The latest issue of World Magazine focused on the growing problem of dementia and the church’s responsibility to minister to the elderly. The feature article was titled, “Not Forgotten” and pointed out that being pro-life should mean valuing every life from conception to the grave. The writer, Jamie Dean, added, “As aging Americans increasingly grapple with dementia, churches have a growing opportunity to minister to exhausted caregivers and to comfort the forgetful.”

The article touched a chord with me because my mother suffered from dementia for the last eight years of her life. When she reached the point where it was no longer safe for her to live by herself, she was admitted to an extended care facility and was almost immediately confined to an Alzheimer’s unit. My sister Rosanne lived nearby and visited her regularly. Each of her other five children lived hundreds of miles away and came to visit as often as possible.

But those visits were not easy. Conversation with a dementia patient can be awkward and draining. And it’s extremely depressing to see someone you love slipping away, dying by degrees. It’s tempting to conclude that our visits accomplish nothing…so why bother?

On one of my last visits, my mother no longer recognized me and was unable to carry on even a simple conversation. It’s gut-wrenching when your own mother doesn’t know who you are. But at the conclusion of my visit, I read the 23rd Psalm to her, and she suddenly perked up and repeated almost the entire Psalm. God’s Word was written on her heart and was somehow remembered when little else was. It was especially comforting to hear her quote, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.”

On my final visit, there was no visible response, even when I read the Bible to her. But after several minutes of frustrating silence, my brother said, “Mom, remember your favorite hymn, ‘There is a fountain’? Let’s sing it.” And for the first time that afternoon, we made a connection. When we started to sing, she brightened up and joined us: “There is a fountain filled with blood, drawn from Immanuel’s veins. And sinners plunged beneath that flood, lose all their guilty stains.” The moment the song was over, she slipped back into that dark hole of detachment, but for a few seconds, we shared our common faith again.

I frequently walk through the halls of care facilities where those suffering severe memory loss are sitting alone in wheelchairs or rockers, seemingly just waiting to die. Staff members report that many patients go for months without receiving a visit or even a card from loved ones. The elderly are forgotten, even by their own family members, and they are very much alone.

Dr. Benjamin Mast, a dementia researcher at the University of Louisville, warns that churches also are prone to forget those who are no longer in the pews. One pastor suggested to him, “The church has an Alzheimer’s disease of its own.” Indeed. We can carelessly forget those who made genuine contributions to our lives and erase their memory from our minds as they age because they inconvenience us.

Mast says, “Every patient and every family are different, but the needs are the same: to be remembered by others and to be reminded of God who remembers even those who fear they won’t remember Him.”

Since it’s estimated the number of dementia patients will triple by the year 2050, Christian churches would do well to go the extra mile in caring for their elderly members with fading recall. It may mean providing a family restroom at the church building so those caring for an absent-minded mate who can still attend services so they can accompany their loved one to the restroom. Some churches are introducing support groups for caregivers and taking communion to members who can no longer attend worship. Some are providing day care for the elderly or extended in-home visits to give weary caregivers a few hours of relief and free time.

World Magazine related an inspiring example of the continued respect the elderly deserve. When Patrick Mead took his father, Bill Mead, to live in a dementia care facility, he wanted the staff members to know about the important new resident in room 14, even if his father couldn’t tell them himself. So he taped the following note to his dad’s door:

“My name is Bill Mead. I was born in abject poverty. I became a warrior (U.S. Navy, Korean War era). I then laid aside my weapons and became a minister and a missionary, spreading the gospel of Jesus Christ….”

“I am slowly leaving this earth for my heavenly home. This may take a while. Thank you for remembering who I was and who I am. I am a man, a warrior, a missionary, a father, a friend, and so much more. I have one more river to cross.”

Patrick Mead was determined that his father would be respected even when he didn’t appear to merit it to those who knew nothing of his past. That’s love. That’s honoring your father until the Heavenly Father calls him home.

The week before his father died at age 88, Patrick Mead could tell his dad’s fragile health was failing. At one point, the former sailor looked up at his son and asked, “Are we on a ship?” Patrick replied, “No, dad. But we’re on a journey”.

We’re all on that journey to meet the Lord one day at which time those who are in Christ are promised healthy bodies and clear minds. Along the way let’s remember that Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me’” (Matthew 25:40).

 

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