bob Morris' love for Ivy; upon her passing, he continued at the nursing home, brought his dog, and, in time, brought all of us. Now seven of us from St. Paul's, including Donna, are in this ministry. If any of you feel you might want to join it, talk to any of us—Donna, Bob Morris,  Fred and Amanda Stimson, Carol Schutz, Bill Blundell, Connie Gannon—and we'll be happy to tell you how, at Bayside, you can minister and be ministered to at the same time.. .                                                                                                        

Bill Blundell