A Chaplain in Retirement?

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Written November 2023

 
'I'd like you to do your hobby in retirement,' my late wife, Margaret,  told me. 
'Hobby?' I asked.
'You've spent most of your time being an administrator and a leader. You need to go back to being a doctor.'
'It's too late,' I answered. 'I've been away from medicine for 15 years.'
Over coffee one morning I told my sister and brother-in-law I was considering becoming a hospital chaplain in retirement. 
'Never!' was his reply: 'You won't be able to stop yourself telling the doctors what to do!'
 
With a year's gentle re-entry training I had seven very fulfilling years in palliative medicine. But the parallel profession of ministry didn't go away.  There were endless opportunities for discrete expressions of faith. I had to be careful. After all the occasional doctor had faced disciplinary action for engaging in unwelcome conversations with patients that were interpreted as evangelism or proselytism. I had to be a doctor.  And I also had to remember when it was appropriate to refer patients to the chaplain. I should not be taking over their work; nor should I be telling them what to do. Part of my refresher training was to learn about boundaries and overlaps - learning what a chaplain is expected to do 
 
One Sunday morning I was doing a round in the hospice, introducing myself as usual:
'Good morning, I'm Paul, one of the doctors here. I've just come to ask how you're getting on.'
'O, thank God,' was his reply, 'I thought you were the chaplain.' 
I giggled as I replied. 'I must look like one, then.' 
'Not really,' he continued. 'I just thought you were coming to administer the last rites for me.' 
But his comment had given me the opportunity to explore his fears and we talked at length, even though I wasn't the chaplain. After that I wondered whether I should walk around with a stethoscope dangling from my neck. I didn't. 
 
Taking the history, listening attentively, offering the occasional comment, knowing what to prescribe, had become part of life for me. Other interventions took a little more practice. I recall an occasion when I was struggling to put a cannula into an emaciated patient. It took three attempts and I was clearly distressed by the experience. His wife was there watching.
'You've done well,' she commented kindly. 'We are most grateful.'
I nodded in appreciation.
'Here's something for you,' she said as she handed me a small booklet: its title: The Lord is My Shepherd.  If the couple were facing the valley of the shadow of death, it was me who needed to be led beside still waters; my soul needed to be restored. It was she who had been a 'chaplain' to me that afternoon. I still have that little pamphlet. 
 
Thank you, Lord, for the opportunities to help others in their time of need, and for those who recognise ours.
 
October 2023