Having spent four weeks working as a chaplain and discussing my experiences with the other chaplains during our group time, I've learned that this clinical pastoral education program is really not about the patients but is about me. It's about determining what my fears and needs are, what causes me to enter or avoid a room, and what makes me interact with a patient the way I do.
Much of this self discovery comes during the presentation of case reports. Each of the chaplains presents a report of a patient visit that includes a verbatim--a word-for-word account of the dialogue between the patient and the chaplain--and a theological reflection of the visit. It's fascinating to watch a chaplain present his case before the group, certain of what he experienced, and then to have each of the other chaplains offer their feedback, analyzing and questioning the presenter, compelling him to confront his prejudices, fears, needs, whatever the case may be. It has happened to me and I saw it happen to another chaplain this past week. The case that she presented to us was not at all the case that the other chaplains heard, so different was our take on what she had experienced.
The intensive care unit (ICU), which is one of three units that I cover, largely comprises accident victims and victims of violent crime. Trenton is plagued with gang violence, with the ICU receiving the most severely wounded. This past week there were at least six victims of crime in the 14-bed unit--four gunshot wounds, a stabbing, and an assault. I know this may come as a surprise, but the thug life is not a lifestyle to which I can readily relate. One of my fears is how I will be received by someone who has lived a life so different from mine. What credibility will I have before them?
In an effort to confront this fear, last week I visited two of the gunshot wound victims, both young African American males who had stabilized and were transferred out of the ICU. The conversation didn't get very far with either one, as they were both reluctant to talk. That may have been due to several factors, but foremost among them was probably the fact that they were both scheduled for discharge on the day that I saw them. Nothing deflects hospital introspection more than an imminent discharge.
After my brief visit with these patients, I returned to the ICU waiting room, where I saw a middle-aged African American woman crying. I introduced myself as a chaplain and sat down next to her. Her son had been shot the night before and was in a medically induced coma. She was full of regret for mistakes she had made as a mother, mistakes that she felt led her son to make some bad decisions of his own. We talked for about 15 minutes, mostly about forgiveness and reconciliation, as she had recently been trying to reconcile with her son. At the end of our conversation, she thanked me and said that she felt much better. I offered to visit her son, which she welcomed. I'm hoping that this is an opportunity for both of us.
This sermon was delivered at Yale Divinity School in 2020 for the class Sacred Moments in African-American Preaching. I begin with a simple observation. Of the four canonical gospels, Matthew is the only one that ends with the words of Jesus. Mark, Luke, and John all end in the narrator’s voice, but Matthew closes with the words of Jesus. Mark ends at the tomb, with the women fleeing in terror and amazement. Luke ends with the disciples in Jerusalem, praising at the temple. John ends on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias, with a dialogue between Jesus and Peter. And here Matthew ends with the disciples in Galilee, meeting Jesus at the mountain where he had directed them. Matthew gives Jesus the last word. But before we get to those last words, there are three other words in this passage that I call to our attention because I find them astonishing. Let me read verse 17 once more. “When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some do...
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