Monday, July 20, 2026

He Will Carry You

Even when our minds and bodies fail, God's promise to carry and protect us remains our unshakable hope.

Do not cast me off in the time of old age; do not forsake me when my strength is spent.

Psalm 71:9

Even to your old age I am he, even when you turn gray I will carry you. I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save.

Isaiah 46:4

My dear brothers and sisters, it is with a heavy heart that we read news of violence and suffering in places meant to be sanctuaries for our elders. The report from NPR, describing assaults among residents with dementia, is deeply troubling. It speaks of a profound vulnerability and a fear that touches so many of us who have watched a loved one’s memory and personality fade under the shadow of this disease. We imagine our own mother or father, our grandfather or grandmother, confused and afraid, and our hearts ache.

In these moments of helplessness, when human systems and safeguards prove tragically insufficient, we must turn to the Lord who never fails. The psalmist gives voice to the deepest fear of the human heart in the face of aging and frailty: “Do not cast me off in the time of old age; do not forsake me when my strength is spent.” This is the cry of the resident in that nursing home. It is the silent prayer of every person who feels their own mind and body beginning to betray them. It is a raw and honest plea to God and to us, a plea not to be forgotten or discarded.

And to this most human cry, God gives a promise of divine fidelity. Through the prophet Isaiah, He speaks directly to our fear: “Even to your old age I am he, even when you turn gray I will carry you. I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save.” Let us rest in these words for a moment. This is not a distant, philosophical comfort. This is the promise of a loving Father who made us, who knows us intimately, and who pledges to carry us personally when we can no longer walk on our own. He does not see a disease; He sees His beloved child.

The Catechism teaches us that a person’s dignity is not diminished by their physical or mental condition. The image of God, stamped on the soul at conception, is indelible. It cannot be erased by dementia. When we look at a person suffering from this illness—whether they are a victim of violence or, in their confusion, the one who causes harm—we are called to see past the disease to the person who remains. We are called to see Christ himself, who told us, “Whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me” (Matthew 25:40). Christ is present in the resident who is frightened and hurt. He is also present in the resident whose illness causes them to lash out, a soul trapped and suffering in a different way.

This news, then, is a call to our own hearts. It is a call to prayer for all who live and work in these facilities—the residents, their families, and the often-overburdened staff. It is a call to solidarity, to advocate for systems of care that truly honor the profound dignity of every single person. And above all, it is a call to hope. The brokenness of this world is not the final word. Let us take heart, for the Lord who made us has promised to carry us, to bear our burdens, and to save us, ultimately bringing us to that place where every mind will be made clear and every tear will be wiped away.