Failure

I wanted him to die.

That was a new feeling for me. It wasn't because he had done anything particularly bad to me. It wasn't that I even disliked him. As he lay in his bed gasping for air I wanted him to stop fighting and just let it all end.

I could hardly stand to be in the room much less look at him. The reason was that in that bed I saw our world's failures.

The failure of the medical system was in that bed. The multiple diseases that ravaged his body had been left to progress or had received minimal care as he had no insurance and no way to pay.

The failure of social services was in that bed. He easily qualified for a variety of community services but was unable to negotiate the system. By the time I had met him several years earlier, he had given up trying for some services and had become paranoid of the rest.

The failure of the free market was in that bed. He'd never been quite good enough for the jobs that were out there. His limited intellectual capacity and an occasional fight at work were more than supervisors were willing to put up with. He was too smart to get into service programs but not smart enough to make it through job training.

The failure of mental health care was in that bed. Living the repeatedly traumatic life he did any of us would need counseling and meds. He received neither. His DNA didn't help the situation, either. He was smart enough to know that the system could inflict more anguish than what he was experiencing outside it.

The failure of our schools was in that bed. He had been shuffled through and passed along and given a custodial education until he was old enough to drop out. He never had any reason to look back after his 16th birthday.

The failure of his family was in that bed. They were especially gifted in reinforcing bad behaviors and inflicting guilt to manipulate others. They were all able to survive but none were able to thrive.

The failure of the church was in that bed. He had come to us many times for help. We had tried to welcome him into the fellowship. We were never able to help enough to make much of a difference other than an occasional meal and his temper challenged the group's need for safety.

As he looked up at me, gasping for one of his last breaths, I -- we -- society, were all failing him once again. And in the darkness of my mind I somehow convinced myself that once he died that all the problems would die with him and we could all continue on with our little comfortable lives. If the problems were to go away, then he needed to go away.

But the volunteer hospice nurse kept coming through the room. She didn't know all the problems that lead up to this point or, if she did, she didn't seem to be too worried about them. She simply provided dignity and honor and care and actually stayed on after her shift ended for the day. For once in his life someone was making sure that he would not be failed again.

And she didn't seem too worried about the time of death. That would be handled by the One who had the next shift. For on her shift, like mine, she needed to be present and create a place of dignity for a stranger in need.

When I was hungry, you gave me something to eat, and when I was thirsty, you gave me something to drink. When I was a stranger, you welcomed me, and when I was naked, you gave me clothes to wear. When I was sick, you took care of me, and when I was in jail, you visited me. Whenever you did it for any of my people, no matter how unimportant they seemed, you did it for me. (Matthew 25:35-36, 40 CEV)

For a few hours at the end of his life he began to experience the healing and restoring welcome of the Christ that he would soon receive in its fullness.

And he didn't take the failings with him. Instead he left them here so that I -- we -- society might be blessed with repentance and grace and dependence on an undying Love that never fails.

Lord, let me recognize Your grace and mercy upon me as I go through this day. Help me live it out by fully welcoming others as I would You.