Compassionate nevertheless – in praise of reluctant caregivers
Michael McCabe
Jesus said, “What do you think? A man had two sons. He went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work today in the vineyard.’ His son answered, ‘certainly sir’, but did not go. He then went to the second son and said the same. But he answered, ‘I will not go.’ But later he thought better of it and went. Now which of these two did his father’s will? They answered, ‘the second son.’ (Matthew 21:28-32)
The parable of the two sons in Matthew’s gospel has similarities to the more familiar story in Luke’s gospel of the forgiving father. Although that parable is more commonly known as the story of the prodigal son, it is also a story about a reluctant caregiver – an older brother who stays at home, duty-bound to do the right thing, but completely consumed by anger and regret. In the Matthean parable the second son is up-front about his reluctance, “I will not go,” but does not let this fact preclude his helping out his father. Though reluctant, his presence makes a difference in the vineyard.
The reluctant caregiver referred to by Paula Span focuses her attention on the needs of her frail mother-in-law. There is a heroic quality about her care precisely because it is focused on the other rather than on the self. She may well be reluctant but she is actively involved in caring for her mother-in-law.
Contrast that with the jarring image of the retirement village resident who was dead for two weeks in his apartment before being found, or another man dead for a month in his housing complex all the while surrounded by neighbours. What might their story have been with the presence of a caregiver in their lives, even a reluctant one?
Illness and infirmity provides a backdrop where old wounds and unresolved conflicts return. These may or may not find a place of equipoise so that differences on many levels remain. Chronic illness, such as dementia or Alzheimer’s disease, not only destroys existing relationships but also possibilities for relationships that never existed or relationships that were defective and impoverished. Consequently, possibilities for mutual reconciliation become increasingly one-dimensional as the health of a family member slowly or radically diminishes. Even so, a focus on what is best for the patient can help find a way through this real sense of loss and disappointment, notwithstanding the pitfalls of paternalism or abandonment.
Much of ministry involves reaching out to the needs of the other from a position of having similar needs oneself. For example: the single woman at the heart of a parish or school community who is known for her wonderfully welcoming hospitality to the stranger or migrant, but who returns home to a lonely and solitary life; or the grandmother who spends her Sundays taking communion to the housebound and who has become an accepted part of these parishioners’ families even though she is denied access to her own grandchildren and has not seen them for several years; or the grandparents helping raise their grandchildren as well as caring for their own frail and aged parents. As one such person said to me recently, ‘when we got married 40 years ago this was not the retirement lifestyle we imagined we would one day be living!’
All of these caregivers, though reluctant to a greater or lesser degree, have the reach of compassion. This quality is easily lost, or at least under threat, when care of the vulnerable is commodified and commercialised or when communities and families become increasingly fragmented and isolated.
All caregivers minister out of their need and relational poverty but, by responding to real needs, they are helping to build communities of grounded faith and lived compassion. While they may well be reluctant and wounded healers, they are ministering nevertheless. To a greater or lesser degree the reluctant wounded caregiver dwells in every one of us highlighting our need to show gratitude for the wounded healers in our midst.
Simply put, all carers need to be reminded of the good that they do. Even when reluctant their kindness is a form of blessing, at a personal and communal level, as the late John O’ Donohue observes in his book Benedictus [2007:219]:
‘Perhaps we bless each other all the time, without even realizing it. When we show compassion or kindness to another, we are setting blessing in train. There is a way in which an act of kindness done becomes an independent luminous thing, a kind of jewel-box of light that might conceal itself for days or years until one day, when you are in desperate straits, you notice something on the floor at your feet. You reach for it and discover exactly the courage and vision for which you desperately hunger.’
Father Michael McCabe is Parish Priest of Our Lady of Kāpiti Parish, Te Whaea o Kāpiti.