Candy as Compassion

Next Sunday, the Third Sunday of Lent, we see how God showed compassion on His people in the desert, giving them water from the rock, and the Samaritan woman giving Jesus a drink. So how do we know compassion? What does it look like? Sound like? Do we know when we see or show it?

I visited a person, while making my Diaconate rounds, on hospice in their early 40’s. They would ask for the same item of every doctor, nurse, and certified nursing assistant (CNA)—a bag of the Chewable Sweet Tarts from the candy machine down the hall.

As the person faded in and out, they told me they had two beautiful children who were unable to make the trip to say “goodbye.” Their condition was taking hold. Soon they wouldn’t wake again. The person had led a rough life. They’d stolen, been hooked on drugs, cheated, lied, and had prominent tattoos of “taking lives.”

I didn’t judge and asked, “What would make you happy before you leave this world?”

They smiled and said, “Just one thing, a bag of those Chewable Sweet Tarts.”

I had to chuckle. “What’s so special about a bag of candy?”

The person smiled, a tear leaking from their eye. They said, “I used to take my kids around the neighborhood for Halloween. We had the best time! We’d talk as we walked around. I found out I had really smart, funny, and good kids.” The person sat with the memory, then said, “After we got home, we’d dump all the candy onto the kitchen table and take a piece, share it, and judge it with a rating. ‘This one’s an 8.6, or 9.2, or 4.1!’ We’d have the best time.”

The person looked over at me and said, “The Chewable Sweet Tarts… we never had those. Somehow having them will bring me back to the one good time—the one good thing I had in my life—my kids.”

After going to the restroom, I saw the candy machine and came back to the room, gently laying the bag of Chewable Sweet Tarts on the bed table. The person looked up at me. Big tears and no ability to speak. I came to the bedside, and they clung to me for a solid five minutes—bawling and asking over and over, “Why? Why? Why would you show me any compassion? Why would you do this for me?”

We shared the candy. As the person across from me chewed slowly, smiling the entire time, I finally answered their question. “Because you’re worthy of compassion. We all are.”

We never know what another person needs. The nurses, doctors, and hospital staff all had been in that room. They saw the patient—but missed the person.

Look around you. Who are the persons around you? Not customers, not clients, not patients—persons. Remember, compassion is a sure sign that the Holy Spirit is alive in us—and is helping us see that person crossing our paths every day.

Copyright 2023 Ben Bongers

Ben Bongers

Ben Bongers KM – International operatic tenor and sommelier; now a Gerontologist, a candidate to the Permanent Diaconate in Kansas City, MO, and a Knight in the Order of Malta. He’s written for trade magazines, textbooks, and authored the award-winning novel THE SAINT NICHOLAS SOCIETY (up for The Mark Twain Prize), TRUE LOVE: 12 CHRISTMAS STORIES MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME, and THE FARMER, THE MINER, AND THE ARTISAN (children’s book).