Serve those who serve

“No one can touch me! All of you have gloves on—and no one can actually touch me!”

A pastoral visit with a veteran at VA Medical Center, Memphis got off to a bit of a rocky start: A veteran who was having a medical emergency had a team of doctors and nurses working to stabilize him. The veteran had been rattled by all of the activity—and by my arrival at his room.

An early lesson that chaplains learn in a VA Medical Center is the fact that, in times of a medical emergency in the hospital, the sight of a chaplain is not always a comforting one: For veterans who have returned from combat, there is a realization that the chaplain has often been called upon in a true emergency to administer last rites. His or her presence may well mean that hope of survival is lost.

Early in my work as a chaplain at VA Memphis Medical Center during my seminary years, I learned to approach rooms when I was paged for emergencies in such a way as to really be invisible to the veteran until I could connect with the medical team that was responding, to help allay a veteran’s fears. But even so, some veterans and their families would be rattled about a chaplain’s presence and needed a bit of convincing to believe that my visits were not the omen of death.

On that particular afternoon, after having been paged for that veteran’s medical emergency, I had hoped to approach the room without the veteran seeing me so that I could connect very quickly with one of the medical team to assess the ways in which my presence could be most supportive. But the veteran had seen the reflection of my chaplain’s coat in the window in the hallway and immediately began screaming that he was going to die. I caught the eye of the attending physician, who nodded for me to enter, and I quickly assured the veteran that my visit was not about death. “These doctors and nurses are here to help you live,” I told him. “I’m just here to help you and them however I can.”

Clearly agitated, the veteran continued a faith exploration with me. He felt that life had dealt him an unfair hand: He’d returned from Vietnam amazingly without having been hurt physically, only to be involved in a devastating car accident months later that left him paralyzed. He’d started college after returning to the US, but never finished after the accident, and never found any really meaningful work. He’d spent his years in a wheelchair with a variety of health issues. And he questioned why God would have allowed this to happen.

He was sharing all of this in a loud, booming voice while the medical team continued to work to stabilize him.

The veteran and I spoke at length about scripture, about faith, about hope, and about God’s love. He was more than a little curious. As the medical team resolved the crisis, the veteran reiterated his lament that no one could touch him skin-to-skin; indeed, we were all wearing gowns, gloves and masks. Assuring the physicians that I’d just scrubbed up before donning the gloves and entering the room, I got permission to remove my gloves and take the veteran’s hands into my own. His eyes filled with tears. We prayed—with even the attending physician remaining to join with us for that time of prayer. And because I knew the veteran would be hospitalized for several more days, I added him to my visit list so that we could continue the conversation. He seemed to be calmer and more encouraged with each visit.

My eyes were opened to so many realities while I served at VA: the need for specialized care for veterans returning home with a variety of physical injuries; the oh-so-many illnesses that could be caused or exacerbated by smoking—and how our Armed Forces have historically encouraged smoking among service members; the mental health/PTSD struggles of our veterans—which translate to incredible difficulty in maintaining intact families; the veterans who returned home without marketable skills that would translate to jobs; the need for support for homeless veterans.

With five veterans’ homes in Mississippi—Biloxi, Collins, Jackson, Kosciusko and Oxford—our opportunities to serve those who have served us all seem to be great. I encourage us all to find ways to connect with the veterans’ community—and to reach out to touch the lives of our veterans. They have served us well. We should in turn serve them well, as they need our support.