I get an e-journal on medical chaplaincy that usually gets a brief look-over when it ends up in my inbox.  While the articles are usually either clinically-minded or introspective, there has been an ongoing back-and-forth discussion on what exactly the practice of chaplaincy should look like.

Chaplains have a bit of a blind task at times in the medical world.  We are asked to provide spiritual care for someone who may not be able to understand us well or at all due to dementia.  We may have folks who are even unresponsive.  The question obviously arises as to how that happens.

The answer has been called by some “the art of presence” or the “practice of presence”.  The idea is that some cases do not require direct intervention or active participation, only the conscious presence of a caring individual.  This has numerous benefits in the hectic world of medicine, where nobody has time to simply sit and be with someone for even 30 minutes. 

The question arose in discussion though about whether or not the chaplain’s primary stance is one of passivity and witness.  Chaplains are often trained in models of therapy that involve active listening, reflection, and unconditional positive regard.  But are there situations and circumstances that require more direct intervention?  Should we correct erroneous attitudes?  Should we give advice when asked?  What if I’m wrong?  Then again, what if I’m right?

I have given advice and offered correction, but only after I feel that the other person has been fully heard and when they feel that I have fully heard them.  I’ve been in situations where I’m at the end of the rope and asked for advice and not gotten it.  It is frustrating to be answered with silence but also a time to recognize that answers aren’t easy.

People tend to think I have a sad job, and that somehow performing funerals is the worst part of my job.  The truth is that having done my share of funerals and weddings, I much prefer funerals.

First, the guests at funerals typically aren’t drunk when they arrive.

Second, the guests at funerals typically aren’t thinking of drinking during the service.  I’m sure some are, and honestly so have I, but at least it doesn’t show quite as much.

Third, people at funerals will listen to you as a minister.  I’ve performed weddings where it was clear that I was an add-on.  People give more consideration to the napkins than to the minister or the sermon when planning a wedding.  But at a funeral, people tend to listen.  People are hurt and when they’re hurt they’re open to what you have to say.  So what do you say at a funeral?

Sometimes it’s hard to write a message for a funeral, and sometimes it isn’t.  I always try to point to Jesus though.  There’s no real point in my glorifying a person at a funeral, and I’m not always comfortable even saying that this person is in heaven when I may not have known them for more than a week.

The point of the funeral message is to point to Christ.  Anything else is usually disingenuous.  Worse, you may have missed the opportunity to be an agent of grace in someone’s life.  I obviously don’t do an altar call (or casket call for that matter), but there is no better time to share God’s love than when someone is mourning.  Even the strongest Christian needs to hear God’s grace when a loved one dies, not how nice a person the deceased is.