Rev. Tom Baker on the mystery of life and death

"Dust to Dust"

Ash Wednesday began with a service in the hospital’s chapel. As each person came up to receive ashes they heard those familiar words, “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

After the service, moving from floor to floor, I imposed ashes in hallways, break rooms, and doorways. Everyone it seemed wanted, even needed, to wear an ashen cross rubbed onto their forehead. Do we wear them out of habit? Do we feel better believing that forgiveness is as easy as wearing ashes? As a chaplain in a large hospital I learned that Ash Wednesday is not a day to teach theology or church history. It’s a day to reach out and touch others with a sign of hope. It’s a day to remind ourselves that we came from God and that, one day, we will return to God.

As I carried ashes into the Surgical Intensive Care Unit a nurse asked me, “Do you have time to visit a family?” “Of course,” I said. She led me to a large group of people gathered around a hospital bed. Earlier that day, Elizabeth, a young-looking 85-year-old, had been in a van that was struck head-on by a truck. Doctor’s told her family she would not survive her multiple injuries. They recommended removing support and making her comfortable. Her sons, daughters, and grandchildren were in shock, filled with anger, hopelessness, and loss. Just yesterday Elizabeth was full of life; now she was dying in a hospital bed, unable to say goodbye or touch those she loved. We joined together in prayer and then sat in silence and cried, trying to find our way in the midst of such a tragedy. Her family believed she was “Going to a better place,” but they also knew that place would not be the same as having her with them. They were forced to say goodbye to the one who had raised, taught, guided, and loved them for so many years.

Many of them had ashes on their foreheads. I reminded them that those ashes are a symbol of our limited and vulnerable life and that God stands in the middle of all of our vulnerabilities and brings us hope; hope that doesn’t make everything better but reminds us God is with us at the darkest of times, especially in the SICU.

Leaving them, I visited a palliative care patient who I had been seeing for over two weeks. As I entered the room I could see she was actively dying. Her daughter sat by her side, holding her hand in silence, looking sad, exhausted. Everyday she asked, “Is today the day?” Is today the day my mother will die?” As I sat next to her she asked me a too familiar question, “Why hasn’t she gone yet – why is mom still with us?”

This is the life of a chaplain. One minute with a family struggling to cope with death, the next with a family wondering why death had not yet stopped by. There is so much mystery and so many questions as we struggle to understand death or explain it away. Still, that ash on our foreheads reminds us that mystery has touched all of our lives. We can neither understand nor explain it. All we can do is lean into the mystery. That way when mystery comes crashing into our lives, or when we wonder why mystery hasn’t stopped by, we’ll hopefully be ready.

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