A Holy Space

For myself, there is a geographical center for ministry. I know of a holy of holies where the presence of God is made manifest to me in a way like nowhere else. Other ministers might locate the center of God’s presence elsewhere, but I am confident that my gifts are in one particular area of ministry.

It is in the hospital.

I have always felt comfortable in hospitals. After my Dad got out of the Air Force, one of his first jobs was working as an assistant hospital administrator. (I recall as a six or seven year old asking Dad what he did for a living and he replied “I do things like making sure that all the bed sheets get washed.” So for years I thought my Dad was a launderer.) After school I would go up to his hospital office, finish my homework and then simply wander around through the hospital halls or go play in the enormous warehouse where they stored extra beds and medical equipment. And yes, I would often jump on the beds.

Mom was (and is) a registered dietician and has served as the food coordinator for several hospitals and nursing homes over the years. She also worked with a local hospital to establish one of the first hospices in our state. Conversation around the house often centered around the various politics of hospital administration or the rising costs of health care.

I suppose that it was inevitable I would marry a nurse, and so these conversations continue in our own home.

So perhaps I come by my affinity for hospital ministry honestly. I like preaching and I enjoy visiting members in their homes. I love to baptize of course, and to officiate at funerals. (Like others though, I am not so fond of weddings).

But I love to visit the sick in hospitals. Physically, you see them at their worst. But I am amazed, time and time again about their remarkable faith. It is an old line, but nonetheless true that I always receive more than I give in these situations. I have been blessed not to have experienced hospitalization since I was seven or eight, but I do not think I would respond too well. (A sentiment Kadie would certainly endorse. A good intestinal virus has me on my knees singing Swing Low, Sweet Chariot in a matter of hours).

But there is something sacrosanct that occurs amidst the beeps of IV machines and the hum of ventilators. As we care for the least of these, we care for Him. As I take their hands to pray, I become the one through whom Christ ministers. As I share words of comfort, a psalm, and a prayer, I most feel like I am sharing the words of Christ.

I have a lot of second guesses how I share (or don’t share) the gospel with people I meet. I kick myself on a weekly basis about misstatements, clumsy errors, or poorly organized thoughts during a sermon. I spend time going over and over in my mind how cluelessly I conducted my last committee meeting.

But I never have doubts when I walk out of the hospital room. It is in the moment of a hospital visit that I feel most Christlike.