Recently, I attended the annual Mass of the Anointing of the Sick at St. Ambrose Church in Annandale. While I was photographing participants, I became fixated on the hands of those receiving the sacrament. Most were wrinkled and shined with holy oil, but what held my attention was their grip. They clung to the priests and bishops anointing them, lingering as if this touch would remedy their illnesses.
I couldn’t stop from thinking of the first time I witnessed the sacrament of the anointing of the sick when a Franciscan friar visited my brother, Tyler, in the hospital.
Tyler was 20 when he experienced a mental breakdown at school. Not familiar with mental illness, my parents sought help from local hospitals. It was a challenge not understanding what my brother closest to me was experiencing and painful to watch my family try to comprehend the situation. My parents and my seven siblings suggested causes of his mental collapse and how to resolve it. We would soon learn that there was no “quick fix” solution, but one that would require healing and time.
Visiting hours were restricted to two hours. It became a lottery to see Tyler, and the responsibility of relaying his condition. The first time I went, Tyler hugged me so hard that my glasses broke in my coat pocket. I knew he was scared, lonely and wanted to be released. We prayed that he’d be out soon
One thing that we all seemed to agree on (my brother included) was the importance of spiritual needs, aka — the sacraments. One night I was chosen visit my brother the night that one of our parish priests, Father Tim Harris, was invited to see Tyler. When he arrived he was wearing his black robes and sandals with a wide brim hat. I led him to my brother’s room, where he heard Tyler’s confession and anointed him.
From outside the room by the check-in desk I caught glimpses of my brother’s hands being blessed through the crack in the doorway. I didn’t know how long it had been since my brother’s last confession, nor did I ask, but I hoped it’d get him out faster. By the time they finished, visiting hours were over and Father Tim and I left. I felt cheated that I didn’t see more of my brother and sulky to leave him behind. I also felt anxious and lost I felt. Why would God let this happen? Would prayer really help?
Before Father Tim and I parted, I shared my difficulties with him. He sighed and told me, “We have to tell God everything. We can be angry at God.” It was the first time I had heard this. It made me feel a little better, because I was angry. So that night I tried to pray to God in a way that escaped the normal ritual prayers and litanies that we learned as children. It was awkward and directionless.
My thoughts returned to St. Ambrose. Once the recipient was separated from the priest or bishop there were no shouts of exultations that they were cured. I wondered what Tyler felt after the sacrament. Did he feel disappointed or strengthened?
Arlington Bishop Michael F. Burbidge said that we ought to pray, “Lord, increase our faith,” in order to receive God’s healing. If faith was all that it took, you’d imagine that more people would be subscribing. Maybe there’s still space where we fill with doubt — a resistance to say we weren’t fooled by false-hope. While the anointing of the sick is one of the church’s seven sacraments, I think it’s misunderstood or perhaps I don’t quite understand it yet.
Over the years, Tyler and I have created an unspoken game of finding forgotten, but amazing songs. As an accomplished musician with broader tastes, Tyler shines. The song, “Touch the Hem of His Garment,” by Sam Cooke, comes to mind. I first heard it on an album of gospel songs that Tyler gave me years ago.
The song narrates the story of the woman from the Gospel who tries to touch the clothes of Jesus in order to be healed. Once she does, she is healed, and Jesus says to her, “Courage daughter, your faith has saved you.” The choir is phenomenal and the simple rhythm of bass and drum accompany the uplifting lyrics. It makes you believe that anyone can be “made whole” by God’s touch.
Patrons of mental illness inlcude St. Benedict Joseph Labre, St. Christina the Astonishing, Blessed Clara Isabella Fornari and most notably is St. Dymphna. Here is her prayer:
Hear us, O God, Our Savior, as we honor St. Dymphna, patron of those afflicted with mental and emotional illness. Help us to be inspired by her example and comforted by her merciful help. Amen.
The month of May is National Mental Health Month. The National Catholic Partnership on Disability (NCPD) offers resources for those whose love one is suffering.
Christ commands us to love