I am a hospital chaplain. One evening, just before going home for the day, I noticed a stooped, elderly Hispanic gentleman wandering up and down a deserted hall of the hospital as if he was lost. I asked if I could help him.
He told me that he and his wife had been visiting their grown daughter from another part of the state when his wife had gotten ill and had been admitted to the hospital for what turned out to be an extended stay. They had been in several different rooms as they moved from the emergency room to ICU to general medical care and back to the ICU.
Somewhere along the way, they had lost his wife’s glasses as they moved from one room to the other. He was retracing his steps and trying to remember what room they had been in last. He was ashamed of himself because “now she isn't able to read, and she is so sick, and she loves to read.”
I knew that hospital security has a lost-and-found, so I walked with him to “Security.” I became aware, as we walked, how long the halls must seem to him with his short, shuffling steps, although he said he didn’t want a wheelchair.
I stayed with him as he looked through the many pairs of orphaned glasses that had been turned in over months. But, alas, none were his wife’s. So we walked together back to his wife’s room and exchanged good-byes.
He was so appreciative of my concern that as we parted, he took my hand in a very firm handhold, bowed slightly and said through his thick Spanish accent:
“May the blessing of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit be upon you, dear Chaplain. Thank you so mucho for helping me.”
I was so stunned at the turn of events (I normally am the one to bestow blessings!) that my eyes teared up and I almost fell to my knees. I remembered Mother Teresa’s words in the Calcutta gutter, “My Lord Jesus, what a wonderful disguise you wear today!” and wondered if Jesus had been looking for some glasses with me just then.
As difficult as it is to walk with people in vulnerable times and in times of intense crisis, the challenges are outweighed by the sacredness, glory and surprise in those moments when I realize we are in the holy of holies together. Precious moments like these provide a glimpse of the "beyond" that is actually in our midst all the time. It just remains hidden in what we expect reality to look like, and in our busy-ness.
At some point in our intimate work with people, we may become aware of just how thin "the veil" is between the forever and the now; between the server and the served; between support and surrender. The ground on which we walk with people is truly holy ground, full of surprises.
