Most of the time, I am careful about sharing stories from the hospital. My chaplain peers have plenty of their own experiences and emotions to process, and family and friends may not always be "up for" the details of sad scenarios that I have seen. But one story has certainly made the rounds, amongst both colleagues and friends, because it is heartwarming and hopeful.
In the middle of the winter surge, I spoke with the sister of a COVID patient, who was in Critical Care. The patient was Catholic, but had not been baptized, and this concerned the sister. Over the phone, I let the sister know that I would speak with the nurse about having the priest come and perform baptism from outside of the room, in some way, since COVID restrictions limited patient contact.
Half an hour later, I went onto the COVID unit to find the nurse. He was a friendly travel nurse from Georgia, whom I had not met before. When I arrived outside the patient's room, the patient's family was on Skype with her. Although she was intubated and unable to respond, I could hear her family members speaking words of love, through the computer screen.
I introduced myself to the travel nurse, whose name was Cecil, and updated him: "So, I just spoke with the sister, and I'm going to see if a priest can come tomorrow, to do some form of baptism from outside the room, if that's okay? Do you think she will last through the night?"
"Honestly, it's hard to tell these days. You wanna do the baptism now?"
His enthusiasm bolstered my spirits. That thought had not crossed my mind. "Well, she's Catholic, and they have specific requirements about only the priest doing certain things. But, why don't you check with the sister, since you have her on Skype."
A few minutes later, I found myself standing right outside the patient's room, face-to-face with the patient's family, through the computer screen. As I opened my mouth, I trusted that all those years of visiting various mass services would help me to sound as Catholic as possible.
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit..." and the words flowed. I asked that the Lord receive the patient--I used her full name--into His loving arms, when the time came for her to leave this earth. I affirmed the water of baptism, "of eternal Life..." and handed it over to the nurse, who wheeled the screen back to where the family could see the patient.
Remaining outside the room, I had a small cup of water ready for the nurse. "Do I just splash this over her face?" he asked in all sincerity. And I just had to smile.
This black Southern Baptist nurse was being as faithful as he could to his understanding of baptism--immersion was impossible, but he would use up every drop of water that he could!
"Let's do it the way the Catholics would. You can just dip your finger in the cup, and make the sign of the cross on her forehead. Can you do that?"
"Sure!" His eyes lit up, from behind 2 layers off masks and a COVID protection bubble helmet, which looked rather like a space helmet.
The water administered, Cecil wheeled the computer back to the doorway, where I finished off the prayer, ending once again "In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit" as tears streamed down the family members' faces, and I could see smiles amidst the sadness.
Not wanting to expose myself for too long, I quickly left the unit after sanitizing my face shield and washing my hands. The whole thing had taken 15 minutes.
Later, I texted a group of seminary friends, spread out across the world. One friend in particular is a German Catholic monastic living in Austria. In response to my story, he wrote:
"According to Catholic canon, anyone, even atheists, can perform baptism in an emergency. So, you probably made a perfect Catholic today!"
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