Member Log InIt was October 2010 when I wrote the following note to my office staff. I had developed a series entitled, "Thought for the Day," through which I'd hoped to encourage my staff in our collective work for the patients that we served in my family practice setting. I don't know that everyone read every edition, but I do know that my office manager kept every one. When I hired her, she had no medical office management experience. It didn't matter to me. I told her I was looking for souls, not experience. She is animated by a great soul.
In this particular memo to my staff, I encouraged my them to make an effort in the hustle and bustle of life to get away for some quiet respite with the Lord. I suggested they take a moment every day to look for the quiet and go there; exist awhile and let God fill their souls. It helps. We actually had a chapel in our office at the time, in which the Blessed Sacrament was kept. Not all of my staff were Catholic but I'm sure they all understood the importance of quiet time with Jesus.
I was inspired by my pastor’s homily the weekend prior to writing this piece. The gospel reading was from Matthew, where Jesus speaks about the abundance of the harvest and the lack of laborers:
Jesus went around to all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom, and curing every disease and illness. At the sight of the crowds, his heart was moved with pity for them because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few; so ask the master of the harvest to send out laborers for his harvest." (Mt 9:35-38)
I wanted to share a story that I hoped, in turn, might have inspired them to "take your faith to work with you." You just never know when an opportunity will present itself. The weeks were flying by and we were approaching the middle of October. Here is the slightly edited version of the memo I wrote to my staff.
After finishing residency some 23 years prior to writing this, my wife, Ginny, and I moved to Hastings, NE, where we continue to raise our family and stay involved in our parish and the community. Within months of our arrival, however, a curious thing happened. 
I discovered a long-lost cousin of my mother’s whose name was Eli. My mother’s family hadn’t seen or heard from him in nearly forty years and here he was living a quiet existence with his family, in Hastings, NE! In fact, he had been so quiet that the extended family thought him long dead. Imagine my mother’s surprise when I told her of my discovery!
I first met his adult daughter, whose surname I recognized as my mother's maiden name. She came into my office one day when I was on call and one of my partners (her primary doctor) was out of town. We connected over her name. It wasn’t long before Eli found his way into my office for an initial medical consult.
He’d never much liked doctors, but told me he thought he’d try me out. He did ultimately confess that he recognized the name and thought that I might just be related to the favorite cousin of his with whom he’d spent a good portion of his childhood. His father, my mother’s uncle, committed suicide when Eli was a young man, and Eli told me as we got to know each other better that, as far as he was concerned, that was the moment he decided to leave the family roots and never return.
Eventually, Mom and Eli reunited, and it was really very nice. They were about 60 years of age and hadn't seen each other since their teenage years. Tearful and wonderful!
A few years went by, and I eventually diagnosed Eli with cancer. It was then that I came to know that he’d not only forsaken his relationship with family, but also had forsaken his relationship with God. Eli was angry, and he didn’t care much for the spiritual aspects of life. Being given a cancer diagnosis didn’t help matters. I tried to approach him on more than one occasion about God’s love for him and my concern for his spiritual well-being. When he became homebound, I visited Eli and his wife one day, and made yet another attempt to reach him.
“Look,” he said, “I really don’t want to waste my time talking about that,” adding, “it won’t help anyway.” He asked me to go away, if I couldn’t think of anything better about which to talk.
The cancer progressed, and Eli’s wife could no longer care for him at home. Easter was near, and on a particular Saturday morning I decided to pay Eli one more visit in the facility where he was living. This time, I went armed.
I called the assistant pastor at my parish, Fr. Edward Thompson*. Himself a convert and a newly-ordained priest, he gladly accepted my invitation to join me and en route to the nursing home, I filled him in on as much of the story as I could. I knew that Eli grew up in a Catholic household, and that somewhere he possessed some basic knowledge of God and matters of faith. I told Fr. Thompson about Eli’s father’s suicide, his subsequent disappearance, our meeting, and his eventual reunification with our family, in particular with my mother who was his childhood playmate. I also told him that Eli had thrown me out the last time I approached him about spiritual matters in my desire to help him to know God’s infinite mercy.
I indicated that I didn’t know what would happen on this particular Saturday morning, but that Eli was physically not strong enough in any case to bruise either of us! I went into Eli’s room first, having asked Fr. Thompson to follow me at a bit of a distance and allow me to ‘test the water.’
Eli was in bed and his eyes were closed. I stopped to be certain that he was still breathing.
“Eli,” I called gently. He opened his eyes, and a look of consternation came over him. He didn’t say anything.
“Eli, I brought someone with me whom I would like you to meet.” I hesitated a moment and Eli looked past me, just over my left shoulder, to see Fr. Thompson waiting behind me. He looked back at me, and started to speak, but stopped himself. He just lay there quietly. He looked resolute.
“Eli,” I continued, “I apologize for my persistence in this, but in knowing you these past few years, I have come to know a man who lives with pain that no medication can cure. I would like you to talk to this fellow,” gesturing toward Fr. Thompson. “I think you might find it helpful.”
He looked back at the priest waiting by the door. He folded his hands across his belly and leveled his gaze at me. I braced myself for the worst.
“Oh, what the hell,” he said finally, in a very matter of fact voice. “He’ll probably be of more help to me now than you will anyway!”
Silence for a moment.
“I’ll talk to him,” he said resolutely.
Without another word, I retreated and nodded toward Fr. Thompson who stepped forward. I heard him introduce himself to Eli as I left the room.
I stayed out in the hall and decided that now was a good time to start a Rosary for the intention of the two men I’d left in the room together. It seemed only a short time when Fr. Thompson re-appeared in the hallway, yet I’d completed the Glorious Mysteries. So it had to be more than twenty (20) minutes.
Eli had spoken with him, and had given him permission to return for another visit. My own soul was elated!
In the next couple weeks, Fr. Thompson returned more than once to Eli’s bedside, as I recall, and ultimately, he heard Eli’s confession, and gave Eli Holy Communion and the Sacrament of the Sick. Eli died peacefully in the Easter Season.
Fr. Thompson presided at his small funeral, which my parents attended, along with a few other members of the extended family. It was warm, filled with the Holy Spirit. Ginny and I provided the music for the service.
Wherever God calls us to work, the call comes with a special invitation to bear witness to His love for us as we move through our work day. Stay awake; as Jesus told His disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane, you cannot know the hour when He might need you to be His hands, or His eyes, or His voice to one of the sheep for whom He is searching.
The harvest is rich, but the laborers are few. Are you willing?
*Father's name is changed here, but he knows who he is.
