Amazing Grace
by Dean Kramer
June, 2002
Sometimes I find myself caught between a rock and a hard place both as regards how much I share my MS with others and how much of my MS I share. Recently my companion Twink and I were formally accepted as members of our church. The pastor and several of the congregants know I have MS. But since I am in remission and because I am mostly seen seated in a pew, church-goers have little evidence of the disease's effect on me.
In recognition of our membership Twink and I were given the opportunity to serve Communion on the Sunday we joined. I was touched by the acceptance implied in this offer. We go to a small, Protestant church close to Cripple Creek. In this rural area families go back many generations and are known not to welcome strangers with open arms. We wanted very much to participate in the service, but for me there was a catch. On this particular Easter Sunday, with everyone dressed in their best Spring outfits, the church was having "pew Communion" which meant that the servers would be walking up the aisles carrying baskets of bread and, next, trays of Communion beverage to pass to the seated congregants.
As I gave the offer serious consideration, the others who were going to serve that day reassured me that if I got in trouble they'd be there to help out. I wasn't worried about carrying my basket of bread, figuring it would be easy to do while walking. But the liquid element was another matter entirely. I practiced at home with a tray and a glass of water. I used visualization such as athletes use, fantasizing the service in all its detail. And I prayed— oh, how I prayed. I knew I'd be able to perform this physical task but I wasn't sure how well I'd be able to perform it for although Communion is intended to be a joyous shared experience it is not expected to descend to the level of an elementary school cafeteria's food-fight.
Well, my praying and meditation came together in a miraculous epiphany. The force was with me that Sunday and I was able to serve communion while floating two inches off the floor. I glided from pew to pew graciously nodding, smiling beatifically to the seated church members as I progressed up my assigned aisle.
No! Wait a minute. There was no such divine intervention. Instead, stress tensed my shoulders and staggered my gait. My spastic foot caught on the carpet as I turned from the altar. The tray with its tiny cups of consecrated wine and grape juice trembled and clinked. Next, the tiny cups were launched several feet above the floor and, though lying full length in the aisle, I served Communion to the entire congregation all in one moment and in a most unusual fashion. Now I am condemned to an eternity of dry-cleaning bills reinforcing the congregants' notion that strangers are dangerous and not to be trusted.
Actually, and in truth, I took a tray of filled cups before the service began that morning so I could get a sense of how it would be to serve Communion. Solicitously attended by Twink and a couple of church members I stood meditating and came to recognize that while holding the tray was fine, there was no way I was going to be able to walk. I thus made the decision not to serve that Easter morning. I was a little disappointed, and it's possible that some of the church members were disappointed as well that I'd rejected their offer. But in my soul I know that none of us is as disappointed as we might have been.
MS sometimes asks us to make such choices. The meditation I use most frequently to help in situations where there is no clearly "right" answer is adapted from "The Serenity Prayer." It's quite apt for people with MS and one need not use the concept of "God" in addressing it. I say it this way:
Grant me the serenity to accept the things about myself which I cannot change, the courage to change the things about myself which I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. |
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