A Reminder

There are some days when it is difficult to remember why I do what I do. Today was not one of those days. The chaplain of our community supports my house on Monday night and I always enjoy the conversations I get to have with her. She has many insights into the life that I am going to lead in the prairies, as she is from the prairies, as well as the life that I am leading now.

The life I am leading now is one that can be fraught with frustrations and pain, as well as moments of grace and great joy. There is no place in which I have so often been able to see the love and grace of God, even when I am frustrated by what I cannot do or cannot change. One of my greatest pains at the end of the day is that I cannot change a system that has been broken for so many years. Actually, that is not true. There are so many more than just one system that have been broken, either by the weight of need that has been placed upon them, or the misunderstanding the precipitated their creation.

In the past decades, institutions for the mentally ill and those who live their lives with a disability have been dismantled. These institutions were a place that were intended to bring rest to families who could no longer care for the saints that were placed into their lives. The problem was the amount of need and the lack of response to that need. Because of the pain that was evident in the lives of those who were forced to live in institutions that were not able to respond to their individual needs, L’Arche was founded. I am not naïve enough to believe that the organization in which I live and base my life philosophy on is enough to meet the needs of everyone. The need of many is simply to great to be met by the individuals who choose to make their lives in a system that is counter-intuitive to the way in which North American society works. In a society that values being productive, we value relationship. We honour the individual, while society is more concerned with how well the individual can conform to being the “right” person. We put the last, the weakest and the most vulnerable first in all that we do. We treat all human life with dignity and respect, even though some of the individuals may not be able to communicate through the use of words. This is what I do. And I am so aware that it is important, today more than ever.

I have seen how many of the core members here are treated when I accompany them in public. I was at a restaurant one night with a core member who is in her eighties. The waitress did not even look at her. Whether that was solely because of her age or her disability, I do not know, nor do I care. I did not leave a tip that night. To deny a human being the right to dignity and respect is to take away one of their most basic human rights. There have been cases in this country when the most basic human right has been taken away from someone who could not make that decision for herself. The right to life. It constantly amazes me that with all the progress that has been made in the field of human rights, things like this can still happen. Life, dignity and respect can be taken away simply because someone cannot see God in the life of someone different than them.

Beyond the system in which I exist for much of my time, I am aware of the system of retirement homes. I pray with all my strength that I will never end up in a place like that. People who live in retirement homes are often treated not as individuals who have lived rich and full lives, but as objects who are simply to be moved around at the whim of someone who has not yet reached that point of their lives. There is little privacy and no dignity in many retirement homes. I have seen people praise institutions where residents are simply moved in their wheelchairs without warning, and without knowing who is controlling where they go. I have seen personal aids enter a private room without knocking or letting the resident know that they are about to enter. For those of you who are reading this and think that this behavior is allowable or acceptable, I challenge you to have all of your personal freedoms taken away for a week. To not have control over when you can go to the bathroom, or what time you may eat. To not know if you will have privacy to hold a conversation or be left a week without a shower because there is no time for you. Try to imagine what it would be like to have someone push you around when you cannot see, cannot make them stop and don’t know who is pushing you. Imagine that while you may have no control over your body, you still know in your mind exactly what is happening. How would it feel then?

I am fully aware that I cannot change the world. I have a hard enough time changing the mind of my fiancée when he doesn’t want to listen. I do know what I can do though. I can treat every single person I come in contact with like a human being, deserving of my love and my respect. I will never talk about a person as though they are not. I can look people in the eye when I talk to them, even if that does mean bending down to a level physically lower than mine. I can be a reflection of God’s love in the world. That much I can do. And I will.