The body's first responders

Yesterday, on the way into the church building, my husband and I happened to be talking about the doctrine of the Church as the “body of Christ.”

Lest you get the wrong impression that we typically wax abstruse theology while crossing the parking lot, know that the conversation was more in the way of gentle kibitzing about the fact that we were running late. I quipped to my husband, “Nothing like being late to church.” He rebutted that they hadn’t started the first hymn yet. I sought to undercut the point by reminding him that the church is not a system of liturgy but the body of Christ, and that to make it through the door just under the wire is to be cavalier about the brothers and sisters of the Lord’s body.

My father-in-law had driven his own car to church (not willing to risk being late, I suppose) and we took our seats beside him. In the middle of the second hymn, I could sense that something was wrong with David’s father, standing to my immediate right. The song ended and everyone else sat down except me and my father-in-law—his head bowed, back bent, hands clutching the back of the pew in front of him. I softly asked him if he was all right. No response. I asked if I could help him sit down. No response. By this time my husband had swung around to the other side of his father and was trying to talk to him too.

The next thing I was aware of was Nelson, to my left, asking what he could do to help. I said I didn’t know. He said he was going to get Barbara, an emergency room nurse sitting on the other side of the sanctuary. She came at once, and so did Rita, a doctor who was passing the offering basket. Rita took my father-in-law’s wrist and felt no pulse. She quickly said to Barbara, and to two other nurses named Pam and Rose who suddenly were right there, “Get him to the floor.” We all did so, and Rita commenced to do CPR and then got a pulse. On her command we carried the patient out of the sanctuary and into the lobby. Someone cradled his head in her lap, someone smartly elevated his legs, someone brought a cup of cool water, and an ambulance team was on its way to carry an already-much-improved gentleman for prudent testing.

This morning I was prompted to look up “white blood cells” on the internet. The article called them the “first responders” of the body in cases of emergency attacks of bacteria and fungus. When things are well, these sentries of somatic defense blend into the bloodstream well enough and live incognito. But at a moment’s notice they will be there for you when your life is in danger.

So were Nelson, Barbara, Rita, Pam, Rose and others. The worship service went on without missing a beat, all the protocols and liturgy intact. But my focus for the remainder of the day was on that other meaning of the body of Christ, and on the way to the hospital the irony was not lost on my husband and me.