Popcorn and Prayers

Chaplain. Minister. Pastor. Up until a couple of years ago, these words held very little personal meaning for me.  Even though I was attending divinity school and pursuing my Master of Divinity, none of those terms had been relevant to my experience thus far. For example, many of my peers had year-long internships with local congregations. My year-long internship, however, was with Belmont University as a teaching assistant.

This picture was taken after I gave my first sermon-
which happened AFTER I graduated from divinity school!

Nevertheless, all of that changed when I decided that I wanted to pursue some type of career in chaplaincy. With almost zero prior experience, I began a position as a chaplain at a hospital, and within one day, I was suddenly supposed to think of myself as a chaplain. This sudden need to include “chaplain” as a part of my identity was a bit of a shock to my system.The first couple of times that a staff member referred to me as a chaplain, I remember looking over my shoulder to see who was behind me. It took me a few seconds to realize that I was the one that they referring to- I was this mysterious chaplain person that was supposed to support patients/families in the midst of acute crises.

I have grown significantly since I first started chaplaincy two years ago, but I still often reflect on what it means for me to be a “chaplain.” For example, I often wonder about what it means for me to take on a “chaplain” identity- and to what degree that can actually be separated from my identity as just “Anne.”

Let me describe a recent scenario for further illustration. A couple of weeks ago, I was on call all weekend for my current hospice job. Now, this was my first weekend on call since starting the position, and all of the other chaplains told me that we rarely get paged. Additionally, we have an hour to respond in the event that we do get paged. So I decided to just live my weekend as I normally would, and I would just make sure that I had my work phone with me in the rare event that I was paged.  Surely, the odds would be in my favor.

So, Saturday comes around, and I decide to go to a matinee with two of my friends. I’m feeling pretty content at the afternoon movie- these two girls are the type of friends that I just feel really relaxed around- so I just go about enjoying myself. I get a huge popcorn/soda…I sit in my usual aisle seat in preparation for my normal 5 trips to the restroom…I prop my feet up…I start giggling with my friend about a silly inside joke….and then the previews start. I start stuffing my face full of popcorn, and I settle in happily to watch the movie.

Literally two minutes into the second preview, I feel my work phone vibrate. Oh crud. Someone is actually calling me!!! What?! I frantically put my popcorn bucket in the seat next to me, and I slam my feet to the ground. A few choice words come out of my mouth as I leave the theater to answer the phone. I talk to the nurse, and I discover that one of our patients just died, and the family requested a chaplain.

As soon as I heard these words- that someone died, and the family wanted a chaplain- something shifted inside of me.  I hung up the phone and prepared myself. Popcorn- which is normally one of my top priorities- was easily handed over to one of my friends. I quickly explained that I had to go, and I left the theater. Despite the fact that a few choice words had escaped my mouth when I was originally paged, I didn’t feel sad as I left the theater. It did not matter that I would miss a good chunk of the movie. It did not matter that I had to leave my friends behind. What mattered was that I felt a strong sense of needing to go- a strong sense of wanting to be with the family that had requested support.

This shift- from "fun" Anne to "chaplain" Anne- translated into a couple of different manifestations. For example, I did not play music as I drove up to the patient’s house. Part of that was obviously out of respect for the family- I don’t think that playing loud music is the most appropriate response to someone’s death. Additionally, I have to admit, there is a part of me that does not want the family to know that their chaplain is someone that listens to Katy Perry. As much as I try to focus on my own sense of pastoral confidence and identity, I do sometimes feel a bit sensitive about my age, and blaring “Dark Horse” as I arrived seemed to convey a different message than I intended.

And so I arrived at the patient’s house, and I went to support the family. I think that because I had been with friends just moments before, I was particularly aware of the differences in my demeanor. For example, I walked slower. Normally, I walk at either a very brisk pace because I’m excited, or else I meander around very slowly because I’m spacing out. But this time, I walked at a very measured pace. I held my head up high. I clutched my prayer book to my chest. I met the family, and even my voice seemed a bit different. Obviously, I was not giggling, and I also spoke more somberly, and at a more moderate rate.

And so I remained present with the family. I won’t go into too many details because I’m paranoid about disclosing information. However, I will say that I prayed with them, I cried with them, and we talked about their loved one. After an hour or so, however, I discerned that it was time to go, and so I left. I looked at my clock, and I realized that I could still go back to my movie.  We had gone to the movie Divergent, and between previews and the actual footage, the movie was 2.5 hours long. So if I went back to the theater now, I could still catch an hour of the movie.

I went back to the theater, and I became acutely aware of how quickly my role and universe shifted again. Just moments before, I had been present with someone’s dead body. I had touched this dead body, and only minutes later (after scrubbing my hands very thoroughly), I was back at my movie, eating popcorn. The same hands that had drawn the sacred sign of the cross on someone’s body were now a rather unsightly picture as they shoved popcorn into my mouth.  (Is anyone else aware of how often the word “popcorn” has been mentioned in this post? Goodness.) The same person that had been a representation of the sacred was back with her friends, giggling about the character “Four” in the movie.

After reflecting for awhile, I think about how there are so many blurred lines in this experience. Blurred lines between who I am as “Anne” and who I am as a “chaplain.” Are there some noticeable differences? You bet there are. I became acutely aware of those differences as I transitioned between the movie and the patient’s house. However, all of those manifestations of myself belong TO ME. They are all authentic, genuine expressions of who I am. Eating messy popcorn and giggling are sincere manifestations of myself, just as is holding someone’s hand and listening to them cry.

I also think about how this experience blurs the line between life and death to some degree. For example, sometimes I wonder how to best honor all of the dead people that I have the privilege of praying over.  It did seem almost…callous…to be with a family that was intensely grieving, and then to suddenly shift everything and go back to a movie with my friends. Perhaps it would honor the person more if I had just gone home and had silent meditation. However, I also wonder if my decision to participate in the joy of life- the decision to be with my friends and to enjoy a compelling narrative- isn’t also a way of honoring the person’s life. Because every time that I am with someone that dies, I become painfully aware of the thin, blurred line between life and death. I know that it does not take much to cross over from life to death. And while I am fearing death less and less, I want to embrace the life part while I have it. For me, I think that means embracing all of the various expressions of my identity- understanding that they all fit together, that they are all authentic to me, and that they are all a means of bringing me joy.