It’s Monday morning and the pre-op area buzzes with
activity. Every bed is full. Surgeons and nurses fortify themselves with cups
of coffee. It is show time. I pray with my friend and then take my seat in the
waiting area.
Sitting in that room can be a study in humankind. Hospital
waiting areas host worried people looking for news about loved ones’ surgery.
Sometimes the news is good; sometimes not. “Same day surgery” runs the gamut
from a simple hernia repair to a kidney transplant. Look around the room and
you will see a Pentecost crowd of people. Most of them have a cell phone, an
IPad, eReader or laptop. Pastors drop by to comfort. People keep an eye on the
clock, make calls to friends and family, watch mind numbing television, and
text, text, text. The waiting room is an oddly worshipful place, full of
Christians, mostly, but also Jews, Muslims, and “I don’t know’s.” In the
waiting area almost everybody believes in God a little bit. They gather as a
congregation and offer up their own tradition’s prayers for health and healing,
strength and comfort.
A daughter sits with her mother who waits on word
about her husband of fifty two years. He went in for a gall bladder removal but
then his heart began to “act the fool” (her description). He would spend the
night in CCU. A Catholic lady next to me prayed the rosary while waiting on
word about her mentally handicapped son. A chubby cheeked priest will come soon
and hold her hand while they wait like a married couple until the surgeon tells
her, “We
were able to repair the aneurysm. He will be fine.”
In that room there is not a Bible in sight (but I did
see one young woman reading scripture on her IPad). There are no hymnals from
which to sing comforting hymns like “Amazing Grace” or “Precious Lord.” No one
is preaching but I suspect that many are praying; negotiating with God, making deals
and promises.
I watched as God’s Spirit moved among us, comforting,
guiding, and “speaking for us with sighs too deep for words.” It was a
wonderfully worshipful way to start my week.
One man over in the corner had been sitting quietly
and reading the Wall Street Journal. He was wearing a Ralph Lauren “Polo” knit
shirt, tassel loafers, and a pair of bright green slacks with yellow Izod
alligators all over them—like he might be headed to the golf course. His vision
wear and well styled gray hair suggested that he was of some means. The surgeon
came out and reported that the cancer to remove a malignant tumor in his wife’s
uterus had been totally successful. The man so previously reserved jumped out
of his chair and wrapped his arms around the surgeon in a bear hug. Then he
shouted, “Praise the Lord, praise the Lord! Oh, thank you, Jesus, thank you,
Jesus!”
I didn’t really expect that from him.
From the sanctuary of Christ, aka the hospital
waiting area, I said, “Amen, brother.”
