The Screamers

 Years ago, in a memoir by a political aide, I read of the candidate at a town-hall event. One of the people in attendance was shouting and crying, trying to tell her story. "Most candidates avoid screamers," the aide said succinctly, before adding that his candidate instead made straight for the woman, squatted by her chair, and listened to her to find out what she was upset about.

It is rare, in the senior residential facility where I work, for someone to be "a screamer." Sometimes people whose minds have them in a different, imagined situation will call out. Sometimes people will say, "Help me," over and over, fearing that they will be forgotten or ignored.

But yesterday, as I headed down the hall to lead the second worship service in the building, I heard the screaming. It was hard to miss. One of the residents was in real distress. I was supposed to begin leading worship. Instead, I waved to the assembled residents, said, "If you don't mind waiting a few minutes, I'll be right back," and headed toward the room, where I joined a couple of certified nursing assistants.

I knelt by the bed and began quietly singing hymns, a technique that usually works. It didn't help much.

After she sat up, and we sat with her, she calmed down and began telling us what was wrong. In her mind, she was not in her room but back many years earlier, and she was learning of a ghastly betrayal of trust. 

After fifteen minutes, I slipped out to begin the worship service, while the CNAs stayed with the resident. Those waiting to worship had all stayed, in spite of the delay, and all had the decency not to ask what had kept me or what was wrong.

Later, when we had a quiet moment, I talked with one of the CNAs about the servant's heart that she had, how clearly she loved her work. "Most people run the other direction," I said. "But your instinct was to go to her room because you wanted to help."

There were, for a brief time, four of us in the room with this resident, and I believe our only concern was that we did not want her in distress. We wanted to listen to her reality, assure her of our support, and comfort her as best we could. 

When I saw the resident later that afternoon, she was sitting on a chair in the common area, sipping juice and chatting with a neighbor, cheerful as ever.

All that evening, especially on the drive home, I kept thinking about what a privilege it is that I have been called to do what I do. I get to move in the direction of the people in distress. "Most people avoid screamers," the memoirist wrote. But my heart leads me toward them - not out of ghoulish curiosity but because if someone is in distress, I want to help.

It seems to me that God puts in each of us strong magnetic poles, sort of, so that we are pulled toward various situations and people. This is God tugging us along by our gifts, inviting us to live in God's world in a way that we reflect God as we live.

What are you drawn to? Could your predilection be a hint that you have a gift to share with the world?