From the Other Side of the Rail

For years I have written about what it means to be the Episcopal Chaplain at the Bedside. Today I am at the bedside, but, as I have often said to hospital staff in my care, I’m “on the other side of the rail.”

Specifically, today I am the husband of a patient. My Best Beloved is the patient, and as we have long been explicit about, I am her husband, and neither her priest nor her chaplain.

This is not the first time I have been “on the other side of the [bed] rail;” but it is one of the most acute we have known. Let me share some of those feelings.

First, I have great hope. I know who is caring for her. I know everyone’s credentials, and something of their skills. Indeed, we are in the hospital I serve, and by her choice. She wanted to be here, trusting in the people and in the care. I know what to expect, and what to expect is very good.

Second, I am afraid. I have been a chaplain more than 30 years. I know what can happen. My Best Beloved has been a nurse more than 20 years, and she knows, too. This is not a matter of distrust. It’s an awareness that stuff happens, even in the best of circumstances; and suddenly those circumstances aren’t “best” any more. As I often comment, I know too much. I’ve seen too much. With the best people, and all the hope in the world – which is pretty much where I’ve started – I’m all too conscious of the randomness in life. So, I can’t get away from the fear.

Third, I have good support. The Rector spent hours with us this morning – well, with me, because we didn’t have that much time before she was taken to the OR. I am in my own house, as it were, with people who know me and are concerned for me. My colleagues have already been with me – in one moment literally surrounding me – assuring me of their concern and of their prayers. I do not have the stress some have of going through such an experience alone; and I can’t say just how much that helps me.

Fourth, I trust that God is with me. Granted, there’s that part of me that can say, “I wish God had prevented the need for this altogether.” However, since I’ve long believed that God doesn’t micromanage, I know that’s an emotional reaction, an awareness of my own powerlessness. So, it’s a bit of a stretch to say that I’m aware that God is with me. But in the moments come those things that sustain me: support from others; the snippets of music, and especially the Taize chants, that reassure me; the narrow but important Pentecostal streak that runs through me. I’m no better than anyone else at touching God and knowing; but I trust.

And that is today. That is my morning as the patient’s husband. It helps for me to share this. With time and reflection, too, this will help me be a better chaplain and a better priest (and I will never be done learning to be a better chaplain and a better priest). But that’s down the road. These feelings, these concerns, these hopes: this is my morning on the other side of the rail.

Coming Soon: Fewer Episcopal Hospitals

In case you haven’t heard, the Diocese of Texas has decided to sell the St. Luke’s Episcopal Health System, including the flagship Saint Luke’s Episcopal Hospital of Houston, to Catholic Health Initiatives (CHI). You can find the story in the Episcopal New Service at ; and it was picked up at Episcopal Cafe. According to reports, “CHI has committed to maintain all current physician models and all employees will continue to be employed by St. Luke’s.” You can learn about more CHI here. Their network is literally coast to coast.

Not quite six years ago I wrote at Episcopal Cafe about Episcopal health ministries. In that article I noted at that time 17 hospitals, identified by digging through the Episcopal Church Annual (better known as The Red Book). Since that post the systems in the Diocese of Texas and in the Diocese of West Missouri (in which I serve) have both added services and hospitals. I don't know these days how many Episcopal hospitals or health systems remain. I appreciate the continuing commitment of the Diocese of Texas to supporting primary care in underserved communities. At the same time, I'm sad that there will now be that many fewer Episcopal hospitals.

On Practice and Discipleship: Sermon for Third Easter, Year C

I preached this Sunday at St. Mary Magdalene Episcopal Church in Kansas City. The lessons brought me to the practice of discipleship - or, rather, practice and discipleship; and a favorite hymn. Take a few minutes and listen. You can link to it here.

A Conversation on Conversations

This past week the Center for Practical Bioethics hosted the 2013 Joan Berkley Bioethics Symposium - Conversations at the Crossroads. At the web site you can see the list of speakers who participated in the Symposium. In due time as well the individual presentations will be available at the Center's web site. However, one part of the Symposium is already available. In the midst of the day, keynoter Ellen Goodman was interviewed live on "Up to Date," a daily program of KCUR, the Kansas City NPR station. Goodman, well known as a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist, spoke about The Conversation Project, an organization she started to support and encourage families in talking about values and goals for care at the end of life. That show has been archived, and can be heard here. 

I have long said that these are conversations that need to happen at home and well before there is a need. That is also the purpose of The Conversation Project. Goodman speaks about how this program grew out of her own experience. It's well worth an hour of your time to hear what she has to say.

Good Friday 2013

I did not go tonight

To my accustomed place.

I chose instead something familiar

Yet different.

Some place known and convenient,

Yet different.

And it was not right.

I do not say that anything was wrong –

Wrong in the doing,

Wrong in the intention.

I do not say that anything was done wrong –

Wrong in the preparation,

Wrong in the execution.

But, it was not right.

It was not as I expected;

But that was what I expected.

It was not as I would have done it;

But, I was not doing it.

I did not expect it to be right.

But, it was not right.

It was beautiful,

But just enough wrong

To cause discomfort.

It was fitting,

But just enough off of fit

To leave me frustrated.

It was familiar,

But just enough unfamiliar

To set me on edge.

It was comfortable,

But just enough uncomfortable

To cause distress.

And I was stressed;

And my feet didn’t fit,

And my knees were out of place,

And my hamstrings ached,

And my back was tight,

And my shoulders were strained.

I did not go tonight

To my accustomed place;

And where I went

What I heard unsettled me;

What I saw distressed me;

What I felt discomfited me.

And on reflection,

It was absolutely right.