I’m not a religious person. Though I was raised in a
Christian family, we weren’t at all religious, if that makes sense. So my
feelings on religion are complex, and maybe not very well-informed.
Still, I respect it and the strength it gives some, I think many of the lessons
in the Bible are valuable, and I think it serves a purpose in contemporary
society as it did in ancient days. But it nonetheless makes me
uncomfortable; I’m uncomfortable with the reliance on God, the Christian notion
that everything is in God’s hands. To be sure, faith can be a healthy,
confirming thing. However, relinquishing control and relying on an unseen
higher power just seems convenient, idealistic and even naive. I
understand that individuals have different ideas and levels of faith (and
that’s cool) but I just happen to be a nonbeliever, O me of little faith.
But I digress. This isn’t about how I
feel about God.
I volunteer at a hospital, a “Catholic health care ministry”
as stated on its website. Once a week, I assist a team of doctors and
nurses in the care of sick and hurt people in a unit that’s one step removed
from the ICU. We mostly help older patients with acute respiratory and
cardiac conditions. The unit has 40 beds and someone dies there maybe
once a week. It’s a peculiar environment, one of hope and joy, pain and
grief. Some people get better and go home. Some people don’t.
The other day in a waiting area, I saw a small group of
adults, a family of siblings and spouses, I gathered. I think they were
either grieving or preparing to grieve, probably over an ill (or deceased)
parent. They had arranged some chairs in a circle and spoke softly,
reassuring one another, putting hands on shoulders or knees. They were
well-dressed and appeared well-to-do. What little speech I could make out
was clear and measured; I judged them to be educated and mature. I never
really stopped to observe them but I passed them several times in the course of
my shift, reading their body language and sensing their dismay. On one
such pass, as I was hustling a blood sample to the lab, I noticed that they’d
been joined by a character who looked to be their complete opposite.
He carried with him a bulging black garbage bag. He
wore stained, cut-off jean shorts and a stretched-out Budweiser t-shirt.
His socks didn’t match and barely hung on to the skinny legs poking out of his
beaten high-top sneakers, one of which was untied. He was probably in his
mid-forties but had the darkened, leathery skin of someone with a lengthy and
heavy smoking habit. Despite his messy dress, he was clean-shaven and had
a neat, trim haircut. On my way back from the lab, I saw that he had
pulled up a chair and was leaning forward, speaking quickly and quietly,
gesturing wildly and engaging the group with wide eyes.
I have no way of knowing whether or not he knew these people
or what, if any, connection he had to them or their situation. Hell, I
don’t even really know what brought them all to the hospital in the first
place. But I do know that things between them got pretty intense pretty
fast. As my shift wore on, I saw the man and the group just a handful
more times. And each time, the scene got progressively more
compelling. Eventually, I was able to imagine and piece together a
possible narrative. What follows is mostly supposition.*
In surprisingly rapid fashion, the man who appeared to have
no business with the group somehow got its full attention; the usual-looking
people had made room in their circle for this unusual-looking man and now
listened intently as he offered what seemed to be encouraging words. In
hushed, insistent tones, he spoke of God, Jesus and the Lord. He spoke of
faith, deliverance and salvation. Growing increasingly agitated, he
ministered manically to the group that had heretofore been upset, stricken and
demoralized but had now perked up. He rocked in his chair, busied his
hands and restlessly shook a leg. He seemed to take great pains to remain
seated, like his chair was electrified. Regardless, he came across as
very focused, only breaking eye contact with individuals to tightly close his
own eyes for periods. The other people, for their part, were just as
focused. Entranced, as if under a spell, they nodded vigorously and
voiced their approval with affirmations of “mm-hmm,” “uh-huh,” “that’s right,”
and “amen.” It was remarkable -- within 40 minutes, this wayfaring stranger
had transformed a subdued, dejected group of people into an active, captivated
congregation. It appeared that he had not only gained their trust but
that he had also gained their acceptance. The cynic in me wondered, was
he a fraud? A travelling salesman peddling snake oil? Or was he
legitimately spiritual? I’ll never know.
The last I saw of them, they were all on their feet, still
in a circle, holding hands and quaking as the man led them in earnest
prayer. They were a vocal, supportive flock and each person took a turn
saying their own prayers. Eyes closed, everyone swayed, listening with
bowed heads, preaching with skyward faces. No longer disconsolate, they
clenched each other’s hands, strengthened by this man’s divine message and the sense
of security it brought them. I found the
whole episode oddly momentous, awesome but bizarre.
Upon reflection, I think the man was a mere passerby who,
seeing people he thought he could help, took it upon himself to spread the Word
in their time of need. Maybe he was an angel. Like Clarence in It’s A Wonderful Life, he helped them see the light. And really, it was a profound thing, at once
creepy and beautiful, their sincere communion with God. So even though I'm not religious, me of such
little faith, I believe -- not in God but in the power of belief. That a
group of people could be so moved, so overcome with confidence and relief in
the face of distress, is extraordinary to me. I'm a skeptic after all,
someone uncomfortable with the unquestioned devotion to an unseen God. But as such, part of me was still comforted by
the fact that something not only calmed these people and allayed their anxiety
but also provided them the means to rise up and be brave. So just because
I don't share that same faith doesn’t make it any less significant. Just because it seems convenient, idealistic
and even naïve to me doesn’t make it
so to them. I think I knew that all along but this
experience kind of crystallized it for me. To each their own, I say.
------------
*I realize that it’s unfair to judge people and make
assumptions. But I would argue that it’s a natural human reaction to
wonder what people are up to, to try to make sense of a curious
situation. I, like many others, am a people-watcher, not in a voyeuristic
way but in an anthropological way. People are strange, and I love that
about them.
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