Chaplain's Corner

I recently stopped into one of our dining rooms at Bethesda Place to meet a new resident.  It was lunch time; the dietary staff were beginning to serve the food so I stopped down beside the new resident and said, “Harvey, I understand you just moved in yesterday.”  Harvey responded, “And I’m not staying, I have got to get out of here, this place is going to be the death of me.”  I continued, “I just wanted to introduce myself, my name is Larry” And the response, “So what?”

“So what?”  We all know what he meant; the phrase is a common English expression that communicates disinterest, disinclination, or contempt.  Was he being rude, I suppose I could have taken it that way?  Maybe he even meant it that way.  But I would rather take the question seriously.  “My name is Larry.” “So what?”  We were total strangers, he had never seen me in his life, he had just been introduced into a strange place and told this was his new home.   At that moment, given the reality of his experience, who I am was of absolutely no significance.  He’s right; I’m Larry, “So what!”

We tend to live in an egocentric state that causes us to be offended when our existence is of absolutely no consequence to another.  We have this need to be important, to matter and when we encounter someone who has no reason whatsoever to care who we are, we need not be offended.  In all likelihood, I would never respond to a stranger with a “So what!”  But in many other polite ways, I dismiss people everyday.  And it is my guess that you do to.

Have you ever thought of your capacity to care?  We all have a limit to how much we can care.  Some of us have lives that rarely push us close to our limit and when you think of someone saying, “So what!” to another you can hardly conceive of that being necessary or right in any circumstances.  But wait.  The greeter at Wal-Mart encounters thousands of strangers every day, to that person, who I am is insignificant except for the second when with a smile I am greeted, with “Good Morning.”  Once I am gone, my insignificance to that persons returns and I don’t expect that person to ever think of me again. 

Or take the young man who pumps you gas when you’re traveling.  You will never see him again and you may have no interest whatsoever in what is happening in his life.  Does that make you a bad person?  I don’t think so.  Being human means that we are finite, being finite means that we have limits to everything, limits to our energy, limits to our strength, limits to our capacity to care as well.  So, we naturally invest our care in the people that are most important to us.  Our families, our friends, and people we see every day or often.  We focus our caring capacity because if we didn’t, we would burn out and have nothing to give to those who we are responsible to care for.

In my work I am often asked, “How do you do it?”  How do you care for people all day long and not burn out?”  Well, the truth of the matter is that I care deeply for the people I am involved with each day, for the time that I am with them, but I don’t carry that care into my other encounters or home at night.  But how does one do that?

I can’t say how others do that, but I can share with you how I do that.  I simply trust that the One who has limitless capacity to care will be caring when I am not with the person and that God will bring the care the other needs, through others: friends, family, pastors, and others.

You see, God calls us to care when we are with another.  God calls us to care when he brings the other and burdens our heart with their need.  But God knows our limits and the one who cares for all, all the times, knows how to meet the needs of the others when I am not there.  It would be absolutely arrogant of me to believe even for a moment that I am the only one who can meet the need another person has.  At best, I see myself simply as a temporary, fleeting companion to those I care for.  So I work hard to care intently when I am with a person, then I let go and entrust that one to the Lord as I move on to another encounter with another needy person.

When we struggle with letting go, then we enter the danger zone for burnout.   I know this can be difficult and the closer relationally we are to the person in need, the more difficult it becomes to suspend our care from time to time.  It is hard because when we do we can feel tremendous guilt.  We can easily come to believe that no one can care the way we can for this person, but lest we forget, no one can care for our loved ones like God and even our most intense care is meager and small compared to the way our Heavenly Father cares for us.

So, it is OK if I am insignificant to others.  Unless a relationship is built, unless our lives intersect in a meaningful way, not caring is natural and legitimate.  It is recognition of the fact that we are limited, finite, human beings who must reserve our care for those we are responsible to care for, and conserve our care when there is no relationship or intersection that calls for caring.  My wife once was with a person who almost most screamed at her when she said, “I don’t care.”

But the truth of the matter is, in relation to many, many people in our world full of 7 billion I don’t care, I don’t have the capacity to care and I don’t have the opportunity to care.  It is interesting that in the story of the Good Samaritan, the Samaritan was commended for caring when caring was called for.  Albeit that the other was a stranger, the intersection of two lives when care was required, led the Samaritan to care until he had met the need of the other, then, as those two lives moved away from each other, the caring came to an end.

We need to learn to care, at the right time, in the right circumstances for the right people and be content not to care for the billions of other souls that share this planet with us.  We need to believe that the One who has no limitations cares for all 7 billion of us and has the capacity to do that without any danger of burnout.  So if you ever run into a Harvey and you get a “So what!” to your existence, don’t be offended, simply let it be a reminder of our need to care within the limits of our own capacity, opportunity and responsibility.