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Shortly after turning 50, my late father had to leave behind two decades of practicing law to go on full-time disability. At 7 years old, he had contracted Rheumatic Fever. That was the beginning of 61 long years of suffering. He spent a year of his childhood paralyzed. He spent a year homeschooling with his English teacher mother, during a time when homeschooling was rarely thought of. His father found a cart to help push him around; otherwise, he’d carry him.
He went on to have good years and bad years with the debilitatingly painful chronic illness. He was a talented lawyer, but his passion was reading and philosophy, which eventually he would have a lot of time for. The pain became too great after three intense years of traveling across the country for depositions. Thus began 17 years of being homebound to varying degrees.
Initially, he could still volunteer and serve in various capacities. He was heavily involved in 40 Days for Life. Being a night owl, he would often take night vigils since the Montana 40 Days teams ran near constant vigils. On one occasion, someone threw firecrackers at him. He continued praying his Rosary undaunted.
He also made a point of taking Holy Communion to the homebound. He was still able to drive and get around enough to visit the sick and homebound in his parish. It was one of his favorite ministries. It gave him a chance to enter the suffering of others, which he often saw as greater than his own. He really enjoyed those visits and missed them when he became too ill to continue.
Eventually, his disease worsened. His doctors tried every biologic drug available; some of which nearly killed him. He reached a point when he had to stop driving. He became homebound, except to attend his granddaughter’s local softball games or the occasional dinner out, as long as my mother drove. All of this came at an age when most people are still fully mobile and working full-time. My father died last year. He was 68 years old.
It is an excruciatingly painful spiritual purification that happens to the homebound, especially for those who are struck down in their prime. Living across the country, I couldn’t help as much as I wanted to. I encouraged him and tried to get him to reach out to the local parish for Holy Communion when he couldn’t get to Mass. What I noticed was how quickly the homebound are forgotten by the parish community. I really noticed it when I started serving in hospital ministry 13 years ago.
The Church has adopted an erroneous position of expecting the sick and the suffering to constantly reach out to the parish for help. They are expected to do almost all the work in reaching out. It should be the opposite. We should be actively checking on and monitoring the sick and the lost who are no longer able to join us in the pews. If we notice someone is missing, we should be checking in on them.
The suffering often lack the energy or know-how to reach out, or they fall into a false sense that they are a burden. To be frank, too many parishes treat the suffering and the sick like a burden or inconvenience in the face of “more important” functions. Uncharitable or insurmountable burdens are placed on them, so they silently fall by the wayside.
It is the sick, lost, possessed, and afflicted who the Lord sought out with great fervor. It was not the ones who are healthy, powerful, or those who have it all together. Our parishes are often designed for those who are able-bodied and strong. The sick are an afterthought. This has been exacerbated by the end of Catholic hospital chaplaincies.
In the Parable of the Good Samaritan, the suffering man lying alongside the road did not ask for help. He did not call the parish office to request assistance; rather, the Good Samaritan comes across his need and picks him up, ministers to his wounds, and cares for him.
But because he wished to justify himself, he said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”
Jesus replied, “A man fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead.
A priest happened to be going down that road, but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side.
Likewise a Levite came to the place, and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side.
But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him was moved with compassion at the sight.
He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them. Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn and cared for him.
The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper with the instruction, ‘Take care of him. If you spend more than what I have given you, I shall repay you on my way back.’
Which of these three, in your opinion, was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?”
He answered, “The one who treated him with mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.” (Lk. 10:29-37)
This use to be the standard for Christian service to the sick. St. Charles Borromeo took Holy Communion out into the plague-riddled streets of his day. In fact, this is how Catholic hospitals became so widespread. Many religious communities saw it as their duty to go out to the sick and the suffering to bring them to hospitals and clinics. St. Teresa of Calcutta would wander the streets in search of the sick and the dying.
Our parishes are not small kingdoms where people come to us when they are strong enough. Our parishes are meant to be hospitals for the sick and the lost. The healing balm of the Sacraments and the tender loving care of the community should be what greet the sick. We should be known for actively seeking the lost, sick, and homebound in our communities.
If someone disappears from the pews, the parish should be seeking them out and making sure they are being sacramentally, spiritually, and emotionally cared for by members of the community. This is not a checklist affair. There should be regular visits to each of the homebound and frequent evangelical missions into the hospitals to invite lost souls to return to Christ, the Sacraments, and the Mass.
While individuals should reach out for sacramental care, there are countless reasons why they may not. The top reasons I hear are that they don’t want to be a burden or that the priest is probably too busy. My response is always the same: “You are not a burden. Priests were ordained to anoint, forgive sins, provide Heavenly Food, and care for the sick and the dying who are engaged in their most intense spiritual battle.” It is especially in cases such as these when we must be proactive in reaching out to them. They need us to be St. Simon of Cyrene in their moment of greatest need—not to assume they will reach out if they need something.
This is also why hospital and homebound ministries need to be more of a priority in parish life. The lost sheep are lying alone in hospital beds. They have left for a variety of reasons, but like the wounded man lying on the road beaten and robbed, we must reach out and minister to them. We know they are there. My husband and I have done hospital ministry off and on for years. There are countless lost souls in the hospitals, many of whom will die without the sacraments or without an invitation to return to Christ and His Church.
My own father became increasingly more isolated in his final years. He was largely invisible to the parish except on the occasions he reached out. He knew to receive Last Rites his final week, and my husband gave him viaticum on the Solemnity of St. Joseph. My father died four days later. He breathed his last as we prayed the final words of the St. Joseph Prayer.
Many Catholics do not know when or how to reach out for sacramental and pastoral care when struck with illness or impending death. The age of pretending Catholics are well catechized should have come to an end ages ago. Most Catholics, and fallen away Catholics, do not understand the Sacrament of Anointing of the Sick or Last Rites. We have to reach out to people to guide them and help them. They often don’t know what to do or are confused about the distinction between Last Rites and Anointing of the Sick. They don’t know they can request Holy Communion be brought to their homes weekly.
Christian discipleship is not comfortable suburban living. It is willing to enter the brokenness, isolation, and difficulties of others. This extends well beyond hospital ministry to the isolation of youth and stay-at-home mothers, which are their own topics, and a whole host of other areas. Our parishes should not feel like places we stop to check off Mass and do a few insular ministries. They should feel like places of authentic community, with doors wide open—doors through which we go out into the world to help others and to bring them back home, perhaps even for the first time.
We should not be sitting around waiting for them to reach out or come to us. The Great Commission is a sending out, not a sitting on our laurels. The end of each Mass sends us out on that mission.
May we become more like the Good Samaritan. There are countless souls waiting for us even if they don’t know it yet.
