Abstract
Recently, while celebrating the Eucharist in a nursing home that specialises in caring for individuals with dementia, I noticed a resident that I hadn’t met before. He was with someone that I presumed to be a visiting relative or friend of his. During the distribution of the Sacrament, I approached them and enquired whether they would like to receive. The resident’s guest said ‘yes’, and after receiving Communion herself, assisted her loved one also to receive. Once he had been given the Sacrament, his visitor quietly wept beside him for the rest of the service.
As soon, as the Eucharist had finished I went over to the couple to introduce myself but essentially to check that the lady was okay and try to comfort her. Before I had even a chance to say ‘Hello,’ she said, “You don’t think it is wasted if he takes the bread and the wine?”. A little surprised by the question, I began to mumble inarticulately that I don’t believe the taking of Communion can ever be said to be wasted. Tears once more began to stream from her eyes; I stopped speaking and simply sat beside her, while the resident gently slept.
She began to tell me that he was her husband of a great many years. When he began to develop dementia, she cared for him at home, but owing to the nature of his specific illness, his behaviour had become increasingly aggressive and, although it greatly pained her, she eventually accepted that she could no longer safely look after him and he had recently moved into the nursing home.
Throughout his life he had a strong faith and had always attended church, belonging to a different Christian denomination from myself. However, once his dementia began to worsen to the extent that he had profound difficulty speaking intelligibly the priest had informed his wife that her husband was to stop receiving Communion, as he regarded it to be wasted on him.
Speaking honestly, I found it difficult to maintain my professional demeanour during this conversation, and a sense of what I consider to be a righteous anger stirred deeply within me. I don’t believe that anyone, lay or ordained, apart from God has the authority to judge whether the receiving of the body and blood of Christ is wasted upon the receiver. I am sure, if we are truthful with ourselves, we can think of times in our lives when we have continued to take the bread and wine and yet our hearts and minds have been elsewhere and not focussed upon God and upon the gifts we are receiving. Yet would we consider these times to be wasted, or do we believe in a God who loves us so much that he continues to work within us and transform us even when we are not consciously aware of him or who we are—or once were?
I am always greatly moved by the sentiment expressed in Psalm 23 in the sentence ‘You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; My cup overflows.’ This imagery reminds us that even when we are anguished and afraid, when all appears to be lost, God is still with us. Although I am sure not originally intended by the psalmist, I interpret this image of a laden table as symbolising the altar, which offers to humanity the bread and the wine—a sign that, no matter who we are or what we are experiencing, we will always be welcome. That even in the bitterest of situations where we no longer recognise loved ones or are able to coherently express ourselves yet real moments of joy and connection can still be found for ‘my cup overflows’, even in desolate times.
In Higher Income nations, owing to longer life expectancy, the number of those living with dementia is predicted to increase. An article published in the British Medical Journal in 2017 forecasts that, in England and Wales, the number of people with dementia is likely to increase by 57% from 2016 to 2040. While there appears to be much much discussion by governments and health care agencies as to how societies are going to care for this rapidly growing demographic, it seems that the Church, focusing so much of its resources on trying to appeal to young people, is not fully grasping the thorny issue of how to understand dementia theologically and care pastorally for those diagnosed.
If, as a church, we do not carefully reflect upon this question and educate not only the laity but also the ordained as to how to understand dementia, then we could find ourselves akin to the rulers, elders, and scribes depicted in our reading from Acts. The allotted lectionary passage from Acts proceeds after an account of Peter and John healing a person who had been lame all his life and begging for money. Because of this deed, they are arrested by, among others, the priests. For me what is so shocking about this narrative is not that Peter and John heal the individual, but that, rather than ignoring the individual, regarding any attention they give him to be a waste, they instead acknowledge his presence because of their understanding of God’s overflowing grace.
The lectionary reading describes how, when questioned by the Temple authorities as to who gives Peter and John the right to perform such acts, Peter retorts that it is Jesus Christ of Nazareth ‘the stone that was rejected’—Jesus, the one whom many thought should be ignored and overlooked, because listening to him and trying to understand what he was communicating would be just a waste of time.
I deem it central to the Christian faith that not only are all loved by God no matter who we are, what we do, what the status of our physical or mental health and well-being, but also that, as followers of Jesus, we must be like Peter and John—prepared to stand and receive at the altar with all. I strongly affirm that no human being has the authority to judge who is and is not worthy of Christ’s precious gift which he gave for everyone.