Rev. Jerry J. Griffin on talking with God

Daily Conversations
A Reflection on Spiritual Care

The usual pattern of “trauma alerts” and electronically generated pastoral care visit requests are often interrupted by the pager or a phone call. These intermittent summonses beckon the on-call chaplain to respond to myriad opportunities for walking beside patients, families or staff persons. Recently, such a call from a unit nurse signaled a need to be present with a man whose wife of many years had died while he was away from her bed.

Arriving on the unit, I noticed a cluster of people closely assembled just outside one of the patient rooms. Coming closer, I noticed a white-haired, frail-appearing man being carefully attended to by three persons. His wheelchair could have been a barrier to the sensitive urgings being directed toward him. It was not. There were no visible barriers. Soothing hands, focused eyes, bent-over body frames, and sonar-like ears were emitting easily identifiable messages of love and care.

“Are you Mr. Peabody?” I asked. “I am.” His immediate response was a surprise considering that he was grieving the death of his life-mate: “I don’t go to church.” Immediately perceiving the out-of-place value of that statement in my mind of minds, I found the words to acknowledge the statement. However, I voiced the urgent importance of what had just occurred and what he must be feeling.

His next statement applied a perspective of quality to his previous statement. “I talk with God every day.” My hand found his forearm. The tone of my voice emitted empathic understanding. My eyes were giving him signs that he was the only person on my mind at that moment. But, there was more….

“Mr. God, that’s what I call him, hasn’t told me his first name. So, I call him Sammy God…Mr. Sammy God. He and I have talked a lot.” My heart and soul veritably jumped at these words! Here is a man who truly knows God. Why, I never thought of personalizing God in such a way! I thought, “Why not?” With this warm and personal relationship with God, I needed to say nothing. In fact, I couldn’t! I was overcome by goose bumps and warming tears in my eyes.

It was obvious that the others clustered there, just as I was, were deeply moved and touched by this frail man’s spiritual strength. I was called to minister with him and those around him. He turned the tables on us.

“Mr. Sammy God…” the words bounced around within me … a first name for God. This man’s faith was not founded in the pews or stained glass windows of a building. He was empowered by a “this moment” relationship that allowed him to talk with God just like he would talk with anyone close and special to him.

Whatever theological or proper ruminations I might have had at that moment were smothered by Mr. Peabody’s tender and transparent identification of the Divine as a close and personal Presence. His grief over his wife’s death was grounded in his daily conversations with God. He felt the hand of his close friend and neighbor, Mr. Sammy God. His heartbeats were pulsating because of his friend’s ever-present love and care.

An offer for prayer was quickly accepted. A circle of touch engulfed Mr. Peabody. He looked up at me as if to say, “Let’s talk with Mr. Sammy God.” I took his cue. “Mr. Sammy God, here we are! Your friends, his family and friend and I surround him. You are in him, with him and through him….”

I was honored to have met Mr. Peabody that evening. Once again, the moment of death had provided a privilege for life. Thank you, Mr. Peabody and Mr. Sammy God!

[Of course, “Mr. Peabody” is not his real name, which was changed to protect his privacy.]

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