I watched a father and his three-year-old daughter walking into Costco today. The little girl was pointing at people passing by, saying “who’s that?” again and again. In loving exasperation, the dad said, “I don’t know these people!” Lightening his tone, he said, “We all just shop here together.” The little girl continued with her query.
I am guilty of asking too many questions, of saying too many things, of exasperating my parents, friends, children, etc.… I cringe to think of how much I talked in front of my kids when they were growing up. I don’t recall challenging myself to be quiet and listen often enough. I wish I’d modeled silence from time to time.
Now, I find that I go home after work and have nothing to say. Another chaplain told me she has the same experience. After speaking with people, listening, assessing, and providing support for eight-hour shifts, we both find that when we leave the hospital, sometimes, we are simply out of words.
For the first time in my life, I am frequently rendered speechless. Sometimes I am mute because I am tired of talking, and sometimes I am wordless because I witnessed something that is beyond language to communicate. My work as a chaplain can, sometimes, stun me.
This is an unexpected gift of the work of spiritual care- to be without words. Once verbosity is gone, there is a universe of feelings and observations. I have felt things that I have no words for. I have seen suffering that is outside the frivolity of description. I have witnessed peace and surrender that can’t be corralled with nouns and verbs.
When I tune back in to the world outside of the hospital where I work and the relationships that I treasure, I am alarmed by the number and frequency of words used. Politics is the worst offender for the abuse of language. Online platforms provide too many outlets for blathering, or what we used to call diarrhea of the mouth. I see many decent folks fall prey to the b.s., watching hours of news channels or checking their feeds. To them, my spiritual care suggestion is to turn all that stuff off and watch the tide coming in, the moon rise, or a campfire. Tune out for a minute.
Now is a time to be silent, to watch, to witness, and to use our voices in a disciplined response to the craziness and excessiveness of speech. My prayer, held with patience and glimmers of hope, is that in a moment of speechlessness, enough people will hear the call to be responsible human beings who understand that we are one people, one world, and one creation. We are designed to be in relationship, which requires us to listen.
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