The Celebration of The End of Earthly Life

In my retirement I work part-time as a hospital chaplain. The company I work for, Community Chaplain Services, Inc., provides ministry to small hospitals that typically would not have a chaplain on staff. I service four long-term acute care hospitals and one rehabilitation hospital. That sounds like a lot but in actuality I visit them all once a week and then am on call the rest of the time.

One such phone call came before dinner the other night. A family at one of the hospitals I service in Dallas was requesting a visit. They had made the decision to remove a man from life support. I quickly ate dinner and then headed into the city. On arrival I checked with the nurses station and got an update on the patient's condition. As is typical in such situation, the man had a number of serious health issues including kidney failure and congestive heart failure. He had been fighting pneumonia and now had a secondary infection that would allow him to swallow. The family had opted to remove him from the ventilator rather than insert a feeding tube that would prolong his suffering. Once life support was removed the hospital would shift in a comfort mode, allowing nature to take it's course.

As I turned the corner and headed down the hall leading to the room I noted a group of at least eight people, including three children, standing outside the room. It's rare to find more than a half dozen or so adults huddled around a bed in those circumstance. The presence of elementary age children was a first for me. When I entered the room I found it filled with at least a dozen more adults, one of whom was holding an infant. Next to the bed, holding the hand of the patient, was smiling black woman who was obviously the wife. The atmosphere was quiet and respectful but hardly tense and definitely not somber. There were more smiles than frowns and definitely no tears.

In such situation I want to get to know as much as I can about the patient prior to praying with the family. Such a discussion is not only helpful for me but also a catharsis for the family. "He was my blind date," the wife began. "I didn't like him at first because he said he drank beer. My mother had told me alcohol was a sin. I vowed not to see him again until he sent me a note asking for a second chance." They had been married thirty-seven years. "He was a cook for Southwest Airlines," she responded when I asked about his career. "Southwest Airlines?" I questioned, knowing the low-cost carrier doesn't serve on-board meals. "Yes, he worked in the cafeteria in the corporate offices adjacent to Love Field," she responded. Joe must have been quite a chef because Herb Kelliher, the founder of the airline, had hired him to prepare the food in his home whenever he was hosting an event. He was a man of faith to, worshipping at one of the large black churches in South Dallas. As the stories were told, the children in the crowd listen respectfully. To them he was just grandpa. "He loved to play checkers with me," one noted quietly.

I finally had them gather in a circle around the bed. The chain of loved ones snaked around the room. We joined hands and I read to them from John 14, "Do not let your hearts be troubled... I go to prepare a place for you..." Heads nodded. Then we prayed. There were quiet sentiments, "amen" and "thank you, Jesus." I sensed God's presence. "Where would we be without Jesus?" I thought. We are always Easter People!

Why was I surprised at the presence of Children at such a time? They belonged there. This was their beloved grandfather and they needed to mourn and grieve just like the adults. For Christians, death is just the final right of passage. We celebrate other such events, graduations and marriages, as extended family. Why not death? What better way to celebrate the hope we share as the family of God.