On a special weekend, the disabled and the able-bodied encounter Christ in each other

By Dana Lorelle

When Israel Pattison left the Christian faith years ago, he had little inkling that he would ever come back. He certainly couldn't have anticipated how God would call him home.

But then he met Camille Durfee, a pretty girl with dark hair, an easy laugh and multiple-type cerebral palsy. This Easter Vigil, as Pattison knelt to receive the sacraments of the Catholic Church, Durfee was right beside him in her wheelchair.

It's all about the stories.

The participants at the bi-annual Handicapped Encounter Christ (HEC) retreats are divided into two distinct groups: Those with disabilities, and the able-bodied men and women who volunteer as their companions and caretakers on the weekend-long spiritual retreat.

Not all of the people with disabilities are able to communicate their stories, but they have them all the same. There's Billy, who can't talk but who saved a doctor's life. There's the former camper whose only chance to sleep under the stars came when his HEC friends set up his bed on the deck. There's the former computer programmer whose short-term memory function vanished after a stroke. There are Ken and Celia, who hold hands devotedly across their wheelchairs all weekend long.

But those who go to the retreats as the able-bodied participants - as the voices of those who can't talk, as the eyes of those who can't see, as the hands that clothe and feed and bathe - have their own stories about what they've discovered through HEC: That these people, who are often pitied or ignored by the world, can be the vehicles God uses to draw the able-bodied closer to Him.

When you look at the people we think we're serving, they're actually the ones serving us. There's an amazing goodness about it; once you've had it you want it again," said Anthony Radewicz. "It's just what Jesus asked us to do. In serving, we're being served."

HEC has its origins in Washington, D.C., and appeared in Raleigh in the early 1980s. Retreats are held at the Short Journey Center in Smithfield, a quiet setting outside Raleigh, and are not limited to Catholics, although Mass is offered and the Rosary is prayed on Saturday afternoons. HEC also receives a stipend from the Diocese of Raleigh. "They are spiritual retreats," said Brent Heiser, the new director of HEC. "All are welcome."

The weekend is also a social occasion, a coming-together of those with something very primal in common. For some, HEC is the only social activity in their lives. For Jerry Freeman of Smithfield, a spinal bifida patient who can only be transported by ambulance, HEC was the first time he had been outside his bedroom in several years.

At the Friday night dance, some sway to the music, some clap, and some just smile. Wheelchairs scoot in rhythm. Also at each retreat the participants plant trees at the property's edge in memory of friends who have died since the last retreat.

There are many such "magic moments." Bryan Hogan, a long-time HEC-er, recalled a Mass offered by Father Phil Tighe for the HEC community and the leaders of the young adult Encounter group. "During the Mass, Father Tighe asked that the leaders kneel before a HEC-er, and asked that the HEC-er offer a blessing for the Encounter leader," he said. "What a neat thing - able-bodied folks kneeling in front of folks in wheelchairs to ask for prayers."

There are other moments, like a volleyball match "equalized" by instituting the 20-bounce rule.

The disabilities of the HEC-ers range from moderate to severe; many are confined to wheelchairs and need around-the-clock care. HEC is primarily geared to fulfill the spiritual and social needs of the physically disabled, although those with mental disabilities do attend. The idea is to draw everyone closer to God through small- and large-group discussions, presentations, and the telling of stories.

Heiser, the director, attended his first HEC retreat this April. "The able-bodied members of our group impressed me by their level of care and commitment to meet those needs," he said. "The disabled members touched me by their willingness, openness, and humility to have someone, even a stranger, enter into their world and provide whatever assistance might be needed without complaint."

"We're all disabled in some way," said Kevin Flynn, a lawyer and St. Michael the Archangel parishioner. "Sometimes our blindness might be that we can't see the good in other people. Our handicap might be our inability to be patient with others."

For first-timers, the prospect of providing around-the-clock care can be intimidating. But no medical background is necessary, only a willingness to learn, have fun, and trust in God.

There's a certain initial sadness to the experience, said Joanna Seliga, who attended her first retreat this April. Her partner was Erin Dowling, who to the world is a 29-year-old woman in a wheelchair who suffers from cerebral palsy. To Seliga, she became a friend who loves shopping and eating at Fuddrucker's and blushes when teased about her boyfriend.

"It was gratifying just to witness how disabled people dealt with challenges," said Seliga. "It made me realize that if they can do what they do with a sense of humor and a smile on their faces, then I can certainly do that with the challenges in my life."

Sometimes that challenge is getting closer to God. "I've never felt happier spiritually than after these retreats," said Radewicz. "When I get back to work after a retreat, I go cube to cube telling people all about it."

For Flynn, the retreat offers a chance to slow down from a fast-paced life. HEC veterans even have a name for it: HEC time. The name refers both to the tendency of volunteers to temporarily dispose of their watches and to the patience and extra time needed to truly listen to the disabled.

"Here, their voices are important," said Jessica Morgan, the former director of HEC. "In most of the world their voice isn't important. Here, it is."

Billy isn't someone who often gets listened to. He can't speak, but he makes up for it with huge smiles. Some years ago, a doctor at Duke Hospital suffered a heart attack while performing a physical on Billy. Alone, Billy ran into the hall and made his typical grunts at passing nurses and doctors. They smiled and told him to go back into the room.

But Billy persevered. Finally, he grabbed a doctor around the waist and physically dragged him into the examining room, where the doctor saved his colleague's life.

"All the participants want is to be included and we have this incredible weekend where they are equal contributors," said Darrell Coleman. "We're doing God's work by just showing up and having fun. But, I'd have to say that my favorite part is their stories. Everyone has a story, and each has something to contribute that makes you really appreciate what you have."

Perhaps no one has a better story than Israel Pattison. Raised Lutheran, he had every intention of following his father's footsteps as a Lutheran minister. But something happened in college; he left his religion and pursued a career in psychology instead.

This career led him one summer to working as a counselor at a camp for people with disabilities. While there, he met a young woman named Camille Durfee, who had multiple-type cerebral palsy, was confined to a wheelchair, and could communicate only with the help of a computer.

But Pattison realized her difficulty communicating meant nothing; in fact, it meant everything. It meant that a beautiful personality and a beautiful mind were hidden. When he discovered them, he fell in love.

That was ten years ago. Fast forward to 2004. Using her computer, Durfee one day typed out a message that Pattison wasn't expecting. God is coming back and I need to be ready, it said.

Pattison humored her. For a while he took her to numerous worship services of all different denominations, sometimes attending four in one Sunday morning. When Durfee found St. Francis of Assisi Catholic Church in Raleigh, she knew she was home.

But the story doesn't end there, because Pattison at that point still saw himself only as the chauffeur. When Durfee attended a weekend retreat during the RCIA process, he went with her only as a caretaker.

God had different plans. At the retreat's close, Pattison professed his desire to enter the Catholic Church.

This Easter, both Pattison and Durfee received the sacraments. "It's ironic that Camille has brought me to the Church," muses Pattison. "The great irony is I thought I was shirking off the church and simplifying my life, and God used Camille to lead me back."