Looking around the Adoration Chapel, wounds of 2020 linger on the kneelers like ghosts. The scars of a time when we were denied access to the Sacraments, a time when all that we are as Catholics were attacked in the name of safety. We found ourselves without a community, without the Eucharist, and without the tangible elements of faith. While life has returned to normal, those living with dementia and their care partners still feel the salt of isolation and denial hit their wounds. It is the secular world sprinkling the salt, yet, it is also us, the body of Christ who adds to the sting.
Working in dementia is never the popular path, the path in the spotlight or interest of many. It is frequently responded to with a condescending and pitiful tone. From the, “Oh, that must be so hard” to the “Good for you, for working in such a difficult area” it is something that people run from, and when they do decide to linger for a while they rest on the surface doing only that which provides warm fuzzies. From drama therapists to CNAs, lay ministers to our bishops, prominent Catholic organizations, and funding bodies to parish staff, we run, far and fast, only daring to touch the surface, turning our backs on people who seek healing, connection, and to live in the fullness of life. We fail to put out into the deep. We, as brothers and sisters of those living with dementia, run. This past Lent, we went on a journey to seek and recognize where Christ was asking us to draw closer to Him. I now ask you, anyone reading this post or scanning this organization to accept this invitation to draw closer to those living with dementia on this Divine Mercy Sunday.
When you don’t know what to say or do, say, “Jesus, I trust in you.”
When you fear the unknowns of dementia, say, “Jesus, I trust in you.”
When someone forgets your name or who you are, say, “Jesus, I trust in you.”
When it feels like a loved one is slipping away, say, “Jesus, I trust in you.”
When you feel you can’t step forward, say, “Jesus, I trust in you.”
When the words of a diagnosis overcame you, say, “Jesus, I trust in you.”
When your doctor tells you to get your affairs in order, say, “Jesus, I trust in you.”
When you are treated in ways that are less than dignified, say, “Jesus, I trust in you.”
When you feel your community slipping away, say, “Jesus, I trust in you.”
When the burdens of care and of life feel like a crushing stone, say, “Jesus, I trust in you.”
Spend some time with the Divine Mercy image this Sunday. Frame the image and place it nearby. Use it as your phone or computer background. Tape a prayer card on your bathroom mirror. When life becomes too much, and the doom and gloom narrative the world thrusts upon us starts to overwhelm you, run to this image. Close your eyes, picture the rays coming from Jesus, and say, “Jesus, I trust in you.”
As Catholics, we know that dementia is not the end. We know Christ never forsakes us. God, never puts conditions on His love for us. Knowing this, let us, the body of Christ do better. Let us accept the invitation to become the hem of Christ’s garment by daring to be bold in our exploration of dementia, and supporting those living with one form or another. Let us put out into the deep so that the fruits of the sea can overwhelm us. So that we can drop our ego, our fear, and our uncertainty and love those living with dementia through our ministries, our outreach, and our fight against this secular world to make sure the dignity and beauty of the faith are upheld for each and every person living with dementia.
There is a quote from Pope Benedict XVI that reads, “Each of us is the result of a thought of God. Each of us is willed, each of us is loved, each of us is necessary.” You are willed, loved, and necessary, no matter your physical or neurological state of health, no matter your age, no matter your burdens, your trials, your triumphs. You are loved by the Father, willed into existence, and from conception to natural death, you are necessary in this world. Set your gaze towards Heaven, and say, “Jesus, I trust in YOU.”