Wading into the choppy surf of a suffering humanity;
bearing witness of the last breath of the dying with their family;
peering into lonely bloodshot eyes of those devastated by loss;
cherishing the sanctity of truth no matter how gut wrenching;
refusing to fill the liminal void with empty words;
sacred sittings in moments where nothing can be said;
there by their presence, not deterred by egregious pain.
As Paul says in Romans 12:15, “mourn with those who mourn, rejoice with those who rejoice.”
Behaviours as these above are the chaplain’s presence, transcending word, a communication of empathic symbiosis. A chaplain’s compassion comes from a place deep in the spirit, and as such, can never fail. A presence that does no harm and helps simply because it has the audacity to ‘be there’ and not run away from the devastation.
It is a language of love that speaks to every
suffering soul without uttering a syllable.
The incarnational tradition of the sacramental life is a “life that makes present and visible the realm of the invisible spirit.” Chaplaincy brings about such a reality. It is showing-up-and-shutting-up. It is the only thing that works; the stillness of God in the temerity of an impossible battle.
It is power in presence and the more devoid a chaplain is of themselves, the more a moment’s spiritual power manifests intransigent love that can neither be trounced nor besmirched.
Incarnational chaplaincy augers trust because
it has nothing to prove and nothing to gain.
It is a value-add with the sum of parts equalling a far greater value than the plain addition of the parts themselves. A model of pastoral care such as this is full of “God” without having even a hint of religion. It brings God into the space so God might do what only God can do.
There are some human situations that have no answer and make no sense no matter how much we try to explain them away. Such spaces God is invited into without even mention of the divine. And paradoxically, the divine ‘turns up’ each and every time.
The incarnational presence of a compassionate chaplain is peace to a soul whose circumstances overwhelm. Such a gift of compassionate presence brings space to contemplate excruciating impossibilities head-on, meeting truth, bringing clarity, even amid the pain.
The chaplain’s presence is a resilience afforded to the one in pain by their raw experience; their pain cannot kill them, it can only forge in them strength for the minute and for the morrow, a moment and day at a time, through the constancy of faith, borne of a hope that one day things will be better.
[1] Richard Foster, Streams of Living Water: Celebrating the Great Traditions of Christian Faith (London, England: HarperCollinsReligious, 1998), p. 272.
