the captive

when i entered the hospital room, i was, as usual, filled with some fear and trepidation. visiting terminally ill people as a chaplain can have that effect on a person. at least it does on me.

but this visit turned out to be dramatically different than any other in my 30+ years of doing ministry. i left feeling inspired, in awe and, if honest, a bit jealous.

except for the smile, the 80-something woman looked like she had just been carted out of a ww11 concentration camp. her arms, head and shoulders were just bones covered by pale white skin that was wrinkled and hanging lifelessly from her skeletal infrastructure. it was obvious her muscles, ligaments and tendons had long since gone awol.

had the year been 1945 she surely would have been a poster child for the war’s atrocities.

yet here she was, many decades later, lying comfortably in a hospital bed and dressed in a freshly laundered blue gown instead of a faded, dirty striped uniform. her physical appearance did not match her attire.

the woman was still among the living…at least for the moment. that is why the admitting physician made a spiritual care consult for that afternoon such a high priority. the doctor even typed the word “stat” in the electronic order emphasizing the urgency.

when she saw me standing in the doorway and heard i was a chaplain she was positively giddy.

“i’m going home!”

incredibly, her smile got even bigger than before. she stretched out her arm in my direction in hopes i would come closer and greet her properly.

considering her physical appearance and what i knew about the grim medical prognosis, i was shocked. yet i was also happy because in my experience those are the three sweetest words a patient in a hospital can utter. having been sentenced to spend time in one myself years earlier i knew firsthand how dreadful it could be.

after my brain processed all the above in real time, i responded to the announcement in a timely and appropriate way.

“you’re going home?!”

“yes!” she repeated. “i’m going home!” the woman was so excited she could hardly contain herself.

because of that i rushed forward to the side of the bed and grabbed her outstretched hand. to my palm the thing impersonating her hand felt like a well-traveled brown paper sack filled with sticks and rocks. but congratulations were in order, for home is always better than being stuck in a hospital.

this was good news.

“i’m so happy for you!”

“yes, praise god, i’m going home to be with jesus!”

i was surprised. i thought “home” meant brick and mortar, but as a believer in jesus christ she was referring to pearly gates and streets of gold.

in her eyes, she was not only imprisoned in a hospital but in human flesh as well. stage four cancer had ravaged her body and tumors were trying to burst forth out of her abdomen like tulip bulbs emerging from the soil in spring. pain and desperation had brought her to the er.

once there, the woman was told what she no doubt already knew: “you’re dying.”

escaping to go back to her double-wide in rural missouri did not inspire hope, but her faith in jesus did. the doctor and other clinicians did their best to help with her symptoms, but she was sentenced to spend the rest of her life in hospice.

for the next 15 minutes she talked and i mostly listened. it was not preachy; on the contrary, her words nourished me down to my soul, one human to another. i was reminded it is, indeed, better to give than receive. i can say that because as she talked i—not the patient—was on the receiving end.

she described “home” as a place of beauty, wonder and delight, and her savior as kind, loving and faithful.

her words were like pachelbel’s “canon in d” for the ears and reese’s peanut butter cups for the tastebuds.

when it came time to pray, i thanked jesus for being a promise-keeper and she told the lord how much she looked forward to meeting him face-to-face. the two of them had an appointment and while she did not know the exact day or time, it was clear she preferred sooner rather than later.

when i opened my eyes, her head was still bowed and she was silently and reverently savoring her future. while the woman’s emaciated and cancer-ridden body was here on earth, her thoughts were in the heavenly realms.

after she finally lifted her head, we both knew it was time to part ways. i had places to go and people to meet, and so did she.

she released her grip on my right hand and i on hers.

“goodbye, ruth. it was nice meeting you.”

“it was nice meeting you, too, chris.”

i turned around and walked towards the door, but there was a whiff of melancholy in her words, so i stopped and looked back to say one last thing.

“goodbye…for now.”

i had used that phrase many times at funerals and it seemed perfect in that moment. it had been comforting for the bereaved in the past and, just maybe, it would accomplish the same with this pow wearing a hospital wristband.

she was still smiling, but there was definitely a subtle change. her humanity was showing more now than before. yet there were clearly no regrets or doubts regarding her fate. none.

it would be death followed by jesus.

and that was it. my urgent, doctor-ordered spiritual care patient visit was complete.

the initial fear and trepidation were long gone. in their stead, i was inspired, in awe and, if i’m honest, a bit jealous.

i was inspired and in awe of someone whose faith had somehow been victorious over the pain and devastation of stage four cancer. and i was jealous because i realized just how small my own faith seemed in comparison.

i wanted what she had and wondered whether her abundance of spiritual contentment, joy and hope could have been achieved apart from earthly pain and suffering. i had my doubts.

after leaving the room i did what i frequently do after visiting terminally ill patients: i found a quiet place to close my eyes and silently wrestle with both god and my thoughts.

i had just witnessed what happens when the full power of faith is unleashed upon the human soul: an all-you–can-eat buffet of joy and hope. while i had spent years reading, studying and even preaching about those things, i had never seen them with my own eyes. not like this.

after regaining my composure, i headed to the next room to talk with another person temporarily held captive in a human body. as usual, i was accompanied by some fear and trepidation.