WRideout
08-10-2016, 08:57 PM
I was doing rounds on the hospice ward at the VA hospital, as part of my clinical hours required for the Clinical Pastoral Education unit I was enrolled in. CPE, as it is called, is basically training for chaplains and the VA hospital seemed a perfect place to practice. The hospice ward is usually a quiet place, and on this occasion, my footsteps on the floor sounded almost noisy. I knocked on the door of one room, and was granted entrance.
Inside there were three people, one an elderly man sitting propped up in bed with his eyes closed. I understood them to be the ailing veteran, his wife, and their daughter. I had made many hospital visits before for church members, so I thought I knew exactly what to do. I leaned over, and introduced myself to the veteran, although he gave no response. His breathing seemed labored, and he had a two day growth of beard. His eyelids hung heavily on his lined face. I continued, assuming that even if he didn’t hear me, his family would. The Psalms always work in these situations, although I didn’t want to sound trite or like I was following a formula. I thumbed through my Bible to Psalm 102 and started reading in his ear.
This wasn’t a Psalm I had memorized, but it started out okay, and I was sure it would work. Then a few lines in, I got to the part about days vanishing, and bones burning like glowing embers. Suddenly I was panicked. Psalms are supposed to be nice, and uplifting, aren’t they? Here I was reading a lament to a man who was dying, and it did not sound uplifting to me. It occurred to me that if I just act like I know what I am doing, no one will know any different. So I plowed on through the psalm reading with as much rhythm and enunciation as I could muster. I talked to family for a moment, and then left the room, hoping I hadn’t done too much damage. A few days later they sent a note to the head Chaplain, expressing appreciation for my visit.
I puzzled over that episode for a few years. I couldn’t quite understand how that particular Psalm had been the right one for them. Then one day out of the blue, it hit me. I thought, if I were lying in a hospital bed, dying, I would not want happy stuff. No one would be able to convince me that this was all going to work out really well. I would want someone else know that my suffering was real, and I was having a hard time with it. I would want someone to care that I hurt. I would want to be able to tell that to God.
I need not have worried. The God that I worship is not a distant, detached being. He humbled himself to come to earth in human form, and live through every human experience. Our God knows suffering, and he is with us in our moment of sorrow. Jesus Christ is Emmanuel, God with us, to the end.
Wayne
Inside there were three people, one an elderly man sitting propped up in bed with his eyes closed. I understood them to be the ailing veteran, his wife, and their daughter. I had made many hospital visits before for church members, so I thought I knew exactly what to do. I leaned over, and introduced myself to the veteran, although he gave no response. His breathing seemed labored, and he had a two day growth of beard. His eyelids hung heavily on his lined face. I continued, assuming that even if he didn’t hear me, his family would. The Psalms always work in these situations, although I didn’t want to sound trite or like I was following a formula. I thumbed through my Bible to Psalm 102 and started reading in his ear.
This wasn’t a Psalm I had memorized, but it started out okay, and I was sure it would work. Then a few lines in, I got to the part about days vanishing, and bones burning like glowing embers. Suddenly I was panicked. Psalms are supposed to be nice, and uplifting, aren’t they? Here I was reading a lament to a man who was dying, and it did not sound uplifting to me. It occurred to me that if I just act like I know what I am doing, no one will know any different. So I plowed on through the psalm reading with as much rhythm and enunciation as I could muster. I talked to family for a moment, and then left the room, hoping I hadn’t done too much damage. A few days later they sent a note to the head Chaplain, expressing appreciation for my visit.
I puzzled over that episode for a few years. I couldn’t quite understand how that particular Psalm had been the right one for them. Then one day out of the blue, it hit me. I thought, if I were lying in a hospital bed, dying, I would not want happy stuff. No one would be able to convince me that this was all going to work out really well. I would want someone else know that my suffering was real, and I was having a hard time with it. I would want someone to care that I hurt. I would want to be able to tell that to God.
I need not have worried. The God that I worship is not a distant, detached being. He humbled himself to come to earth in human form, and live through every human experience. Our God knows suffering, and he is with us in our moment of sorrow. Jesus Christ is Emmanuel, God with us, to the end.
Wayne