Celebrating the crucifixion in the hospital

I know it's been awhile since I have actually written anything, it has been a whirlwind couple weeks and I am absolutely exhausted to be perfectly honest. I am slowly learning how to be a chaplain, something that I feel very unprepared and unqualified to do. I have responded to a couple "code blues" this week, sitting with family members in a hallway as the medical staff revived loved ones (one person survived, the other did not--which led to me being able to arrange a space for the family to gather and sit with the body of their loved one to say their goodbyes). No amount of seminary classes prepared me for this experience. No seminary class helped me figure out how to react when the pager goes off and next to the call back number is written "911."

I've sat and listened and prayed with a former Presbyterian missionary who is in his 80s while his wife was undergoing tests. I have had the privilege to stand with a family who spoke no English as their loved one lay dead on the viewing room bed--completely unable to talk with them, but was able to stand with them for six hours in silence, offering a comforting hand on the wife and daughter's shoulders. I was able to care for a family who was grieving around a hospital bed by intercepting a nurse was about to walk into the room with a body bag in hand to move their loved one. I was able to convince her to give me a few minutes to help the family have closure before she walked in and scared them. I was able to call in a priest for a Catholic patient who was dying and whom the family desired to be anointed. And it's only been one week of seeing patients. I have no idea what the rest of the quarter holds.

I've been really struggling with grief and suffering this week. Where is God in the midst of so much pain? Where is God when we pray for healing and healing doesn't come the way we want it to? Why does life have to hurt so much? We celebrated Good Friday in a chapel service there in the hospital for staff, families and patients to be able to attend, and I have to be honest, when I arrived at work that morning, thinking about Easter was the last thing I wanted to do. I was an emotional wreck--completely exhausted, and broke down in front of my group of chaplains when they asked how I was. I was not okay. But after some encouragement and support from my supervisor and peers I was able to wander back out onto the floors assigned to me and wasn't able to visit patients but was able to walk the halls and pray. Then it was time for the Good Friday service. I entered the chapel, required to be there, but not really in the mood. See, Good Friday services have always been celebrated in the nice, clean, safe, and pseudo-happy environments of a church. I've never been to one elsewhere. You show up as a family, no one is crying, any pain people have is pushed aside and "church faces" are safely in place--those faces that say "I may not have had a good week but I'm not about to let you know that." This year, I celebrated Good Friday in a room with doctors and nurses who desperately want to cure their patient's suffering. I celebrated with family members who were taking a break from bedsides. I celebrated with a few patients who were pushed in wheel chairs. And when the pastors asked questions and invited us to explore the darkness and suffering and pain of Good Friday something clicked. I think hospitals and prisons are much more meaningful places to celebrate a day focused on the pain and suffering of Jesus. Churches are too clean, too sterile. Suffering isn't as welcomed. Resurrection hope seems to have a more poignant meaning in a place where hope is all some people are clinging to. And for others they have lost hope completely. I've sat with both types of family this week. And for the first time, I resonated with Good Friday. I have always loved holy days--including Good Friday. But I've always loved the beauty and ritual surrounding it, I don't think I ever got it. Yesterday though, I started to understand the suffering Jesus came to conquer and endured himself. I celebrated his death in a place where so many others are facing their own. And while my questions and pain haven't subsided, I walked out realizing we have a God who understands our suffering more than we will ever fully know.

In closing I had to share this poem with you. I found it in my daily prayer book that I have been reading. It's called "Resurrection" and it talks of resurrection amidst pain, and how we have to endure pain to understand resurrection. May the Lord bless each of you this Easter weekend.

Resurrection by Mary Ann Bernard

Long, long, long ago;
Way before this winter’s snow
First fell upon these weathered fields;
I used to sit and watch and feel
And dream of how the spring would be,
When through the winter’s stormy sea
She’d raise her green and growing head,
Her warmth would resurrect the dead.

Long before this winter’s snow
I dreamt of this day’s sunny glow
And thought somehow my pain would pass
With winter’s pain, and peace like grass
Would simply grow. The pain’s not gone.
It’s still as cold and hard and long
As lonely pain has ever been,
It cuts so deep and far within.

Long before this winter’s snow
I ran from pain, looked high and low
For some fast way to get around
It’s hurt and cold. I’d have found,
If I had looked at what was there,
That things don’t follow fast or fair.
That life goes on, and times do change,
And grass does grow despite life’s pains.

Long before this winter’s snow
I thought that this day’s sunny glow,
The smiling children and growing things
And flowers bright were brought by spring.
Now, I know the sun does shine,
That children smile, and from the dark, cold, grime
A flower comes. It groans, yet sings,
And through its pain, its peace begins.