NeuroDivine

In our part of the dialysis ward grace is often experienced through the clicking of valves and the predictable hum of pumps. To many of us who live by the clock and the calendar, the unit becomes a secular parish—a faithful cohort where the liturgy is written in blood flow rates and the repeated, steady presence of the same faces in the same chairs. 

And then, this week, the pattern broke. 

Christy’s chair was left vacant. For an autistic mind, the absence of a space isn’t merely a “missed presence”—it’s a physical tearing through the fabric of the room. Christy was a man of “mower-craft,” an engineer who appreciated the dignity of things that run as intended. In our shared silence, he was a stabilizing presence; he didn’t need small talk, but instead had a “softened tone” that made the clinical coldness seem somehow more like a home. 

In the tradition of the Church of Ireland we often talk about “collects”—prayers to unify the peoples’ intentions. This poem is my collect for Christy. It’s a vessel for processing the sensory shock of his absence and for honouring the nurses who act as both the bridge between the mechanical and merciful. 

We are Word and Table people, but here, the people of the Chair. And although that chair is empty today, my faith informs me that Christy no longer stops; he has been “tuned” for something greater, where the needles are gone and the “quiet courage” of a steady man has finally been allowed to rest in the Light.

Each week our circle gathers near,
a faithful cohort holding on;
but now we feel the empty chair—
one pilgrim’s earthly work is done.

I wheeled him from the waiting room,
a gentle journey, slow and kind;
the engineer with mower‑craft,
a steady heart, a patient mind.

He spoke of engines, grass, and gears,
of tuning life with careful art;
and though his body tired at last,
his quiet courage warmed the heart.

We miss him in our weekly round,
the nod, the smile, the softened tone;
yet those who loved him all his life
will feel his absence most at home.

And bless the nurses by his side,
whose steady hands and gentle care
hold all our fears with patient grace
and shape a kindness we can share.

So may he rest where burdens lift,
where needles cease and grief grows thin;
and may we keep his memory close
until we rise in light again.