The following is a true story. Names have been changed or omitted for matters of confidentiality.
Setting: An Institutional Model of a Skilled Nursing Facility, year 2008
Characters:
Ron, a Pentecostal minister with no formal education
Jim, a resident with Parkinson’s and possibly Lewy Body Dementia, a wheelchair user, time-and-place confused, a former football coach, and a devout Christian who sings with a beautiful vibrato and who has a background working with a famous televangelism ministry, now defunct
A crowd of residents assemble in the dining room. Pastor Ron is one of the local pastors volunteering on a rotational church service schedule. It’s his turn to take charge of the Sunday church service for the residents. He has a karaoke machine playing gospel music for inspiration as the residents arrive. Ron abruptly turns the music off and begins the service.
“The world is a dark place,” he begins and then proves his claim with evidence mention of a disgruntled neighbor and a college shooting. His message is a series of disjointed scriptural references and statements of personal opinion.
“Once upon a time, Isaac and Rebekah were makin’ out,” Ron says but is interrupted by Jim who begins singing a gospel tune with a beautiful vibrato voice.
“He’s got that Parkinson’s. Used to be a football coach,” Ron says to the audience, completely oblivious to the inappropriateness of his public remark about Jim.
“I’m a daddy. I’m a husband. I’m a Christian,” Jim interrupts, and then sings the first few lines of the hymn, “Be Thou My Vision.”
“You lost me on that one,” Ron says to Jim and then goes off on a spiel about the evils of catering to the young people.
“I think I just saw a miracle,” Jim states. “God gave me a song.” He begins singing the hymn, “Fill My Cup, Lord.”
“I want to sing the song, ‘My Tribute’,” Ron announces, flustered by Jim’s disruptions.
“Do you want me to get outta here so you can finish?” Jim asks, calling out Ron’s bluff.
Ron, a Pentecostal lay minister, takes off on another rabbit trail about speaking in tongues.
“I’ve been a recipient both ways,” Ron states regarding tongues and interpretation, oblivious to the notion that this topic is likely unfamiliar or relevant to his audience. “Acts chapter two means probably what it says,” he declares.
“’ My Tribute.’ That’s my theme song (a gospel song written in 1972 by Andraé Crouch, referred to as the “father of modern gospel music”),” Jim interjects. “How can I say thanks for the things You have done for me? Things so undeserved, yet You gave to prove Your love for me . . .”
“Let’s start over,” Ron interrupts and then turns on his karaoke machine. He begins to sing to the accompaniment track of a gospel song, increasing his tempo so that his vocals are off-sync to the beat of the music.
“You can’t go wrong with that one!” Jim declares and then begins singing along with Ron who continues, oblivious to Jim’s need to be heard.
“If you read the scriptures, ‘Why do you torment us before our time?’ some people don’t believe in evil spirits. I believe we have evil spirits,” Ron rants after the karaoke performance concludes, and then points out the flaws of other churches.
“Remember, Jesus loves you and I do, too. I gotta go deliver meals on wheels,” Ron declares as he prepares to close the service.
“Can I pray?” Jim interjects.
“I’m going to sing my own version of the big band song, ‘The Object of My Affection,’” Ron announces, and then turns the karaoke machine on and begins to play the accompaniment track. “I’m still workin’ on it.”
“Crazy, I’m a little crazy,” Jim interrupts.
“He’s changed my direction from death to resurrection,” Ron sings, ignoring Jim’s disruption.
Jim sings the song, “Oh Happy Day” as Ron continues talking.
“I can’t keep up with that machine,” Jim states. “I wanna hear my voicebox.”
Discreetly, I get up from my chair and walk over to where Jim is seated, and lean into his face.
“You have a beautiful voice,” I whisper to Jim.
“It’s all Him,” Jim replies, pointing his finger upward.
“That’s the voice I use to get their attention,” Ron switches gears, elevating his voice to a much higher pitch. “That wakes ‘em up,” he says to me in front of the helpless onlookers. He turns his karaoke machine on again and sings, “I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles.”
Ron concludes the service and leaves the building while I walk over to speak to one of the employees about what I just witnessed.
“What do you think of the chaplain?” I ask.
“He’s harmless. What can I say?”
Addendum:
Is he harmless? Who is to say? As for me, I say we are doing our residents a disservice when we park them in front of someone who has no idea nor is interested in their actual needs and preferences, and who is unable to “read” the audience.
This is a real-life example of Theatre of the Absurd. Speaking of absurd, I think I would have rather the residents would have heard a sermon from a donkey than Ron. If you don’t think a donkey can preach, read Numbers 22 in the Old Testament.
Photo by Kareen King
