Chaplain George Burn on picking up the remnants

Wallets

I was rereading a chapter of Robert Fulghum’s book, Maybe-Maybe Not, the other day and came across an ice-breaker exercise he used with a men’s group. He asked everyone in the room to put their wallets on the table, open them up, and take everything out. You can imagine (now you are probably wondering what’s in yours) the array of pictures, expired and valid cards, credit card bills from a year ago, business cards, pieces of paper with phone numbers written on them (the person who gave it to you long forgotten). In the exercise, interestingly enough, men began to share pictures of their families, their identities, and some of their personal lives. I’m trying to remember the last time I opened mine with the intent of taking something out (other than money). As a chaplain, I have been present when nurses have searched for identification for someone and for the phone of a next of kin when a patient arrived in the ER, dead on arrival. I have wondered what lay hidden in little corners.

I once lost my wallet for a day and experienced that sickening THUD in the pit of my stomach when I found it was missing. That lump in my back pocket represents a great deal of my identity. I know what I know about myself, but can’t prove who I am without the papers and ID that I keep in there.

But I don’t need everything that my wallet currently contains and periodically it creates an imbalance in my sitting when it gets too full. Currently, I am at the stage in life when I want a simpler, lighter load of things to carry, not only in my wallet, but also in my life. I have most of what I want (and it feels like too much). I’ve achieved a great deal, and would be comfortable with less. Perhaps, it is time to discard things to make my load smaller. Voluntarily choosing to discard the unnecessary is a good thing.

But then I began to think about those who are in treatment in my institution facing death and the prospect of losing it all…everything they have been and are. It is as though someone is going through their life’s wallet and emptying it out onto the floor and throwing things away; they don’t have the choice of saying, “Hey, wait, give me that back!”

I have some questions:

If I were in this position, what would I want to keep?

What COULD I keep of my life that is of value…so much of it being discarded in a messy pile on the floor?

What do we, as chaplains, have to bring to others, whose lives are torn apart by dying?

I wonder if chaplains are the ones who help people pick up the remnants, help them to rearrange in piles the things to be kept, and perhaps other things to be discarded, all the while helping them to pull out the meaning of each remnant, laughing and crying as needed.

Do you have thoughts about spiritual development you’d like to share with your colleagues? Send an e-mail of any length to info@PlainViews.org.