Tears and touching are some of the most profound forms of connection among people. They soften hearts and open doors to each other’s hearts that were otherwise closed. Spiritual care in a hospital environment brings people together in the best way possible under the worst of conditions. I regularly meet strangers and confront situations that require patience and acceptance so I can do the best for others.

What does a multi-faith hospital chaplain do? First and foremost, a chaplain is always there to be a listening ear in a compassionate and caring manner. A hospital chaplain cares about spiritual and emotional well-being of patients, their families or loved ones, as well as the staff at the hospital. As chaplains, we are in the service of everyone, religious or non-religious, faithful, agnostic, or atheist, during both good times and bad times to share joy and sorrow. We visit the patients that need comfort and support, and listens to their worries, concerns or happiness. We are with the patient in their last moments to offer blessings and stay with the families when their loved ones are going through this transition. We are together the broken-hearted who need to be heard, patients who request prayers before their surgeries, and babies who are newly born or die young. We touch hearts, wipe tears, listen to life stories, open spiritual gates, and help people reflect on their own lives to find out where they are on their journey. Lastly, we encourage and empower the ones who are in their recoveries. Sometimes patients are the teachers who allow chaplains journey with them.

I had an interesting encounter with a 67-year-old Catholic lady who came to the hospital for spinal surgery. She did not ask for a chaplain visit but her name was on my unit list. I met her post-procedure during my regular rounds. She was frustrated and upset because the doctors told her that she had cancer; however, what type of cancer she had was still unknown ten days into her stay. She was emotionally overwhelmed with worry about her physical condition because the doctors were still testing the results, and she felt they were not giving her clear answers. She was not alone, because her daughters lived close to her however she could not help but cry when she started to speak about being away from her home and family for a long time, along with the uncertainty she faced which was obviously hindering her ability to cope. I was very concerned with her psychological and emotional state. She was not ready for a longer conversation with me. She dismissed me after a few more minutes and said, “I rather want to be alone at this moment”. I replied, “I understand, it is okay with me.” Upon leaving, I reflected on not being able to help her at all. I felt badly of the situation, and felt that I had missed an opportunity to provide care that I was not able to reach through to her.

The next day, the patient’s nurse telephoned the Spiritual Care Office and requested that I return. The phone call meant a lot for me because I anticipated that there was something significant happening. I immediately went to the patient’s floor and saw her nurse. She told me that the patient wanted to see me before she was transferred to another unit. Upon entering the room, the lady told me that she did not want me to know her as a rude person. She apologized for her attitude the other day and said, “We are both believers and we should not be like that towards each other.” I confirmed this sentiment, and she continued, “I don’t know as much about your faith as I should know, and I felt that I need to know more of it.” She asked me if I could talk about the main principles of Islam, and I accepted her request. I stayed with her explaining, shortly, the basics of Islam, how God sent prophets to all human beings throughout history, and how the Qur’an was revealed and compiled. We had a good discussion which relaxed her and as our conversation ended our relationship between each other was more important than her illness. Her embarrassment replaced with peace at the end. “I am so glad that I was able to call you back,” she said with contentment. “I am so glad that you took the opportunity to invite me again to your room” I responded with a smile. This time, I left her room with a great sense of relief and satisfaction.

“Can you hold my hand?”

Another thought-provoking visit was with a 69-year-old lady who came to the Emergency Department (ED) on a night when I was on overnight duty. It was 4:40 am when I was paged by the ED nurse as the patient asked for a Catholic priest, who was not available. She indicated that the multi-faith chaplain was okay to visit with her. She looked youthful and pretty in her bed but, as I asked her about her concern, she responded, “I am scared of dying.” Doctors had told her that she had an obstruction which was resulting in a removal of one of her kidneys. She was also experiencing blood pressure and diabetic issues.

She was alone at the hospital and her emotions were in a whirl with many thoughts on her mind as the surgery was imminent. We continued the conversation in a manner to address the frustration and fear she was feeling. She responded positively to my empathy and reassurance. She told me about her financial difficulties and that she would lose her home soon. Then she asked me, “Can you do me a favor?” I said, “Sure, what is it?” She asked, “Can you hold my hand?” I took her hand gently and prayed to God, asking Him to provide her with comfort, peace, relief from her worries and for a successful surgery. It was a moment that we both appreciated. After prayer, she asked me about myself and we spoke of our families. I reminded her that the Spiritual Care would be happy to be with her and that I would like to follow up with her during her stay. She seemed relieved and less anxious by the time I departed. I can only imagine how stressful it was for a lonely lady who was dealing with many issues in a strange place in the middle of the night.

From a personal point of view, conversations on faith or religion always remain behind the feelings or emotions of the patients during my visits. I focus on their current spiritual or emotional crisis within the hospital. My goal in my interactions with patients is to provide a safe and non-judgmental space built upon trust and a genuine human connection. After assessing their needs, sometimes I explore if they have a religious background or community, any spiritual practices such as reading holy texts, prayers, rituals, or meditations which might be helpful support for them. I also try to understand if any of their practices help them cope with their difficulties in any way. On the other hand, each patient is unique and each visit is different than the last. One common point is that when words cease to be enough, a warm touch on the hand or the shoulder, or a silent tear shed, become powerful enough to build the connection between the chaplain and the patient. The goal is to always share a genuine moment between two strangers, one of which may literally be on their death bed. It helps to remind us that our faith and appreciation of the Divine can unite us, and that we will all return to God someday.

Walking into patients’ rooms during random visits always demands courage, self-esteem, and a positive outlook, together with a strong sense of spirituality. But chaplains learn early on to overcome a fear of rejection when they initiate a visit, enter a hospital room and experience a patient who opens their heart in a slow but sincere manner.

Some people think it is about religion. But I found that people accept or reject a chaplain’s visit for a variety of reasons. Religion often never enters the conversation. Chaplains are, in most cases, expected to leave that part to the patients. We just carry them wherever they want to go. Sometimes people respond that they are “Okay that way,” which I interpreted as having their own way of meeting their spiritual or emotional needs. For many, loneliness was one of the main reasons to accept, and anger, the main reason to reject a visit from a chaplain.

In the emergency room, when doctors put forth their greatest efforts to save a patient’s life, death is oh so near. How this death, which we always imagine as being a million miles away from us, so close at that moment? I reflect; “Am I in the same room with the angel of death at this very moment?” The reality of death removes all blocks between the chaplain and the patient; it brings us back to our humanness and our primordial state in front of God.

I encounter lonely, elderly men. These were once tough men, brave men; men who fought in our country’s wars. They were hard workers, often at menial jobs done sacrificially to provide for their families. Most never knew how to express their emotions. Many of them, shattered by the horrors from fighting in wars and suffering family tragedies, needed to be heard. It is a privilege to be the one listening to their stories and moved by a compassion that was never before experienced.

It is not often that any of us witness older men shedding tears. In the privacy of our visit, they voiced their doubt, fear and anger. “No one should ever have to see what I saw, what I was involved in. God – where was God then?” My heart would be crying out to God, “How do I respond? What do I say?” They were asking difficult questions that deserved more than a glib reply. I did not possess the words or the compassion in my own strength. I needed to increasingly rely on God in my encounters. I too wondered “why” and felt their fear and frustration. I listened. I know “God works all things for the good for those who love him” (Romans 8:28). Yet, meeting these men and women, voicing their prayers and concerns to God with them, I grieved.

A life-threatening illness grants a saint’s wisdom to the most vulgar person. Not an automatic or an easy transition, but it cultivates the soul gradually, inch by inch. Since the time Albert learned about his cancer, he has been seeing through a different lens; “All my accomplishments, my goals and ambitions meant nothing for me in seconds when I learned that I had cancer.” Lost is the pleasure of health, and the reality of life and death are finally under daylight. The sick person has the longest time in the world to reflect on this.

Anxious and distressed, an old lady complains that the young do not understand the suffering that old age brings. “Why does God, whom we know as merciful and compassionate, let us suffer?” is a common question among the sick. Some patients are angry with God. Their inner struggle covers up the beauty behind the illness. Yet, it is not ours to correct anything too fast. Their feelings are precious. Acceptance of God’s will can eventually follow the anguish, uneasiness and questioning in the beginning of illness.

To say that life sometimes hurts and is often unfair is an understatement. And it does not satisfy the “why” questions. Facing what is a major fear of all people, the loss of all we hold dear – abilities, youth, dreams, beauty, wealth, pride, fame, life itself – we can only listen.

They see with the eye of certainty and I come to understand with them, that our bodies are prone to separation and death; and the pleasures of this world do not continue. This warning is very bitter and painful at first, yet then it becomes beautiful. We should remember that we are mortal; we have a duty in life and we should prepare well for the next life. It is said that a good friend is harsh but honest. So is illness, it seems.

Sometimes being around patients’ sadness, fear and hopelessness day after day is depressing. But the most draining encounters are with the ones who have turned completely away from God. I honestly grieved for those, who in their times of terrible tragedy, seemed to feel no need for God.

Amidst the dark thoughts, I hear a patient reminding me that life is not only about sickness, but it is a reflection of God’s beautiful Names in miscellaneous ways. I happen to see only the sad part of patients’ life stories, as a chaplain, but that is not all. “Just as, through hunger, you learn of His Name, the All-Providing, so too through your illness, you come to know His Name, the All-Healing.” Thoughtful as he is, Jack says: “I might have cancer now, but I appreciate life in general; there is so much that I am thankful for. Just one big thing that I learned from my sickness: I never thought that I took life for granted. But now, I understand that I did.”

Arthur Frank, a former cancer patient and the author of At the Will of the Body, says there is a problem with the view that physical recovery is the ideal ending of illnesses. He asks “if recovery is taken to be the ideal, how is it possible to find value in the experience of an illness that either lingers on as chronic or ends in death?” Along the way of a health problem, there is the opportunity for spiritual transformation and renewal. This renewal, as a result of physical illness, is the ideal. Either an illness ends with death or not, but one should be aware that there is more than pain that one can receive from illness. From Job we learn, “Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” (Job 2:10).

I feel that this man who became poor-looking and weak in the hands of his illness was one of the fortunate ones, as he benefited from this gift of his serious illness. While some of his fellows become neglectful and forget God Almighty through the calamity of good health, this man’s long talk was only about God’s beautiful Names. His illness is good health while for some of his peers good health is a sickness.

Listening to patients is the most valuable gift that one can offer them. Asking questions to make patients talk is one major task of a chaplain, and preaching is not a way to reach out to them without truly understanding their problems. Who would care to listen to any advice without given the right of being heard? As I listen to the words of wisdom pour out of this very old man, he reprimands me and says “You’re the one who should be preaching to me, but here I am preaching to you.” Yet I smile at these words of comfort about God’s love and our need for Him. And I remember the verse: “Those who say when afflicted by calamity: “To God do we belong and to Him is our return” (Qur’an, 2:156).

Lucinda Miller is ordained in the Free Methodist denomination and is now serving as a hospice chaplain. Gulsum Kucuksari is in the process of completing her PhD in Islamic Studies at the University of Arizona.

Notes

1. Said Nursi. The Gleams, Twenty-Fifth Gleam, NJ: The Light, Inc., 2008, p. 292.
2. Ibid.
3. Ibid. p. 293.