One of my assignments for my current unit of CPE was to write a paper reflecting on my own theological dynamics and how they inform my work in hospital chaplaincy. Below, I share my reflections from the final section of this paper:

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.

Music has been an important part of how I process and reflect on my work in the hospital and in CPE. These lines from the chorus of Leonard Cohen’s “Anthem” are ones I have sung to myself again and again in moments of helplessness and despair. They remind me of the hidden grace, the holy mystery operating in my life and in my work as a chaplain. That when I feel insufficient, Divine Love may be shining through in ways I can’t currently perceive. That even when I’m not enough, I am enough.

Of course, embracing Mystery is not always easy, and my impulse, when faced with the unknown, is to look for a sense of security to feel in control again. Particularly when working with some patients on the Psychiatric unit who are deep in their psychosis and where making personal connections is challenging and tough to measure, I can find myself feeling ineffective and unsure whether my presence is at all useful; or, if it is useful, I have no way of knowing what it’s being used for. In these frustrating cases, knowing that there is a deeper force of love at work in the universe, including this person in front of me, gives me hope. But I still struggle with the insecurity of not knowing.

As part of one of my learning goals for this unit of CPE, I have been observing and exploring how art—in its various forms—can function to build bridges between knowing and unknowing for both myself and those I care for, to create sacred vessels for unresolved questions or be a dialogue partner as we try to figure it out. This has been an important learning for me these last months as I’ve attempted to explore how creative and nonverbal forms of expression inform my pastoral care. Even with my own musical background and inclinations, this has been challenging and uncertain territory for me. As someone who loves writing and preaching, who has a degree in English literature, and taught English as a Second Language for seven years, relinquishing some of the control and security that comes from relying on verbal communication has felt like its own exercise in stepping back to make room for Mystery.

An example of this took place during a recent spirituality group on the Adult Psych unit. The conversation, initiated by a song I started out with, had been about spiritual journeys. For one patient, the topic raised a memory of being asked to go on a journey he didn’t want to go on, and it turned out many of the participants could relate to this experience, expressing that they were worn out from feeling like the journey was living them, rather than them living a journey. Finally, a silence fell over the group. It was as if we were all too tired to travel any further. It was nearing the end of the time limit, so I asked if anyone had a song that we could close our session with. One person suggested “Lean on Me,” by Bill Withers. I invited her to lead us out. Everyone knew the song, and even those who had remained silent for most of the discussion joined in, singing,

Lean on me, when you’re not strong
And I’ll be your friend, I’ll help you carry on
For it won’t be long ‘til I’m gonna need
Somebody to lean on.

Reflecting on the experience, I noted that the song itself felt like a friend we could lean on, a companion on the journey, who wasn’t dragging us along but helping to carry the load, at the same time giving us a framework in which we could lean on each other. It reminded me of Paul’s exhortation to the Galatians to “Carry each other’s burdens and so you will fulfill the law of Christ” (Gal 6:2), while still acknowledging, “Each person will have to carry their own load” (6:5). In the end, we are each responsible for ourselves and our own work. But there are ways we can companion with each other that lightens the burden without assuming responsibility for it. This, essentially, is my goal when I visit or sit with a patient or family member who is stalled, discouraged, or lost on their journey, to let them live their own struggle, but to be with them in it. And, ultimately, to trust the hidden process of Divine Love at work within it all.