The above title is one I chose for the ministry I developed during my senior year at seminary to help communities deal in a holistic way with dying and death. Its focus is not on grief, but on building up a strong legacy of community so that when a loved one dies, we are less likely to be unable to let go. The first step in building a community, of course, is welcoming a new member into the fold. The last is to say goodbye in a healthy way to those whose earthly journey is complete. The week before last, I welcomed a new member into the community as I baptized a 2-month-old boy who was awaiting heart surgery the following morning. I was nervous ahead of time because this was my first real baptism (in class at seminary, we practiced on a Cabbage Patch doll, which is not quite as poignant) and I wanted to make certain I did everything “right”. What can I say? I’m an uptight chaplain. Up until recently, I’d meekly ask if I might see you, all the while wondering if I were being helpful or if you’d be offended if I prayed the Lord’s Prayer using the word “debtors” instead of “trespasses”. Hey, be glad I don’t come in talking hellfire and brimstone! So what changed?
The day before I baptized this boy, I was attendant chaplain for four patients who reached Code Blue (imminent death) status. Four consecutive hours of presence, prayer & comfort with families who faced the loss of a loved one. You can’t begin to imagine how emotionally draining that is unless you’ve been a chaplain…hearing one wife tell me how her husband has given up on life and refuses to eat, and how she has no family here to support her. Hearing a husband talk about what he’ll have to tell his stepdaughter about his wife, who was supposed to have routine surgery. Watching an R.N. get hysterical (another nurse explained to me that medical personnel often react more strongly to these situations because they’re more aware of the gravity) in front of her husband, begging him not to leave her. I think what was worst, though at the time it made me laugh, was the young intern to whom I spoke upon entering the ICU to respond to the first code. 15 or so medical personnel were in the room stabilizing the patient. I asked about the situation, stating my role, & he responded, “there’s no family here, so you don’t need to stay.” How nice to be deemed unnecessary! My supervisor told me later that this attitude is common among the wet-behind-the-stethoscope interns; they have to learn from hard experience that not everything is scientific, and that spiritual support is essential to the patient and staff, as well as to family. None of the four patients died, but to be present in everyone’s pain was exhausting. It’s a lot of uncertainty and very little good news.
The following day I baptized a strapping infant boy, who looked as eager to begin his life as his parents were to put his surgery behind them and take him home. Of course, like every other instance, once I stopped worrying about performance and began considering the excitement of the ceremony, my demeanor changed, and the words flowed freely as I blessed the Holy Water before anointing his head. Though I did not make the sign of the cross (I’m a Protestant; I have no idea how!), Catholic friends have since assured me that the ceremony itself meant far more to his Catholic parents than did the absence of the cross. The same afternoon, I met with a patient who was full of good spirits and sang the staff’s praises; I was so inspired that I moved completely out of character, grabbing her hand and spontaneously, joyously praising God in prayer. It was such a relief to meet with someone who expected nothing from me, only had good news and wanted to share it, that it broke through my defensive shell and got the real me to jump out, like an animal sprung from a cage. Since then, I’ve found it far easier to spontaneously pray with people, displaying sensitivity to their religious perspective while not worrying about my words, because I’m finally realizing that it’s the fact I make the effort that they find comforting.
And so it went this morning, as I closed the chapter on another life in the family. Though not even 50 years of age, he’d been very ill for some time, a fact that his children knew well. His eldest daughter told me what a strong man he’d been and how he’d imparted that strength to her. He was hospitalized on one of my units, but since he was admitted on Saturday I’d never had the chance to meet him. I said I was sorry about that, and she responded that she was, as well, because I would have liked him very much – she was certain. His illness had rendered him dependent on others far too early in life, and he’d reached a point where he didn’t want to continue that lifestyle, she told me. Her husband (the man’s son-in-law) kissed his second father’s forehead in farewell, and the two stood at his bedside weeping quietly for some time. Then she said to her father, “I said I’ll never leave you. I never will.” Those were her last words to him.
As always, I was privileged to be present in another person’s pain – the fact that they’d accept comfort from ME still surprises me sometimes. Today, I realized that the bigger privilege is being part of the celebration process in two different areas of the circle. To welcome a new life full of possibility, while bidding farewell to another life lived well and leaving a rich legacy, is something few people are privileged to enjoy. Yes, the emotional pain is sometimes intense, but the joy we all share as well more than makes up for it. It balances the circle quite well, I find, and only underscores my emerging understanding of life as a circular (as opposed to linear) process. Sharing in ALL facets of the circle is essential to the well-being of the human psyche, another lesson that I will employ in my future ministry. I can only say a simple thank you to those who are teaching me these lessons, and hope that I, in turn, helped them.
No comments:
Post a Comment