Chaplain Joan Paddock Maxwell on an unexpected hymn

Sing to the Lord a New Song

Some time ago I got a call from an ICU nurse asking for a visit to a patient, who I’ll call Mrs. Jones, who was believed to be actively dying. When I asked about her faith tradition, the nurse said, “All I know is she says she’s ‘hanging on to Jesus.’” I grabbed my Bible and went to the ICU.

After checking in with her nurse, I went into her room. Mrs. Jones was a middle-aged woman, eyes closed, lying on her back, very still, her body horribly swollen from the IV fluids. I slipped my hand under hers and noticed there was no flexion in her wrist — when I lifted her hand slightly her whole swollen arm rose with it, as stiff as a tree trunk, and nearly as heavy. After a brief silent prayer for guidance I opened my Bible and read a few verses about “abide in me” from the Farewell Discourse of the Gospel of John.

Then I stopped and simply stood there, holding her hand, and after a few moments Mrs. Jones’s eyes opened and she smiled at me with her eyes. “I’m Chaplain Maxwell,” I said. “I understand you’re hanging on to Jesus. I hang on to Jesus too. That's why I came to be with you. Is that OK?” She gave me assent with her eyes. “Would you like me to pray?” I asked her. Again she assented, and I prayed. She closed her eyes during the prayer.

When the prayer was over, I stopped, and after a little time she reopened her eyes and again smiled at me. Then she opened her mouth – for the first time since I had come into her room – and began to sing. In a lovely, soft voice she sang a beautiful hymn to Jesus, one that I had never heard before but clearly a hymn, with a simple tune and words that rhymed. I was able to follow the tune and so hummed along with her as she sang. It was an amazing moment, this hymn rising out of her dying body, the two of us singing in the middle of the ICU with life-sustaining machines beeping in the background. Clearly she was getting in voice before joining the heavenly choir.

When she finished, I reminded her that (as her nurse had told me) she had family due in about 20 minutes, and asked her if she wanted to get a little sleep before they came. Once again she smiled, then closed her eyes, and fell asleep. I tiptoed out.

She died the next day.

As do many other chaplains, I find song a helpful pastoral tool. After checking as to patient’s religious preference, I sing with demented people – familiar Christmas carols, even in August, can sometimes bring a moment of order to an Alzheimer patient’s chaotic world. And I occasionally sing to people who are dying after being extubated. Christmas carols seem appropriate to me for Christians here as well, since the patient is entering a new life in God.

But this is the first time in my experience a dying patient has initiated song. As I reflect on the encounter an image arises of a golden stream of light pouring through the window. Did it originate in the patient’s heart, or in the heart of God? Perhaps in that moment they were one and the same.

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