Offering hope: Is there life on this side of death?
As I began my morning routine, I reflected on the daily e-mail that appears in my inbox from Richard Rohr’s website. Today’s message was “Hope: What word of hope do we have to offer to the millions of people in the world who see no meaning in their lives?”
For most people in the world the question is not, “Is there a life on the other side of death?” It is, rather, “Is there life on this side of death?” Until we Christians give evidence that there is life on this side of death, the world has no reason to believe our dogmas or our giant churches. It doesn’t need our words of hell. It needs some evidence of heaven.
Powerful words that took me back to my days as a chaplain in a large hospital on the West Coast. As a student in Clinical Pastoral Education, I requested two patient populations to serve: oncology and substance abuse. My supervisor gave me the look that later would become quite familiar in our relationship – and asked me to reflect further on whether this might be a rather ambitious journey for a first assignment.
I recall my response was “no further reflection needed; this is my reason for being here.” My call and my journey were influenced by a friend who had died of cancer and my dad who had died from complications of alcoholism. The oncology unit of the hospital welcomed me with open arms. The approval process for a chaplain to provide services in the residential rehabilitation unit for patients suffering from substance abuse was rigorous. My first in a series of interviews was with the program’s executive director, a former Marine. He had a military posture and presence. I felt very small as I sat in the chair across from his desk.
His comfort level increased as we continued to meet and he understood my reason for requesting the assignment. He agreed to accept my services with the stipulation that I facilitate a weekly group session on spirituality in addition to the one-on-one services I had offered. The thought of a weekly group session terrified me but I found myself answering quickly in the affirmative.
I learned more in the group sessions than I had during my entire time in my master’s program in pastoral care. This was the real essence of pastoral care. I had some bright moments when I journeyed with people who sought meaning and purpose. I had some aha moments when the majority of the group walked out of the room, unable to sit quietly for a guided meditation. A post-reflection caused me to wonder – “what was I thinking?”
As I continued in the chaplaincy program, I found my experiences in both of these areas, oncology and rehabilitation, provided nourishment to each other. Many of my experiences with people nearing the end of their lives in oncology translated to the work in the weekly group sessions. Those in my group were interested in my work with patients at end of life and patients at end of life were very interested in the group work.
During the next few months, a number of people in the weekly group sessions signed up for one-on-one sessions. An African-American man named Henry, who was in his late 60s, joined me for a one-on-one session late on a Friday afternoon during Lent. He looked exhausted but his eyes still displayed an interest in life and the search for meaning and understanding. He shared his story of a life-long battle with drugs and alcohol that had started at a very young age. He looked out the window at intervals as if expecting to see someone or something.
When Henry finished his story, he looked me directly in the eye and reached for my hand. He referred to my work with patients in the oncology unit, those at end-of-life and asked a question that was really a statement on his part: “You worked with people with cancer who are afraid to die?” After I affirmed his statement, he said, “We’re not afraid to die; we’re afraid to live.” Henry was referring to himself and the many other people in the rehabilitation unit suffering from substance abuse and related illnesses.
It was a life-changing moment to hear the wisdom and pain that this man was able to share. Everything I learned in that moment and the moments that followed could not be summed up easily into words but it became part of the integration of my ministry in the months to follow. Whenever I am present with someone who is near death and who is afraid, I feel Henry’s presence.
I look back on Richard Rohr’s reading today “is there a life on the other side of death?” or is it “Is there life on this side of death?” While at times it may not appear so, both are questions that help us in our search for meaning and purpose.
