What Faith Can Do

For the past year, I’ve been toying with the idea of turning this blog into an online ministry. If I were a 20something, I am certain this would have already occurred to me. However, as a Gen Xer I do struggle a bit with how a digital ‘Net ministry can be worthwhile and so I’ve been ‘sitting’ on it while actively seeking a position in ministry I have practiced: real, in-person in a hospital, hospice or parish setting. I just completed my second residency, a one-year position as a hospital chaplain only four hours from my family, which allowed for more frequent visits. Now I begin the next leg of the journey: service as a hospice chaplain in the northern suburbs of one of the country’s largest cities.

I’d shied away from hospice chaplaincy, though I have understood for a long time that it’s where my best ministry seems to be. I have a gift for bringing comfort & peace to families experiencing the death of a loved one. More than one friend has said, “I don’t know how you do it; I could never do that!” but my theology of community thrives on this, on the all-too-brief closeness that builds a micro community during our most vulnerable times. Very few people with whom I meet talk openly about dying and death, not even the two dozen or so hospice patients with whom I’ve met so far. They focus on the quality of life they experience, or the memories they have of when they were still healthy and vital. Many times, I have to gently nudge people into talking about the unpleasant reality of that life coming to an end. It’s the most powerful and simultaneously humbling thing in the world to have to tell someone as I did just about a month ago, “I’m so sorry; they did everything they could, but they were unable to revive her. She died about 30 minutes ago.” For me it is always a privilege to be part of this process, though that doesn’t mean I don’t find it emotionally and spiritually exhausting a lot of the time. In my book, that’s a great thing – I think the worst that I could do in life is to be complacent, to work at a ‘job’ that does nothing to help me grow as a person and as a Christian. I saw a saying online recently: Do what you love and love what you do, and I understand it completely. My faith in the call I heard over 11 years ago has never wavered; I know in a way that goes all the way to my bones that this is what I’ve been called to do in my ministry and I love it with all my heart.

The thing I find so sad is when I meet with people who don’t find that connection with something outside their own existence; who feel that my presence is not only unnecessary, but might even be a nuisance. As a professional chaplain, I understand quite well that not everyone has ‘faith’ or religion or belief in a higher being; I’m not threatened by that. What puzzles me is the notion that discussion of religion is all I’m good for, or that I’ll show up with a Bible in one hand and a conversion rod in the other, ready to spout warnings of hellfire & damnation if you don’t “repent and be saved!” Spirituality and faith are such beautifully unique things in each individual that to try to box them into such narrow definitions is blasphemous in my opinion (yes, I will employ religious language). One of my patients died this past week even before I had a chance to meet with the family, but they made it clear they did not need or even want a chaplain because “we’re atheists”. I wish I’d had the chance to meet with them, to explain that talking about faith or lack thereof is only one avenue on the enormous roadmap of what a chaplain can provide. It causes me to wonder how many people have had such awful experiences with chaplains that they are unable to accept any sort of support from us, and makes me determined to set an example that challenges that mindset.

Am I fighting an uphill battle? Probably. Cynicism permeates our culture these days, and I see so much negativity on Facebook, Yahoo! and similar media that it causes me to wonder what I hope to accomplish by turning this blog into an online ministry. When people insist that God doesn’t exist because too many terrible things happen in the world, I’d like to engage them in discussion. When they point out the lack of physical evidence of any higher being, I want to ask about their belief in other things for which there is no physical evidence. When they ask how I can possibly do what I do every day, I plan to share with them how enriching this is, that meeting with people and getting to know them in this manner is real life. It’s living, not just existing, which I did for far too long. I deliberately withheld myself from others out of fear of being hurt, and all it did was isolate me to the point that I longed for nothing more than to find community. It took years for me to break those destructive patterns, to open up and trust others by sharing my inner self, by being vulnerable instead of defensive. It’s an ongoing process; I’m still very private, but I know that the more I meet with people who are at the deepest level of vulnerability one can experience, the more I am able to open up and bond with them. It leaves a legacy for the family of every patient with whom I’ve bonded, from Jack (who died over six years ago) to Pablo (who died last week). In turn, it transforms me into the type of person who refuses to give up on an idea that may seem futile, because the possibility that even one person might find a similar transformation from an online ministry is enough to get me to say ‘yes’. That’s what faith can do.