It may sound more than a little strange, but I have a confession to make: I’m a chaplain, and I’m uncomfortable admitting what I do. Automatically expecting skepticism or even dismissal from others, I often simply say that I’m in residency at a large hospital. This is true, of course, but I don’t clarify that I’m a resident CHAPLAIN. Now it’s not necessarily that I want people to think highly of me, because I generally don’t get the “whoa- you’re a doctor!” reactions that one might expect. It’s simply that I’ve realized, only three weeks into this residency, that my spirituality is equivalent with who I am as a person, and expressing either to other people is something I’ve found extremely difficult to do for a very long time. Like the saying goes, if you get burned often enough, you stop going near the fire. Starting now, my fear of going near the fire has to change.
Now there’s an interesting metaphor, considering the fact that fire is the medium most often used by God to appear to the prophets in the Hebrew scriptures (admission #1 about my spirituality: though I’m not a Jew, I find it insulting to Jews to refer to their holy scriptures as the Old Testament, because to me it implies that their law is obsolete). For those less familiar with those books, I’ll refresh your memories: the book of Exodus tells how Moses was out in the desert one day and witnessed a bush that was burning. The fire burned but did not consume the bush, and it was from this medium he was told that he would go to Pharoah to tell the ruler of Egypt to release the Israelites from slavery. When I consider this story in light of what I wrote above, the phrase that stands out to me is that the bush burned but was not consumed. I might be badly hurt, but I remain strong in who I am, and no amount of hurt will change that. What sparked this reflection is what should always spark it: continuous, deliberate interaction with others on a spiritual plane.
I had a remarkable visit today with a woman whose doctors cannot figure out what is wrong with her. As a woman of faith, she is convinced that the answers will come when it’s time. I told her that I’m the chaplain assigned to her floor, but unlike my previous visits, I didn’t bother explaining what it is a chaplain does. I could see a Bible open to the book of Ephesians on her bedside table, next to the box of Kleenex she used at an alarming rate to clear copious amounts of phlegm from her mouth. She invited me to sit, and once we maneuvered the IV stand out of the way, she asked about my beliefs. For some reason, I found it easy to admit to her that I’m uncomfortable sharing my beliefs, acknowledging that that’s pretty ironic considering my vocation. She didn’t judge me; instead, she asked me, “and what is your spirituality?” I think it’s the first time anyone has asked me that directly. In my attempt to answer, I realized how much my beliefs have changed over the past few years, due largely to those with whom I came in contact at McCormick Theological Seminary in South Chicago. Most of them are unaware of this, since I found it all but impossible to share my true self with my fellow seminarians. Nevertheless, the members of the graduating classes 2004-2008 have profoundly affected my life, and my beliefs, as a Christian and as a pastoral care provider (admission #2: I’ve left behind the ultrarational portion of my Presbyterian heritage, and now firmly embrace the Pentecostal understanding of the Spirit’s movement in us and among us). During the visit, our roles changed; she became the chaplain and I the person to whom she ministered, though neither of us found this situation objectionable. Speaking passionately of her experience in prayer, she told me that I should be ever mindful of the enemy’s camp….the evil one who would attempt to keep me from doing the work that I was called to do. Never lose sight of the fact that you were called, she said. You were CALLED, for God’s sake, BY God. I didn’t choose this hospital and this residency; God chose me for it. I cannot be faithful to what I believe if I allow the hurts of the past to hold me back from connection with others. It was such a simple lesson, but it was like I was hearing it for the first time. I did not hesitate to tell this woman that I felt she’d been the chaplain this day, the messenger, and I the recipient. She was somewhat dubious at first, but when I explained my theological standpoint further (that in itself is a change of huge proportions), she smiled in understanding and agreed with me.
Part of the process of clinical pastoral education is creating a set of learning goals, and strategies to pursue in achieving them. One of my goals is to begin opening up and sharing my spirituality with others, while another is to learn to stop being results-oriented and enjoy the rich learning process. It’s richly rewarding when more than one of my goals comes into play during a visit, as it did today. Fittingly, I can address both those goals in this blog, by sharing what I learned, and how it was informed by my theology. This is who I am, without apology.
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