THE VIGIL

THE VIGIL

BY JOHN TUFT

Day 3

I paused outside the door to a room in the pediatric department of a major metropolitan medical center. I took a deep breath and pushed it open. “Little man,” I greeted the ten-year-old in the bed, Jeremy. His face lit up. “RJ!” (Reverend John) he cried with delight. I pulled the nerf football from behind my back. “Who’s ready for Steelers charades?” I asked. “Me first” said Jeremy. He stood on top of his pillow, and I lobbed the ball in front of him. He pulled it in as he leaned forward, making sure he tapped his toes in front of the edge of the covers before falling face forward. The 63,000 fans cheered and roared. “Santonio Holmes catch to win the Super Bowl against the Cardinals,” I cried. I took the ball and tucked it under my shirt as I backed up to the door. Then I ran slow motion, eyes fixed on the play in front of me. Suddenly the ball caromed off the defensive player upfield. I pushed the ball from under my shirt and caught it right before it hit the ground and headed for the end zone. “Franco Harris, the Immaculate Reception,” cheered Jeremy.

I took a seat next to the bed. “How are you, little man?” His face got serious. “I’ve been thinking, RJ. I found a treasure.” My eyebrows went up. “Tell me.” He crooked his finger, and I leaned in so he could whisper it in my ear. “I’ll be right back,” I said and dashed off to the vending machines. I took out everything I had: my dinner money, gas money, emergency fund, tithe, everything. When I came back to Jeremy’s room, my arms were full of packages of M&Ms. “Let’s say this is the treasure. What do you want to do with it?” He got a mischievous look. “Follow me.” He scooped up as many bags as he could carry and I took the rest. We spent the rest of the afternoon taking Jeremy’s treasure to each and every room on the pediatrics floor, giving away the treasure.

Day 9

I paused at the door for a moment, then entered. “RJ!” cried Jeremy. “What do you have?” I held up an empty box, a wire hanger, and a pack of gum wrapped up in tape. I cleared off the medicine tray and pulled it over underneath the television and cranked it as high as it could, then set the empty box on top. I handed him the wire hanger, showed him how to balance the gum across the hook and then flip it forward. The pack of gum arced through the air and smacked against the wall. “Yes,” exclaimed Jeremy. “The object of the game, little man, is to get it in the box.” He stuck out his tongue and the game began in earnest. Before we knew it, his room was crowded with other young patients wanting a turn at the game. There was shouting, cheering, groans, and the ever mighty “Thwap” of the gum hitting the wall or the television.

When the crowd had cleared out of the room, Jeremy and I had a moment to talk. “How is it going, little man?” He looked at the blanket, the far wall, out the window, before his eyes finally met mine. “RJ,” he said in a small voice. “Can I ask you something?” I nodded. “Anything, little man.” He sighed. “Do you think Jesus will meet me when…when I…you know…” I got up and sat on the side of the bed and took his hand. “Little man,” I choked out, “Jeremy, if he is not, then he’s a damn fool.” He laughed. “Ministers aren’t supposed to swear, RJ.” I sighed. “It’s the truth.”

Day 13

I leaned my forehead against the door, seeking solace. I needed some of Jeremy’s treasure. I finally pushed it open. “Little man,” I said. He was lying in the bed, very weak, but his eyes lit up. “RJ,” he whispered. “Steelers charades.” I smiled and tucked the ball under my shirt. From the door I began my slow motion run to glory. At the right moment, the ball dropped, and I caught it before it hit the turf. As I crossed the goal line, I was not greeted by a cheering crowd, but the keening of a heart monitor showing flatline. I turned, not wanting to see. The blood pressure numbers read double zero over double zero. As the nurse came rushing in I said, “Go get mom and dad.” Then I went and sat beside Jeremy, my little man, and kissed his forehead. A sound, very soft, disturbed the stillness. I finally realized it was a tapping at the door.

I crossed over and opened it. There, in the hallway, were all the current patients of the pediatric floor. Shaved heads, monitors, IVs, bandaged wounds. And each of them held a shareable sized bag of M&Ms. “We have Jeremy’s treasure,” said a little girl who came up to my waist. Without hesitation, the children filed into the room. They ripped open the bags and emptied them over his body, there in the bed. By the time all 35 had finished, Jeremy’s treasure was heaped over him, a hundred-fold return. A pyre that would remain unless ingested. Me? I was politely, but very firmly, asked to never set foot in the pediatrics floor ever again, as though I was some sort of Patch Adams of ministry. But that’s okay. It’s too late. I knew Jeremy’s treasure. And I know what to do with it.

Today

What did Jeremy whisper? I’ll tell you, but it’s an awesome responsibility, as is all treasure. “RJ, I found my soul. It’s like light. It’s just love.” If you want to possess such a treasure, it will cost you everything. It is that valuable. And that is the gospel truth. It may come to you cleverly disguised as chocolate wrapped in a hard candy shell. I am RJ. I am Jack Goo. I am Johnny. I am Preacher Boy. I am Rev. Tuft. I am father of my kids. I am grandpa of my grandkids. I am John, soulmate to Jennifer. I am the wizard of words. Grace, mercy and peace be with you. Now and always… And if Jesus is a damn fool, so then must I be one.

Words are magic and writers are wizards.