In the previous post, I described a few examples of what we as chaplains do in the hospital, and how we function on the care team. Chaplains' formation occurs through action (being put in clinical situations), followed by reflection (processing with their cohort and supervisor), and new action (trying out new ways of being, based on feedback). In the first few weeks of CPE (this stands for Clinical Pastoral Education, and is the name of our chaplain training), as I was dipping my feet back into the waters of the hospital, I began to reflect on the experience of providing spiritual care during a pandemic.
I noticed that, without family or visitors inside the hospital, patient care seemed more straightforward. While I often called family members over the phone to offer spiritual care and emotional support, I did not have to navigate the dynamics between patients and their families, the way I would if they were all in the same place (things sometimes got dicey). Therefore, when I was with a patient, they had my full attention. And when I was with family, over the phone, they had my full attention. I was able to feel more focused during each visit.
Hospital staff seemed very appreciative of chaplains. In the past, I sometimes felt "less" important than medical staff with years of clinical training. Was my role really "necessary" in the hospital setting, or was it merely an "extra" service we provided to patients and their families, to support the medical care? 6 months into the pandemic, there seemed to be no question in anyone's mind that chaplains were a necessary part of care team for patients. Even the head of hospital security appealed to us to help face and acknowledge families' anger and sadness at being denied entrance. "We need you guys on our team," was a phrase I heard from nursing staff, security, and medical doctors on a weekly basis. "Thank you for helping us support patients and their families." When there was so much that "could not be done," our willingness to be still in the face of helplessness, and our ability to simply be present to other humans, was valued.
I spoke with a woman who had a hard time forgiving herself for what she had done to her sister, growing up. She identified as an Italian Catholic, and was well into her 80s. I asked her to share about the incident for which she held so much guilt--and learned about her family of origin by asking follow-up questions to her narrative. Although her mother had died when she was but a girl, she still thought of her often. "My mother was so beautiful," she repeated throughout our conversation. I validated her mother's emotional presence with us in that room, as a guiding force for her present reminiscing. Rather than telling her what to think, I explored her beliefs by asking how she thought of God, and God thought of her. It seemed she had a difficult time actually believing in her heart what she knew in her head: God forgave her and loved her.
Chaplains believe that helping patients name their feelings and their fears takes away the power that those emotions have. Behind every feeling is a story, and part of our job is to facilitate patients' telling and discovering of those stories, and to listen with unconditional positive regard--no judgment, and no advice.
I often find that, by simply being attentive to patients' stories, validating of their feelings, and willing to sit in unresolved situations with them, I will often witness patients coming to small breakthroughs, in the span of one visit. They often access parts of their Best Self that "worst case scenarios"--being hospitalized, and feeling helpless--allow them to discover. "Where two or three are gathered" is a sacred space that invites God's presence, and whether or not the patient (or chaplain, for that matter!) "believe" the "right" things does not matter. What matters is that, when one human is truly seen and heard by another human, the healing begins to happen. And when healing happens on any level--spiritual and emotional, "intangible"--it contributes to healing on other levels--physical and mental, "measurable."
As chaplains, we bear witness to difficult moments, and we hold space for patients and families facing life-and-death decisions. Whenever I step out onto the hospital floors, "it is not I who live, but Christ lives in me"--I put on my Chaplain Hat, and I do not take any interaction or situation too personally. My profession requires that I use my Full Self and show up to be present to others, but none of this is actually about me. And yet, my recollection of what happens on the job is always filtered by my own belief system, personality type, and human limitations. So what is about others, also affects me. We cannot help but be interconnected.
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