I sprained my wrist in an embarrassing trip on a curb yesterday. Time will heal and I’ll be fine; until then…
Reading for Week of Prayer for Christian Unity (January 18–25)
Wee Danny’s last Communion
A lady in the hospice had asked me if I would give her Communion. A Scottish Episcopalian, her priest brought her the Eucharist regularly when she was with us in the hospice. But he was on holiday that week, and so, a good ecumenist, she was happy to receive Communion from a Presbyterian chaplain. As it turned out, there was an Anglican lady who’d been admitted to the same ward the previous day. That made a congregation of two. Word got round. A Church of Scotland elder from two wards away heard about the service. So then there were three. One of the nurses asked if a ‘non-practising Methodist’ could come as well. Now there were four. Ecumenism in practice. It doesn’t get any better.
So we gathered in Ward 1 – two ladies in their beds, the Kirk elder in a wheelchair, and a nurse sitting on a bed – when the door of the conservatory opened and in walked Wee Danny. Daniel Connelly, though very frail, kept himself as active as possible. A committed Roman Catholic, Wee Danny – his choice of name – had taken to calling me ‘Father Tom’ – and I never once corrected him.
‘What’re you up to, Faither Tom?’ Danny enquired as he stood in the doorway.
‘I’m about to give Communion to these folk,’ I replied.
‘Great stuff,’ Danny responded, ‘that’ll do for me.’ And in he came, plonking himself on the chair by the window.
‘Fine,’ I offered with a quizzical smile, ‘but I should tell you, Danny, that this’ll be a Presbyterian Communion and not the Mass you’re used to.’
‘No problem to me,’ Danny affirmed, ‘I’ll take it from a milk bottle and wi’ stale rolls. It’s what it means that matters and not how it’s done.’
If I could have bottled the moment I would have kept it forever. This was truly an ecumenical event. I was on a high for the rest of the day.
The remainder of the week was particularly stressful. And in the middle of it all, Danny took a sudden downturn, and by the end of the week he had lapsed into a coma: close to the end of his life. By late Friday afternoon I was on my knees with tiredness and I was keen to get home. I was going through the wards but my progress was interrupted by a disembodied female voice: ‘Haw, Faither Tom?’ This mode of greeting could only mean the voice belonged to a relative of Danny’s, and, sure enough, the owner of the voice introduced herself as Danny’s niece.
‘I wonder if you could give my Uncle Danny Communion again. You see he always gets Communion from his priest on a Friday, but he can’t come in today, and he’ll miss it if he doesn’t get it.’
To be honest, I cursed under my breath, but said OK. Danny’s niece declined my invitation to join us for the Eucharist, preferring to slip outside for a smoke. So it was me and Danny, and frankly, I didn’t see the point. Danny was unconscious. The Eucharist was only a way of ticking the ‘Uncle Danny gets Communion on a Friday afternoon’ box for the niece. And I was too tired …
I was just getting things arranged by the bedside when Danny opened his eyes, and in a frail but distinct voice said, ‘Hello, Father Tom. Communion? That’s good, ’cause my priest’s away …’
I was gobsmacked, and remained so in our brief, shared Communion. We said the Lord’s Prayer together, Danny’s weak voice never missing a word. When I concluded the Communion with, ‘The Lord be with you,’ Danny responded with, ‘And also with you, Father Tom,’ and closed his eyes.
I learned on the Monday that Danny had died a few hours later. I heard that his niece was astonished at how peacefully he let go of life. I also heard how surprised the nurses were that Danny had been awake enough to be engaged with a Communion service.
And me? Well, I was surprised as well. Because, after that sacrament with Danny, all my tiredness had gone. I floated home. God had touched me too. Communion had done its job. No labels, no divisions, no differences – and no need for understanding it all either – only mystery, and rightness, and depth, and Danny and me together with the Love of our God.
Prayer
God of our togetherness,
show me what we have in common,
when I can’t see it for myself.
God of our sharing,
offer me what brings us ever closer
even when I thought we were close enough already.
God of our communing,
show me what true communion means
with those who do things differently from me.
God of our connectedness,
show me how to strengthen our bonds,
especially when they threaten to break apart.
God of our understanding,
show me more of the mystery
which takes us beyond our limited knowledge.
God of our tiredness,
re-energise, restore and renew me
with your Spirit’s unseen power.
God of our reluctance,
show me more of what is possible
with your way and in your love.
Tom Gordon
From Gathered and Scattered: Readings from the Iona Community, Wild Goose Publications www.ionabooks.com
