HE COULDN’T SPEAK

[This is a story  homily  -  based on today’s readings - for the 18th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year C. It’s entitled, “He Couldn’t Speak.”]

He couldn’t speak - but he could see.

He couldn’t speak - but he could think.

He couldn’t speak - but he could cry.

And so Jack sat in his blue vinyl seat - in his standard wheelchair - with stainless steel bars - hard rubber wheels - watching everyone in the nursing home.

He couldn’t write - his stroke - pretty much wiped out his ability to tell others what  he was thinking - what was going on in his mind and heart and soul.

At first it was hell.  All hell had broken loose in him.

He had everything and now he felt he had nothing - nothing - lost - gone - in one quick stroke.

At first it was hell  - being in a room with Joe - who snored - snored - very loudly - every night - every night.

Joe - being very much overweight - was also a wheel chair patient -  but he had one with a deluxe size seat - dark maroon  vinyl - with  more stainless steel metal than Jack’s wheelchair.

Joe could talk - but it drove Jack crazy at first - “Talk. Talk. Talk!” Jack would say in his brain of Joe, “Talk. Talk. Talk. Talk!” Then that was followed by an inward litany, “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

So Jack loved it when a nurse or an attendant would ask, “Do you want to sit outside and get some fresh air?”

With his eyes and a learning to smile, smile, Jack would always say, “Yes. Yes. Yes. Get me out of here.”

Jack had few visitors. His wife had left him many years earlier. They had two children: Jack Jr. who lived on the other side of the country and Sonya - who lived on the other side of the county. Neither had kids. Both were divorced. Jack Jr. was in a second marriage.

Before his stroke - Jack had everything - stress on things.

After his stroke - Jack had nothing - really nothing.

His kids - Jack Jr. and Sonya - met and decided on selling the house - and his cars - one of which was a green and white 1954 Eldorado Cadillac convertible - which Jack loved to ride in - all by himself - actually - in every Fourth of July - town parade. They put the money in the bank - in an account for him - and Sonya and Jack Jr. decided that Sonya - since she was closest - and Jack Jr. was very successful - and didn’t need anything - Sonya would visit their dad on a regular basis - and get everything when Jack Senior - their dad -  would die.

Jack Jr. and Sonya with a lawyer visited Jack Sr. in the nursing home and told them all this and he nodded agreement with everything. At that point, he really didn’t care. They got it notarized - so they had a plan. Just get it done.

The house was sold - everything was sold - the money was put in the bank - and Sonya would visit her dad at least once a week - and find him either in the corridor - or in outside alcove in the middle of the nursing home complex - depending on the weather.

Jack didn’t care about any of the money or the house stuff. He was stuck in anger because his whole life went down the tubes. He was just stuck in a hell in his mind - in that blue vinyl seated wheelchair.

Time ticked on. Physical Therapy - Speech Therapy - did very little.

What nobody knew was the spiritual therapy that was about to begin in Jack’s brain and being.

The electric shock moment was the Mass moment.

One Sunday morning Jack looked over to the TV screen Joe was watching.  Joe - had to watch this Sunday Mass every Sunday - because that would be the first question Joe’s wife, Angela, would ask him when she arrived around noon. “Did you go to Mass today?”

Jack had been Catholic,  but never went to Mass.  The priest on the TV screen was rattling on that Sunday morning with a sermon that was very short and disjointed. The priest was talking about the first reading for the day. He kept quoting  the opening words of that first reading, “Vanity of vanities..,, All things are vanity!”

Jack was wondering who the Kardashians were….

Jack really didn’t hear anything else in that sermon about “Vanity of Vanities ... and all is vanity”.

What clawed and floored  him was the gospel story the priest read out loud before his sermon.  In an electric lighting flash Jack realized he was the man Jesus was talking about - the man with the barns - who was planning on bigger and bigger barns - bigger and better everything - and Jesus said the poor fellow was to die that night as he dreamed about bigger and better tomorrows and years to come.

Jack couldn’t speak - but he could cry.

He turned to the wall. He didn’t want to see anyone or anyone to see him. And he couldn’t  move his arms or hand to wipe the tears from his eyes.

Bummer….

And he knew Joe’s whole family - wife and kids and grandkids were about to  show up - as they always did on Sunday at noon - and take over the room - and their grand children loved to take each other for rides in Joe’s wheelchair.

Sure enough - they came. They came in hoards that Sunday - high noon.

Jack turned around in his bed and watched Joe’s family in action.

Jack wished the little girls would borrow his wheelchair. When one gal sat in it - he motioned with his nose and his head - and his face with a rich smile, “Take it. Take if for a ride!”

She did and that became one of the first great signs of Jack’s new outlook on life - thinking of others. Celebrating others - celebrating living by giving.

As a result of Jack’s signaling to the little girl to use his wheelchair, Joe’s grandkids became famous for wheelchair racing in the corridor outside Joe and Jack’s room.

The nurses seeing Jack’s chair without Jack in it - went into the room and were about to ask him if it was okay. Seeing the smile on his face from his bed - they knew it was perfect - because they never saw him smile before.

Around 3:00 PM that afternoon, Jack was sitting outside in the front of the nursing home. This was a first for him.

Surprise, Sonja showed up in the 1954 Green and White Eldorado Cadillac Convertible.

Double surprise.  There was her dad - in his wheelchair - sitting outside in the sun - near the front entrance of the nursing home - hoping she would come.

“Uh oh!” she thought. “I know he thinks we sold it.”

As she headed towards him she saw a great big smile on his face.

“Uh oh!” she thought. “Something’s different.”

“Okay, dad,” she said, “I couldn’t sell the convertible. It is too precious. It is too much you. So I had to keep it.”

He motioned with his face, with his eyes, with his neck and head going up and down with a “Yes” signal - that this was wonderful.

“You mean it’s okay dad,” said Sonya - and she started to cry and smile and go over and give him a first big real hug in years.

And after that, all was great for Jack.

He got to love to hear Joe’s stories about his life - and his family - and he loved it when Joe’s grand kids would sit in Jack’s bed as the whole family laughed and shared food with each other.

And their tiny nursing home room - #607 - with its two beds and two wheelchairs - became home and playground - picnic area and therapy center - chapel and cathedral  for them. Amen.