“I’m sorry,” I apologized to Bethany my infusion nurse as I explained how the ER blew four of my veins on both arms ruining our favorite infusion vein.
“That’s alright. We’ll just pop in right here,” she said, sticking the vein the first time. She put my infusion chair right in the sunbeam, making me into a human photosynthesizing the sunshine. I watched the sky as my caregivers milled around; grateful for their hearts in this crip community. We slowed down the pump, waiting.
Lent can actually be a time of waiting.
We wait for the pain management appointment.
We wait for the oxy to work.
We wait for the nausea to stop ending us.
We wait for the meds to send us into the floor.
We wait for the nurse to call.
We wait for insurance to deny our personhood.
We wait for the “when” to happen to us- that will make things better.
Chronic illness brings an intimate understanding of Holy Week that we don’t acknowledge. As Christ became disabled on the cross, finishing the incarnatus est, the enfleshment, the knowing what it is to be human, some of us know the pain. The pain of being nailed to a board feels an awful lot like feeling your own skeleton day in and day out. The jeering of a crowd. The audacity of an abled person saying, “me too!”. We know. We move on. We are not allowed to get tired.
Holy Week makes me long for something different. A pause on the crucifixion. Not the usual focus on the interpretation of the transaction of sin- but the crucifixion itself. The embodiment of physical pain. Jesus didn’t heal everybody- he called for crip restoration into community.
It is one thing to be on the periphery of the crip community, as a caregiver, or a loved one. It’s another thing to join it, to understand it.
Jesus experienced humiliation. The betrayal of chosen family. Friendships ending when you are at your sickest. Denial of dignity, of personhood. Nothing to help the pain but the basics. Holes in your body. Dying too early.
If that’s not a crippled Christ, I don’t know what is.
Holy Week is the week of the wait.
Lie in the sunbeam. Slow the pump. Wait for the restoration.
Moxie 