job descriptions

On my assignment sheet at hospice were several names of people who needed pastoral visits.  In the second room the patient was alone.  He nodded when I walked in.  But then was unresponsive.  I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to do.  I felt the urge to bolt, but also wanted to honor the request for a chaplain.  I took his hand and began to talk....about the weather, the drive down the mountain, the view from his room, the nice quilt on his bed.  I hoped that if nothing else soothing tones would be comforting.   I stood in quiet for a few moments, then read Psalms 23 and prayed.

"What do you do as a chaplain?"  

Hhhmmm,  Well...I chatter.  I stand quietly.  I hold your hand.  I pray.  I hurt for you.  I hope you are OK. I wince.  I provide spiritual presence......

It continues to be hard to explain to someone what we do.  It's not feats of engineering.  It's not brain surgery.  It's rarely news worthy.  But it feels worthwhile.  And so often very satisfying.

I like this description from singer and song writer Conor Oberst.

I came upon a doctor who appeared in quite poor health.  I said, "There is nothing that I can do for you that you can't do for yourself."  He said, "Oh yes you can.  Just hold my hand.  I think that that would help."  So I sat with him a while then I asked him how he felt.  He said, "I think I'm cured."

For I hold you by your right hand— I, the Lord your God.  And I say to you ‘Don’t be afraid. I am here to help you.  Isaiah 41:13

caught

I'm doing some reading to enrich my hospice rotation.  Henri Nouwen's book Our Greatest Gift has one of my favorite illustrations.  More than just great advice for end of life, it reminds me of how I want to live each day.


    " The Flying Rodleighs are trapeze artists who perform in the German circus Simoneit-Barum. When the circus came to Freiburg two years ago, my friends Franz and Reny invited me and my father to see the show. I will never forget how enraptured I became when I first saw the Rodleighs move through the air, flying and catching as elegant dancers. The next day, I returned to the circus to see them again and introduced myself to them as one of their great fans., They invited me to attend their practice sessions, gave me free tickets, asked me to dinner, and suggested I travel with them for a week in the near future. I did, and we became good friends.


     One day, I was sitting with Rodleigh, the leader of the troupe, in his caravan, talking about flying. He said, “As a flyer, I must have complete trust in my catcher. The public might think that I am the great star of the trapeze, but the real star is Joe, my catcher. He has to be there for me with split second precision and grab me out of the air as I come to him in the long jump.”


     “How does it work?” I asked. “The secret,” Rodleigh said, “is that the flyer does nothing and the catcher does everything. When I fly to Joe, I have simply to stretch out my arms and hands and wait for him to catch me and pull me safely over the apron behind the catchbar.”


     “You do nothing!” I said, surprised. “Nothing,” Rodleigh repeated. “The worst thing the flyer can do is to try to catch the catcher. I am not supposed to catch Joe. It’s Joe’s task to catch me. If I grabbed Joe’s wrists, I might break them, or he might break mine, and that would be the end for both of us. A flyer must fly, and a catcher must catch, and the flyer must trust, with outstretched arms, that his catcher will be there for him.”


     When Rodleigh said this with so much conviction, the words of Jesus flashed through my mind: “Father into your hands I commend my Spirit.” Dying is trusting in the catcher. To care for the dying is to say, “Don’t be afraid. Remember that you are the beloved child of God. He will be there when you make your long jump. Don’t try to grab him; he will grab you. Just stretch out your arms and hands and trust, trust, trust."


Into your hands I commit my spirit; redeem me, O LORD, the God of truth.  Psalm 31:5

da

I was 40 minutes into my Sunday on-call when I was paged to the Chest Pain consult room.  By now I know just what that means.  Sure enough, once inside I found a man, head in hands, trying to absorb the unexpected death of his mother.  


I just wanted to be a comforting presence and support.  But it was more challenging than that.  


First of all there was a bit of a language barrier. Peter introduced himself, then struggled to find English words to describe the morning's events. Later Peter called his 7 brothers and sisters and I sat quietly beside him and enjoyed a river of beautiful Ukrainian words.  The only one I recognized was Da.


Then there was the matter of grieving.  Though Peter was weeping when I walked in, he immediately stopped. When I asked, he told me he was fine.  When I told him he didn't have to be fine, he told me "This is time will be strong." And he was strong as we went to see his mother, but when I stepped out of the room to talk to the nurse, he broke down.  As much as I wanted to help, I realized that my presence halted his grieving.  So I stood outside the room, willing him strength as he sobbed alone.


I did get to help later when Peter's last sibling in Russia needed documentation for the embassy to come to the funeral.  I wrote a letter to accompany the doctor's form and waited with him as they got sent.  When every thing was done, I put my hand on his shoulder and told him how sorry I was.  He shook my hand and said "Thanks to come here with me."


I'm reminded again that grief and compassion are universal languages.  Both speak louder than gender, age, culture and tradition.


Я так сожалею о вашей боли. Мое сердце болит для Вас.


Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.  2 Corinthians 1:3 and 4

off call -christmas

As long as you hold me so...let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.





"the people I love is, in fact, you."  Love Actually






Happy Solstice! 














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My winter road rescuers save their momma.











Fad snuggies to keep us warm.

 

The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood.  We saw the glory with our own eyes, the one-of-a-kind glory, like Father, like Son, Generous inside and out, true from start to finish.  John 1:14

cheese pastor

I was in the middle of a heart wrenching scene in the Chest Pain Center waiting room.  I was sitting with a wife of 65 years and her two daughter and their families.  The doctor came in with the sentence "I'm so sorry I have to tell you this......" The room erupted.  It was the day before Christmas Eve.


I began passing kleenex and patting backs and murmuring how sorry I was, when the door swung open and cheese pastor bounded in.  "Such a shame,  such a shame.  But he's in a better place.  A much better place. God needed him.  Yes oh yes, God needed him.  Grace of God, sister, Grace of God.  Make us strong, Jesus.  Reunion will be fantastic, won't it?  Hallelujah!  Grace of God, sister. Heaven is so close......"


I thought about killing him.  I thought about killing myself so I didn't have to listen to him.  I thought about how much work it must have taken for him to memorize the entire "Bad Pastor Cliche" book.  I thought about how my coworkers would shake their heads when hearing these phrases again.


After about 15 minutes, cheese pastor insisted we pray.  We had to hold him off a couple minutes as more family arrived and the doctor came to speak to the family again.  Then cheese pastor rounded us up into a circle, instructed us to hold hands and launched into the holy talk with God again.


But in the middle of the prayer cheese pastor said these words.  "God, we don't know what to do right now.  This isn't fair.  All we know is that when we fall apart You are big enough to catch us."  Wow. I didn't hear anything else.  I was too busy awing his wisdom.


It's a crazy world -where sometimes heros combust before our eyes, and villains save the day.  A world where cheese pastors say the most profound thing available while everyone else is speechless.  Go figure.


But what does it matter? The important thing is that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is preached. And because of this I rejoice. Philippians 1:18

gross people

Today I spent over an hour in a tiny consult room with a family of gross people.  I'm writing that in the nicest way possible.  They were smelly and smokey and hysterical and dysfunctional.  I tried to focus on their grief and be compassionate.  I tried to see them in the ways God might see them.  I tried only breathing out of my mouth.  I tried to BE there til it was all over.  Then I limped back to the office knowing that because this is CPE it wasn't over.

Why did they bother you so much?
Where did you see yourself in that room?
Who were you to them?
How does this quote address this situation?  If you hate a person, you hate something in them that is part of yourself.  What isn't part of ourselves doesn't disturb us.  Herman Hesse


I don't know yet.  I know it isn't Christ-like, or tender, or even human.  But it is totally honest.  I will keep digging at that obstinate thing we like to call our growing edge.  And Jesus, if that was you in that room, I'll try harder to see you next time.


He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.  He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces, he was despised, and we esteemed him not.  Isaiah 53:2 and 3

known

Today is the official start of winter solstice, the first day of winter and the shortest day of the year.  It's also my birthday!  So even though I was driving down the mountain at 7:00 am as usual, it was a special day full of hugs and presents, texts and calls, silly songs and good wishes.


I've been pondering the phenomenon of being known.  I started thinking about this around the end of July when, one morning, our supervisor, Carson laughed at something I said and replied "that is such an Erin thing to say."  I rolled my eyes that he could say that with such certainty after only knowing me 6 weeks.


I noticed it when I was struggling with answers for the Enneagram test about my personality and Steve easily answered them for me.  Or when Jenn told me about a movie that "I would totally love".  Or when my Mom again sent me something to wear that immediately was my very favorite.  They really know me!


Two weeks ago one of our evaluators mentioned that he found me to be very quiet and hesitant.  Stifling their smirks, all three of my fellow residents quickly spoke up that that was not how they experienced me.  After six months of IPR's and working, reading, laughing, crying, eating and learning together, they pretty much know me.  


Being known is scary and satisfying.  I just saw the quote that says "True friends are those who really know you but love you anyway."  Agreed!  But being known is more then a nice treat.  It's a necessity.  I read recently that "we were created with the spiritual hunger to know and be known. That no matter what else you do with your life, no matter how high you climb or how much you achieve, nothing will satisfy that hunger--nothing else."


This next year I want to be more aware of this spiritual need inside me.  I want to know myself better, and be more open to being known by others.  And I want to celebrate the realization that I am surrounded by people who really do know me and still love me!

Know me God.  Investigate my life, O God, find out everything about me; Cross-examine and test me, get a clear picture of what I'm about; See for yourself whether I've done anything wrong— then guide me on the road to eternal life. Psalms 139:23, 24 The Message

prayer ramblings

a few random thoughts on prayer started on September 8, 2009. 


Prayer is an unusual currency with chaplains. We give it. We share it. We offer it. We try to make it meaningful. We fret when it isn't wanted. We are supposed to be the experts of it, yet no one tastes it's mystery more than we do. 


My first day in behavioral health, I walked into a room with two elderly gentlemen. When I introduced myself, they immediately welcomed me and asked me to pray with them. I had to slow them down to catch their first names before we started praying together. It was a sweet and unpredictable way to start a visit. 


The Chaplain department starts the day gathered together. Whoever was on call the night before leads in the prayer time. I've grown to love the prayers of my fellow residents lifted each morning. -Vicki's eloquent and thoughtful words, Cathie's stately cadence, Nathan's relaxed and personal petitions. Each inspiring and comforting at the same time. It's not hard to picture God listening intently with a smile. 


Isaac Bashevis Singer said something like "I only pray when I'm in trouble. But I'm in trouble all the time, so I pray all the time." I think he wrote that during his year of CPE! 


O LORD, I call to you; come quickly to me. Hear my voice when I call to you. May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice. Set a guard over my mouth, O LORD; keep watch over the door of my lips. Psalms 141:1-3

red capacity alert

On my long drive down the mountain today I listened to a sermon on Hell.   (Baptist peer pressure maybe?:)  John Ortberg taught inspiringly about the lengths God has gone to win us and how much He values our free will.  He talked about the church not being a building but a group of people so won over by God's lavish love that they go on a rampage to win others.  He talked about us being so passionate to spread the news that "nothing can separate us from the love of God", that we assault the gates of hell and batter them down. 


A few hours later I was sitting at my desk in the resident's office when I heard the familiar "Red Capacity Alert" over the intercom.  This alerts the hospital that the ER/trauma facility has reached maximum patient capacity and can not receive any more patients. As I heard the alert, I pictured the gates of hell bursting at the seams with sickness and death and fear. I thought about our coworker who is anxiously waiting test results for his wife.  I thought about our teacher who is transferring her mom from ICU to Hospice.  I thought of the wife of 65 years, whose hand I held today as she was told her husband didn't make it.  I thought about the slash marks on a behavioral health patient's wrists and the tiny tubes that intubate the NICU babies. I thought about the tears and devastation that I had witnessed in the last few days. Hell is overflowing. 


Then I heard Ortberg's words ringing in my ears.  It seemed so necessary that there should be people in God's name banging their fists on the gates of Hell reminding others that "nothing can separate us from the love of Christ.  Not trouble or distress, not death nor life, not height nor depth, or anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."


I was proud to be an assaulter today.  And grateful to be surrounded by such dedicated gate bangers each day.  Rock on church.

And...on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.  Matthew 16:18  ESV

old soul

The dreaded second quarter evaluations were upon us.  We answered our 20 questions, wrote our five pages, spent half a day getting feedback from each other and then sat before the Professional Advisory Group. 


And as everything in CPE is, it was nothing like we expected. (dreaded.  see Jackhammered post)  This particular group was inquiring and encouraging.  They asked deep questions and listened intently.  They applauded the handling of a sticky situation I'd been in.  They commended the steps I was taking toward my goals.  They witnessed to the value of my ministry here. 

At the end of our hour together, one of the Advisors, a Rabbi, said to me "Erin, this may sound a little mystical.  But I feel you have been here many times before....." 

It does sound mystical.  And I'm not sure what it means.  But I like the sound of it....

What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. Is there anything of which one can say,  "Look! This is something new"? It was here already, long ago; it was here before our time.  Ecclesiates 1:9 and 10

little prayers

Yesterday I set the world's record for most chaplain prayers ever shared in a hospital setting.  Maybe.  At least that's what it felt like.

Most of the time I love praying for a patient.  Sometimes holding their hand.  Sometimes with my arm around the shoulder of their anxious loved ones.  I love stepping with them into the realization that we are on holy ground.  As I personalize their petitions, I remember how healing it is to be prayed for by name. But at the end of a day like today, on the 100th prayer, I peevishly pictured God saying "You again?  Take a break girl!"

The following comes from Eugene Peterson's Living-Message- It reminds me that every prayer, no matter how brief, is heard and valued.  A reminder I needed!

"One of the indignities to which pastors are routinely subjected is to be approached, as a group of people are gathering for a meeting or a meal with the request, "Reverend, get things started for us with a little prayer, will ya?" It would be wonderful if we would counter by bellowing William McNamara's fantasized response: "I will not! There are no little prayers! Prayer enters the lion's den, brings us before the holy where it is uncertain whether we will come back alive or sane, for 'it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of a living God.'"

Hear my cry for mercy as I call to you for help, as I lift up my hands toward your Most Holy Place. Psalms 28:2

tangled

    This week we fininished reading and discussing A Fine Balance.  An incredible, horrible book which changed our world view and our office language (Hai Ram!) and warped us forever.  And somehow, in the middle of this 603 pages, written in another country, in another time, I found a passage that summed up my year - the angst, the mercy and the joy. 


      If time were a bolt of cloth," said Om, "I would cut out all the bad parts.  Snip out the scary nights and stitch together the good parts, to make time bearable.  Then I could wear it like a coat, always live happily."
     "I'd like a coat like that," said Maneck.  "But which parts would you cut out?"
     "The government destroying our house, for sure," said Om.  "And working for Dinabai."
     "Hoi-hoi," cautioned Ishvar.  "Without her, where would the money come from?"
     "Okay, let's keep the paydays and throw out the rest."
     "What else?" asked Maneck.
     "Depends how far back you want to go."
     "All the way.  Back to when you were born."
     "That's too much, yaar.  So many things to cut, the scissors would go blunt.  And there would be very little cloth left."
     The evening sky darkened, summoning the streetlights.
     "Some things are very complicated to separate with scissors," said Maneck.  "Good and bad are joined like that."  He laced his fingers tight together.
     A Fine Balance, Rohinton Mistry


And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to His purpose.  Romans 8:28

water power

For our last Pastoral Image class we had to submit an image we portrayed in a hospital experience.  Here is one I shared.

Water comes in so many forms.  From the tiniest raindrop to glaciers of ice to warm ocean waves.  All water has the potential for amazing force and energy which maybe harnessed for incredible movement.

Water can be part of a gravity driven process that moves solids and deposits them elsewhere.  It is a transformer of nature and a reformer of the landscape.  To do this it has to be persistent, constant and creative.

The family that stays in my mind were the James’.  My pastoral care started as a little droplet when a nurse on Neuro paged me and told me the family had just received the bad news that Mrs. James had suffered a brain aneurism and would not wake up.  She asked me to come be with them in the consult room.

When I entered the room and introduced myself I could feel the resistance.  They shared that they were not religious, and I could sense uneasiness with a chaplain present.  I gently persisted, got them talking, answered their questions, helped them make plans.

Later I walked them to the patient’s room, carefully eroding some confusion, fear and a resistance to openly grieve. I asked for stories about Mrs. James and their memories brought laughter that washed over us all.  As the end came we cried together and our tears bonded us. 

In the 5 days between first call and Mrs. James’ funeral, we continued to share waves of emotion and experiences.  Rivulets of trust had displaced unease.  I was no longer a stranger, but a familiar current that carried them securely through the hospital and funeral experience.

The Lord says "See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?  I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland."  Isaiah 43:19

holes

Dante's epic begins with the narrator saying:
In the middle of the journey of our life
I came to myself within a dark wood
Where the straight way was lost
Ah, how hard a thing it is to tell
Of that wood, savage and harsh and dense,
The thought of which renews my fear!
So bitter is it that death is hardly more.


We spend a lot of time at the hospital talking about this experience.  We call it The Hole.  It's unlikely you will be in the hospital and not be experiencing some kind of Hole.  But even more then that - we all have Holes.


In classes, verbatims, supervision and conversations we explore our own discomfort with the hollows and caverns in our lives and experiences.  Our fear that if we open those doors we will get sucked back.  Our hesitation to getting in our holes and befriending the pain.  Our reluctance to take what we've learned in our darkness and connect with others who are in that place.


"Hello down there, sorry I can't come any closer.  Too messy for me.  Way too scary.   Hope you can feel my support thrown out miles above you.  Be well!"


This is the most challenging learning edge for me. To use that ladder to climb down in my own life. 
And in my ministry to recognize a person is in the hole, to get invited in, stay for awhile and connect and then to get out.  I'm totally convinced of the utter importance of this for me.


The book Beauty speaks to the dark night of the soul or a wilderness experience.  "A time of bleakness can also be a time of pruning.  Sometimes when our minds are dispersed and scattered, this pruning cuts away all the false branching where our passion and energy were leaking out.  While it is painful to experience and endure this, a new focus and clarity emerge.  The light that is hard won offers the greatest illumination.  A gift wrestled from bleakness will often confer a sense of sureness and grounding of the self, a strengthening proportionate to the travail of its birth.  The severity of Nothingness can lead to beauty.   The ruthless winter clearance of spirit quietly leads to springtime of new possibility.  Perhaps Nothingness is the secret source from which all beginning springs."


Hear my cry, O God; listen to my prayer.  From the ends of the earth I call to you,  I call as my heart grows faint;  lead me to the rock that is higher than I.  Psalm 61:1,2

vending machine

At the hospital sometimes I feel like a spiritual vending machine.

You need a Bible – select 1

Prayer – select 2

Initial visit – select 3

Financial help with prescriptions – select 4

Patience while I listen to you complain  - select 5

Company in the trauma bay family waiting area – select 6

Hug while you weep – select 7

Guidance in the death process  - select 8

For any complaints about the performance of this machine please call 250-2000.

(quit pushing my buttons!)

If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you.  John 15:7