Chaplain Caitlin and the Magical Badge: Cold Calls and Pastoral Identity

By Caitlin

I am sure some of our most loyal readers have noticed that the frequency of our posts has really slowed down over the summer months. Never fear, we have not disappeared but we have been spreading the Presbyrista way in distant and mysterious lands.

I was sent north, making the daily trek up the majestic Interstate 35, far beyond the amazing 8th wonder of the world (IKEA!), all the way to the great Temple of healing—Temple, Texas that is-- known to the masses as Scott and White Hospital.

Yes, I have been working as a hospital chaplain for the summer and let me tell you the inside of a hospital often feels like a distant and mysterious land and it is wise to remember that patient often feel that way too. Our first day we spent the entire day just touring the hospital, getting lost in the maze of the Emergency Department and trying to decode the secret color code of scrubs that helps you differentiate the RNs (Registered Nurses) from the LVNs (Licensed Vocational Nurses) from the HUCs (Hospital Unit Coordinators) and so on. Then, still turned around and our heads spinning we were given badges that said “Chaplain” and told to go and serve.

Am I exaggerating…possibly.

Is that how it felt… absolutely.

So after just a few days of orientation I found myself staring at a closed hospital room door trying to muster the courage to knock, with very little plan of what I would do if someone answered and invited me in. Thank the Lord my first patient was a wonderful and sweet old woman who was about to be discharged and go home. We chatted and prayed together and 20 minutes later I emerged thinking, “Well that wasn’t so bad!”  

But that is the mystery of cold calls; you never know what will be on the other side of that door when you knock. Maybe it will be an older man who comments, “Honey, did you know there were lady chaplains?” or maybe it will be a 40 year old woman who is in so much pain from her hip replacement that she is scared that she will never walk again. You never know.

The badge you wear gets you in the room and gives you the authority to ask “How are you feeling today,” but then the magical power of the badge runs out because the badge does not tell you what to say to that crying woman or how to respond to that curious man. It does not show compassion or offer prayer, it does not hold a hand or listen attentively-- those things are up to you.

And I have to tell you the amazing thing is that I did all of those things, I held hands, I prayed, I listened, I comforted, I built relationships and trust, I brought calm and peace, I was a pastor. It was hit or miss, I left plenty of rooms wondering if I had been of any help, if it mattered that I had been there at all. But I left plenty of other rooms knowing that it mattered that I had been there and knowing that God had been there too. But even if I didn’t always notice it on a daily basis by, the end of the summer I felt like a chaplain. I felt like a pastor. I knew what it meant to have a “pastoral identity” and how that looked for me.

For me it looked like gathering a family around a loved one to speak words of prayer and grief when they were at a loss. It looked like speaking up and helping the doctors communicate with a scared patient in the Emergency room. It looked like celebrating the miracle of successful recovery and homecoming.

The badge gets you in the room, but what happens once you are there like a chemical reaction between you and the patient and the Holy Spirit. It is unpredictable, a little bit scary, and sometimes simply amazing.