Rev. Peggy Muncie on being overwhelmed

For Those Who Care for Me

Violence is something that police personnel or United States armed forces in the war zones of Iraq and Afghanistan live with each day. Yet inner city urban hospital chaplains also live and minister in emotionally violent zones. The bullets, the missiles and car bombs are not direct hits. It is the destruction wrought by the bullet, the knife, the speeding car, the anger-filled shove and venomous word that opens us to become the first-hand witness of violence that cuts deep in the soul.

The Emergency Department and the Intensive Care Unit become the repositories of violent acts. They receive the trauma victims. The Chaplain heeds the call, the page to come, to minister. It can overwhelm.

In one week, I saw an 18-year-old stabbed multiple times, his aorta ripped apart by a knife-wielding crowd at 2 o’clock in the afternoon. At 6:30 that evening the surgeon and I were carrying the news of her son’s death to an immigrant mother and 13-year-old younger son alone in a foreign land. The grief overwhelmed.

I learned of a 17-year-old mortally wounded by stray gunshots in the neighborhood where he lived. Again the words, “I’m sorry for your loss” were uttered. Their world of grief was entered. It overwhelms.

A man in the ICU brutally attacked playing dominos in the park and left for dead. He was brain dead. I walked with his wife and the organ donor network support person to possibly turn this violent death into a gift of life. Yet, even inside the playing out of this resurrecting act of love in the midst of grief was more violence. Mean and angry words spoken by an estranged daughter of the deceased to her stepmother, “You pulled the plug on my father, you b---- for the insurance! He is not dead.” In her own grief and anger she was acting out. Demanding control of that which she had no control was her goal. Her own pain of a recent arrest and losing custody of her child was too much to bear; she could take no more. Lashing out was her way to cope. She could not talk through her pain. The pain overwhelmed.

A young, skilled elevator construction engineer is caught up in angry words with another on the job. He lost his balance and plummeted stories to his death. His wife, son and aging parents come in stunned shock to view a body marred beyond recognition and bid a last farewell. It overwhelms.

I see pure violence in many forms each day. I compassionately walk with the victims who bear the grief of this violence. They leave an impression on my soul. I wonder, Is this battle fatigue? Do we to suffer from the PTSD of our own urban battlefield? We do. It is Compassion Fatigue. It is real.

I thank God for the loves of my life who listen to me: A spouse who seeks to comprehend the depth of the rapid-fire pain. Daughters who pull their mother back with good humor and the innocence of youth. It is my family who helps me emotionally step from hospital to home each day; colleagues who allow me to process all the traumatic sights we share; a spiritual director who helps me to focus on the assurance of God’s love; a massage therapist whose hands rub the tension filled muscles to relax; a physical therapist and a Pilates trainer who share in keeping me strong physically.

Healing is a gift of God. As a chaplain this belief is deeply embedded in my mind and spirit, in my very being. I believe God cares for those who seek to do the will of God. God encourages chaplains to reach out and build the networks of support we need to be sustained for doing the spiritual healing we have been called to do, especially in the midst of all the violence we encounter.

As a chaplain, I need to be connected and supported to many who love and care for me. This is my strength and my salvation. This is the love of God in Christ alive for me.

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