(Each Saturday, a faith leader offers a personal perspective in this space. To become part of this series, email religion@recorder.com)
I remember being nervous at the open door of the woman’s hospital room. I knocked and took a few tentative steps forward, introducing myself as I did. I was enrolled in Baystate Medical Center’s chaplaincy training program and was assigned to this patient’s unit. Her care team had thought a visit from a chaplain — even one in training — might provide a welcome distraction from the pretty serious test results she was awaiting.
I quickly learned I was right to be nervous. The woman was direct and to the point with me as I entered: “Sorry, honey, but a chaplain is about the last person I want to see.” The woman quickly explained that she was not religious, and anyway if she wanted to talk about spirituality or faith she would really prefer someone older, someone closer to her age.
Sometimes we’re just not the right person to provide the support someone needs — and that’s OK. That was part of our training, too, to accept and honor the boundaries of the person who is actually in front of you. At the same time, though, she did seem terribly anxious. I planned to leave and add a note to the patient’s chart that could help the team find a better-matched visitor.
But as I went to leave, the woman sighed. I paused, trying to reassure her with my eyes and smile that she could speak freely with me. She apologized for being blunt and explained that she used to drive trucks for a living, that maybe she was more gruff than she meant to be from years of hard, dangerous work. She said she was in a lot of pain.
My nerves vanished. “You know, that’s interesting — I just spent the last three years of my life in a warehouse loading the trucks you used to drive.” She took my measure with skeptical but suddenly curious eyes: “Well,” the woman said finally, “now that is something I’d like to hear about.”
I pulled up a chair and about an hour later we had swapped life stories. We even ended up talking a little about religion. She talked about how her father used to take her to church, that he liked to sing, and that once, when she was still a child, her whole church went out on a picket line together after a worship service, though she couldn’t remember what they were picketing.
Her father had driven trucks, too; she wanted to be like him. I could hear in her voice a latent fondness for the church that had meant so much to her father. And when she spoke of him, she smiled and laughed, and for a moment forgot her pain.
Things rarely go according to plan, but some things are meant to be.
The Rev. David Jones is the minister at the First Congregational Church (UCC), an Open and Affirming congregation, which has served as a center for prayer in Ashfield for over 265 years. Today’s congregation reflects the region’s diversity, is community-oriented, is in love with contemporary and traditional music, is engaged in missions that address the climate crisis, racism, and food insecurity, housing the Hilltown Churches Food Pantry in its Friendship Hall. The church was recently awarded a $50,000 grant to build relationships and tell the stories of common struggle and hope across Western Mass, and will celebrate a newly restored organ with a concert series this fall. First Congregational Church is currently worshipping in person with proper COVID-19 precautions and online via Zoom. Whoever you are and wherever you are on life’s journey, you are welcome to join us. Phone: 413-628-4470; Website: www.ashfielducc.org