Where could I go to get away from your spirit?
Where could I go to escape your presence?
If I went up to heaven, you would be there.
If I went down to the grave, you would be there too!
Psalm 139:7-8 (CEB)
It was not supposed to go like that.
The day before, the senior pastor had talked to the terminally ill church member on the phone. She was weak and knew the end was near, and she wanted the pastor to drop by for a visit.
This person was a dedicated wife, mother, and church member who truly inspired us all. Though I couldn’t know what was going on internally, on the exterior she faced down her cancer diagnosis as if it were just one more step on the journey. If she had doubts she’d survive, she didn’t show the majority of the church. In fact, she tried to have fun with it, turning up week after week with wildly different wigs on her chemo-induced bald head. None of us expected cancer winning.
I had literally only been on a church staff for about 2 weeks, my newly minted title being “Ministerial Assistant.” As such, I had never even done a pastoral hospital visit before; so, the senior pastor thought it would be a good learning experience for me and the youth director to tag along. When we arrived the morning after the phone call, we realized that her prognosis had gone from a few days left to minutes.
I remember the pastor asking the husband and daughter if they would like us to leave, but we were invited to stay. We joined hands around her while each of us staff members said part of a short prayer, then we stepped back for the family to be close.
Not only had I never done a pastoral hospital visit before, I had never been in the room of a dying person. Let me just begin by saying it was surreal. For some reason, I felt a deep sense of joy that I truly could not explain and for which I was feeling guilty. How could I dare feel joy in such a sad happening? I remember looking at the pastor and seeing a gentle smile on his face and wondered why he had that.
Now, had he still just been my pastor (I had attended this church for a few years before they created this position for me), I probably could have talked to him about this strange feeling, but now he was my boss. I simply couldn’t go there. So, I meandered around for weeks in this strange, silent guilt for feeling joy.
Then, one day in my pastoral care class in my first semester of seminary, a hospital chaplain was visiting. I’ll never forget these words he said, “When you are in the room of a dying person, you are standing on holy ground for Christ is in that room.” In that instant, I knew the source of the joy I was feeling – a joy that I suspect the family couldn’t quite feel – but I knew without a doubt that God in Christ in the Holy Spirit had showed up for them, for us as the pastoral staff, and for this dedicated woman.
As I have struggled with feelings of guilt for not being with my Dad when he passed (and anger for not knowing he was that near the end), I take comfort in knowing that God was there. Dad was not alone. The God who never leaves us shows up in just the way we need God. God always shows up.
