“A Hospital Chaplain & God’s Comfort”

Anne was brought to the hospital with an infection in her knees and hips so severe; she had not been able to get out of bed for nearly a year. At the young age of forty-two, this poor woman was facing extensive surgery plus a mountain of personal problems including drug abuse, family squabbles and a stack of unpaid bills. Anne was in big trouble.  

I was approaching the end of a long three months of chaplain training required to become a pastor in my denomination. I began as a brash young pastor who thought he could change the world and left the hospital a little older and wiser focusing more on changing me and leaving the “world changing” to God. I also learned to deeply respect and admire the hard work, tough training and dedication of those in the medical field. But even with all the training and the skills there is only so much healing, human beings can provide. The rest is up to the patient and God. 

Routine blood tests revealed an additional problem for our forty-two-year old sufferer. Anne was HIV positive and would likely develop full-blown symptoms of Aids soon. Can you imagine that? She was already suffering from so much… now aids! What a catastrophe! The doctor wisely called for the chaplain to accompany her, which in this case was me. I wanted to help but how? What could I possibly say or do that would help to resolve Anne’s dilemma or ease her suffering?

At one of our early meetings as trainees, the former business manager in me noticed some inefficiency in our visiting schedule and made the brash comment we could see more patients if we didn’t take so many breaks. The supervisor gave a knowing smile and said, “you will understand soon enough.” She was right! All too many patients like our 42-year-old woman soon helped me understand the real meaning of the word… break: a rest between two tragedies.  

After the doctor explained the meaning of HIV positive and the ramifications, she left. For nearly an hour Anne alternately talked and cried. She had been horribly abused much of her life and sought escape in the only way available hoping a local gang would satisfy her longing for friendship and love. Anne could not have been more wrong but by the time she realized her mistake, it was too late. The years of beatings, brutal sexual abuse and drugs took their toll.    

One requirement of chaplain training was “night shift” in the emergency room. Since this hospital was located in the poorest part of the city the emergency room resembled a M.A.S.H. unit in the middle of a war zone: accidents, fights and gunshot wounds. Often, after a shooting our duty could best be described as “riot control.” Friends and family would gather to offer support but often articulated it as rage: at the shooter, at society and occasionally even the hospital itself.

At one point, Anne, too was filled with rage: at her family who abused her, her so-called friends who used her and even God for seemingly abandoning her. I had no answers. Soon she would face excruciating surgery followed by a long, painful recovery only to cope with aids. What could any mere human being possibly say? “Would you like to receive communion?” She looked at me for the longest time… and with a tear beginning to run down her cheek, Anne nodded: yes! 

Later, that night, amidst the busyness and noise of a large metropolitan hospital a struggling student chaplain and a deeply troubled woman discovered the words of comfort only God can give: “Merciful God, we confess that we have not loved you… in the name of Jesus Christ you are forgiven. The body of Christ, given for you. Amen. The blood of Christ given for you. Amen. 

A hospital chaplain who thought he could do it all and a struggling woman who seemingly lost it all both discovered the greatest gift of all… the all encompassing comfort of God.

Several days later, following her knee and hip surgery, I was summoned to Anne’s room for a different purpose. “I sensed the presence of God in the room that night during communion and for the first time in my life I felt truly loved. Thank you! Now, I have a surprise for you!”  She stood up triumphantly and asked me to escort her on the first real walk she had taken in over two years: down the length of the hospital hall and back. This time it was my turn to cry.