Ordination Sermon, April 2006
I want to start by reading a Zen verse that speaks to what brings us to this moment, and continues to inspire me, in my work as an interfaith hospital chaplain.
“You who sit on the top of a hundred foot pole,
Although you have entered the way, it is not genuine.
Take a step from the top of the pole
And worlds of the Ten Directions are your total body.”
(Shih-shuang, in Bobrow, 1990)
The journey to this day, “climbing the hundred foot pole”, has been a series of many committed steps to our spiritual path and our chaplaincy training. Ordination, as the poem suggests, is not only reaching this significant summit; it is also the entry point into a deeper possibility.
If at first reading I glimpsed the meaning of “stepping away from the pole,” as a volunteer chaplain at Kaiser Hospital I now appreciate “this step into the vital moment” in a real and personal way.
I remember with great clarity the first moment when the vitality of hospital chaplaincy struck me. After shadowing more experienced chaplains, I stood outside the room of the first patient I would see on my own. All I knew was her name and her desire to see a chaplain.
I realized I had no idea of what I would experience as I stepped around the curtain. Would she be well healed and heading home? Would she be intubated? in pain? unable to speak? Was she full of faith, or of little faith?
At that moment I realized I was about to step into a mystery, and I asked myself, “Am I ready to provide heartful care?” I had to look from head to heart before taking that step.
So . . . What gives me the courage to step around the curtain? In a single word . . . Gratitude.
Every step leading to this pole top, this ordination, every step around the curtain, I am standing on the strong shoulders of all who have walked the path before. Every step of the way supported and inspired: by these brilliant faith traditions, by our wise teachers, and by the love and patience of family and heart friends.
Let us all find courage in realizing that no step on a path of heart is ever taken alone.
The Zen verse ends, describing what happens as we step away.
I recall a patient I saw only once; like many visits, it lasted only few minutes. The man was probably about 60, in pain, and concerned that he had been in the hospital four days and did not know what was causing his illness. He was Roman Catholic. When I asked what would be supportive, he grabbed my hand and emphatically said, “Pray with me”.
Still “wet behind the ears”, I experienced a flash of fear; How to start the prayer? What to say? I took a faltering step, “In the name of the father . . . the son . . . the holy spirit” . . .
I continued the prayer for healing, but very quickly the words stopped. And we, this man who I had known only a few minutes, were one in silence. We had stepped away, into a wholly—different—place.
Where we are in such a moment of connection, the mind does not know—yet in that silent communion, the heart knows no boundary.
We rest in this timeless space for a moment, the moment passes, something calls, we part in thanks, and our lives step forward.
I am awestruck that two strangers can, within such a short time, share such grace and compassion. In a world where human hearts can seem so distant, this gives me great hope.
This place of boundless heart is not special to chaplaincy. I have faith that it is a place of grace that each of us knows.
May we always, and in all ways, hold for each other; this faith . . . this grace . . . this hope.
Thank you.
Emma Ho
