The Tunnel (Part I)

I like to follow hand-written calendars. One of those you write, and re-write, over and again, as weeks pass by, taking with them a page, a column - witnesses of the events passed by you, and passing into your existence and experience.

Today, as I crossed off another week, I was startled at realizing how close I really am to a new end, and to a new beginning. This has been a long haul – a yearlong residency in hospital chaplaincy, something that was nowhere in my scope a few years ago, yet clearly marked by God as a mile stone in my path of growth and ministry. For those of you who’ve been through it – it feels good to know you’ve often walked in my shoes; and even though I see you only through a silent and shadowed memory, names and faces known or unknown, I am honored to join the most caring group of people I’ve come across so far; for those knowing less, or nothing about it – it is a truly amazing experience, for which intense would be too shy an adjective to use.
So, what am I talking about as I attempt to describe this experience?

Well, I know I’ll come short of bringing together all the facets and learning mediums of this concentrated year; nevertheless, here are some of them, as they randomly bridge the days past into my present moments of reflection:

I’ve learned that God is bigger than our church, yet I’ve been reassured that He has especially blessed it.

I’ve become familiar with concepts I’ve learned to integrate in my ministry, will continue to feed upon, and I wish I’d known and made use of before: victimization, power and control, anger, conflict and resolution, grief, loss, death and dying, family systems and group dynamics, triangulation, abuse, scapegoating, cultural formation, boundaries, addiction, codependency, coping skills and patterns, suicide intervention, disenfranchised grief, to name only a few! And I hate right now how each one of these, aligned here next to each other, sounds so simple, almost trivial.

The reality is, the few letters assigned to these concepts are completely incapable of capturing the heavy and rich content they carry - each one is a world in itself, a wealth of knowledge, knowledge of others, and knowledge of self. Learned in contexts such as this residency, where theory and praxis precede and follow each other in an insatiate dance, they become mirrors more truthful than I could have anticipated; not always easy to look into, but incredibly powerful as they unveil the secrets to myself; mirrors into my present, and the past that has shaped the present me, from early childhood experiences to the most recent hurtful experiences.

I have learned a great lesson of humility in that we, as chaplains, or other helping professionals, or simply as friends and companions, are not called to fix another’s issues, be it patient, friend, church member, or spouse; that fixing attitudes are really an ego-driven impulse. This has probably made the significant difference for me in terms of burnout versus empathetic detachment. It has given me insight into a different understanding of suffering, and even acceptance of suffering. I did not, and do not have to fix people’s problems - physical, emotional, or spiritual. God is at work through infinite resources, and I have learned the humbleness of accepting that I do not know all those resources, nor do I need do. Suffice to know He is at work, and my response to my role as chaplain is to walk with my patients in a specific moment in time, one that is truly part of a greater and much more complex tapestry.

I came to the hospital knowing very little about this environment. I’ve been in a hospital one night in all my life, and other than that, now and then for routine tests and such. Until last August, I was a stranger to the realities of this place. Being in a foreign country, I’ll add I was a complete stranger to the health system, not to mention utterly unfamiliar with the medical language. Not so today. I’ve learned my way around patients’ charts; I’ve overcome my shyness, and enriched the patient’s care with my perspective in the interdisciplinary team; I’ve continued the work of my forerunners in establishing a pastoral presence on the floors; and, most important, I’ve spent time with my patients and their loved ones.

This is where, I would say, words truly cannot capture the beauty of these encounters, the essence of the bonds I’ve created for a day, an hour, and sometimes even just minutes. I have listened to many people. I’ve often been invited deeply into their lives, into their pain, and their struggles. Whether I realized it or not in the moment, I’ve come out of many visits with a deeper sense of reverence towards those who suffer, respect for the vulnerable, and awe towards a God who deals with this closely, into His very heart. And I know I have made a difference. I know, because my patients let me know, and that is what kept me going.