Rev. Jeffrey Palmer on building a human connection

Doing Nothin’ is Somethin’

“So, what do you do?” I envy people who can give one-sentence job descriptions. Making contact at social gatherings, sporting events or plane flights is easy if you can say, “I’m a woodcarver” or “I sell pet food to yak owners.”

It was humorist and commentator Art Buchwald who said, “The best things in life aren’t things.” My work involves doing “no–thing,” which might be confusing to people and make them suspicious that I’m doing nothing. It might sound weird, but I’ve spent twenty years in hospitals learning how to do nothing, or I should say, no–thing.

My job is not high profile. I don’t bring things to the bedside: no treatments, no pills, no invasive and unpleasant tests. I bring myself. That’s it; college, graduate school, a chaplain-residency and subsequent work experience . . . all for “no–thing.”

Life is a mysterious adventure with many variations, nuances and contradictions. I think it was John Lennon who said, “Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.” The chaplain’s role is to do “no–things” that may be big things. These “things” may be significant conversations and/or even sacred moments. Something subtle, yet powerful and life affirming may happen when a patient tells me the story of their illness. With the unburdening of the soul, with tears or laughter, there is an opening of the heart. If the tightly constricted spirit lets go of tension, there may be a decreased need for pain medication or a change in attitude.

Especially in the early phases of communicating with a patient or family member, I work at building a bridge, a human connection. People may be uncomfortable or guarded about talking with me. They may see me as the messenger of God-talk or “doom and gloom.” Or, they might not see a relationship between spiritual health and illness. And yet, people need to tell stories, because stories remind us of our common humanity. It is always important to affirm humanity in the midst of clinical situations. The world of medical technology may challenge our perceptions of balance, our fundamental harmony with nature, self, others and God. Bridge building is necessary because life, however we define it, is something we all share in common. We’re all in this together.

The Chaplain is a shaman in the experience of being lost and found. Shamans are mediators between worlds. In indigenous cultures, the shaman (or priest) brings powerful symbols to bear upon the ills of his or her tribe. One soulful description of disease is the experience of being lost in a dark forest. Author David Wagner prescribes, “Stand still. The trees and bushes beside you are not lost. Wherever you are is called HERE. And you must treat it as a powerful stranger, must ask permission to know it and be known. The forest breathes. Listen. It answers, ‘I have made this place around you.”’[1] Sometimes my role is to stand still with another until they can get their bearings again.

Compassion is being present to listen without judgment. It connects us to the Source, Power, or Holy One who put us here.

Teaching is also a useful metaphor for what I do. When there is a teachable experience in our lives, an “AH-HA” moment, we often say that this leads to transformation. Real change is difficult for us because we become so attached to our identities, expectations, habitual responses, and a particular attitude or outlook. For real change to occur, there has to be a shift at the center of our being, not just a rearrangement of “things.” This real change, or transformation, is an idea that religion calls awakening, enlightenment, or repentance. It involves a 180-degree turnaround. We start moving in an entirely new direction. With that in mind, and only at the patient’s invitation, I try to ask the right questions for the “Ah-ha” moment to happen. To borrow an image from singer/songwriter Neil Young, I’m a “miner for a heart of gold.”

 

[1] "Lost" by David Wagoner is included in the collection Good Poems, edited by Garrison Keillor, Viking Press, New York, NY, 2002, 219.

 

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