The open door of Easter

 "On the first day of the week, Mary of
Magdala came to the tomb early in the morning,
while it was still dark, and saw the stone
removed from the tomb." --John 20: 1

“Anyone who does not welcome the kingdom

of God like a little child will not enter it.” –Mark 10:35

The last time I was at the hospital (volunteering with the chaplain’s office) I found myself standing at an open door knocking and even after I was greeted and invited, I was a little anxious about going in.  And I keep thinking about that moment and the woman who I was going to visit and somehow, this Lent, she has become for me an icon of Christ. And that is a story I need to share.

To begin with, when I volunteer, I get a list of names and room numbers. That is it.  Occasionally the chaplain will mark a name or two that he particularly wants me to visit, but most of the time it is just a list. I try to visit as many of the names on the list as I can, but often there is one particular person who really needs a visit and I won’t know who that is until they start talking… or crying. And 45 minutes later I know, that person was why God got me to the hospital that night.

But some nights half the names on my list have already been released, or they’re asleep, or they have family visiting and don’t want to be interrupted. And nights like that can leave a person feeling a little confused about their chosen ministry and a bit unnecessary.

This last time was more like that.  The first 5 rooms I visited were empty. The next door I came to required me to get dressed in a paper gown and latex gloves –to avoid carrying in germs. I knocked on the door; someone was there, but he didn’t speak English. I apologized for my lack of language skills and made the sign of the cross. He understood that and we prayed together anyway (the Our Father). And three minutes later I was out of the gown and throwing away the gloves and checking my list for the next name.  She was asleep. And the next was finishing a baked potato and watching NCIS reruns and didn’t really need anything (specifically not a prayer). But, thank you, very much.

After wandering the hospital for over an hour with about the same level of success, I came to her room.  The outer door was open and when I knocked I heard a voice, but couldn’t understand what they said. And there was a kind of porcelain or tile sounding echo in the sound, like the voice was coming from the bathroom. I checked the name on the door. It was the right person; the right room. So, I knocked again, and called her name. This time I heard that same echoing voice but much more clearly. “The door is open. Come on in,” she said.

But, I didn’t. I felt like it wouldn’t be right.  She was in the bathroom. What if she wasn’t fully dressed yet? What if, she thought I was a nurse come to help her –in the bathroom?

I peered into the room. A light was shining out through the open bathroom door.  I knocked again. Still standing outside, I called in an introduction and said why I was there. I was halfway hoping she would tell me to go away; Thank you, very much.  

            But instead –in a very welcoming tone—she said, “Come on in. It’s okay. Please come in.”  As I stepped into the room, she came out of the bathroom, smiling with her hair all up in a towel.

            “My first shower in over a week,” she laughed. “It felt so good to wash my hair. You can’t imagine.”  And I nodded in agreement[1].  As she walked past me to her bed, adjusting the towel, I noticed something else: tattoos up and down her arms. Not just a couple, but several on each arm; and on the back of her neck as she turned to move a pole with some tubes and a monitor.  And when she sat on her bed, ankles crossed, I noticed that her legs too were decorated with tattoos.

            Here was this woman, who looked to be in her late thirties, early forties; slightly heavy, maybe 5 feet tall, reminding me of a young Shirley Booth, with little about her to draw your attention –except that her arms and legs were covered with tattoos. And one other thing.  She had this smile.

            “Would you like to sit down?” Her smile seemed almost beatific. Perhaps it was the shower, or perhaps she had just received good news from her doctors, or maybe she’d just finished a very nice bowl of Jello.  

I pulled a chair over near the bed and sat down.

She rubbed the towel against her hair and it came undone.  Long, dark strands of still damp hair fell down over her shoulder and suddenly there was something else one noticed about this woman.  People are never as simple or as plain as they seem. If you really look at people, really open your eyes, they will always amaze you.  Always surprise you. Don't get distracted by what you see on the surface. Don't let the tattoos get in the way. We all have them --some are just more obvious than others.
Sitting on the bed, she dried the ends of her long dark hair with the towel and told me about why she was in the hospital, and about her family who took such good care of her and about how busy she was even here in the hospital.  And all the time she was smiling and laughing, and making me feel like I was someone she was so very glad to see.

After a brief chat, she told me she needed to call her husband.  “We’re very busy at work right now, and he called to ask me something but I hung up on him as soon as the nurse told me I could shower.”

I tried to make a joke about her husband being so busy because his best worker was in the hospital, but she laughed and corrected me. “I don’t work for him.  He works for me. And I gotta make sure he isn’t goofing off.  But, before I do, I would really love it if you would say a prayer.” 

Her words were so sudden and so sincere, I was stunned. I don’t know if I had ever heard anyone say that to me before.  Opening my Bible, I read her a few verses from psalm 63:1-8, and then closing my eyes,  offered a prayer asking God for healing, for consolation and for the faith to put our trust in His will, in His love, no matter what.  And when I was done, she said:

“That was beautiful. Thank you so very much.  I hope you’ll come see me again.”

She had her phone out and clearly, she was ready for me to go. She had a husband to call. Leaving the room, I was filled with a strange sense of renewal and rebirth. Though I had been with this lady only a few minutes, I knew she was the real reason I had come to the hospital tonight. But I also knew that tonight, this hour or so of ministry, had really been not about what I had to offer, but what I had to receive. When I came to volunteer that evening I was feeling a little useless, a little foolish, and yet a voice called out to me: Come in. The door is open. That is what the kingdom of God is, in a nutshell; an open door. That is the message of Easter.  Jesus opened the door for us. And I’m pretty certain God doesn’t ever close it. Not even when He is washing His hair.  Because of Christ, that door is always standing open. If we don’t enter, it isn’t because God doesn’t welcome us, it’s because we don’t welcome Him. Because we’re too busy being afraid or too busy being important or too busy judging others or judging ourselves, to welcome (like a small child) Him and His always open door. 

Lord, through His cross, Your Son opened the door of salvation.
This Easter, open our hearts to receive that saving grace
and give us the courage and the faith
to welcome that open door.

Amen.

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[1] Going bald, I have noticed that hair washing doesn’t provide quite the same thrill (or comfort) it did during my hirsute youth.