Journal of Sacred Work

Often a Holy Thing is living hidden in a dark creature;
and like an eye which is born covered by its lids,
a pure spirit is growing strong under the bark of stones!
-Gerard de Nerval – 1854 (translated by Robert Bly)

 
It’s easy to see beauty in roses, in blue skies, in sapphire seas. With people, we argue our various ideas of what is cute and make icons of the handsome and the pretty, particularly if they are young.    Caregivers, however, are accustomed to confronting people the rest of us may seek to avoid: the homeless, the elderly, and people of all ages whose disease may steal from them the appearance of what we think of as beautiful. I admire the courage of caregivers who labor in the midst of blood, pain & tragedy. And each of us hopes to be cared for by angels of compassion and
competence should we suddenly find our bodies wrecked by an accident or
burned by fire. It is then that we may see the embrace of loving arms like the ones suggested by the image created by Deborah Koff-Chapin (left). We want to be loved by someone who appreciates the many sides of our vulnerability… 

   Everyone enjoys the story Beauty and the Beast. Yet few may see the application of this story to
caregiving. Every one who chooses to care for illness with deep grace and respect is given the opportunity to see the beauty hidden beneath ugly surfaces. When they replace revulsion with compassion, they reveal beauty in themselves and, sometimes, in the people they treat.
   The Matthew Walker clinic is the largest service of its kind that cares for the poor in Nashville. For whom do they care? I’ve seen their waiting room filled with the tired faces of the poor who, in addition to their burdens, have often spent much of their lives waiting in many different kinds of lines to be served by many different agencies. The poor are cursed by endless waiting for things the rest of us often acquire more easily.
   It is the challenge of compassionate caregivers to hear the story that lives within the sick body, to see past the injury to the human being for there is always more than just the physical pain. When we come for care, we hurt. Each of brings at least two kinds of "hurts."
   A twelve-year-old girl was brought to the Clinic recently with an ugly problem. Raped by her father, she is now pregnant. Her body has been violated and her heart has been hurt. This is a story none of us wants to hear. The job of the caregivers is open their arms – to offer compassion not pity, to offer support, not judgment. A nurse named Pat and a doctor named Williams will be two of this girl’s angels. They are veterans of dealing with ugly problems, but their hearts have not been hardened. They know that a "Holy Thing" lives hidden somewhere in this darkness. Inside this tragedy live human spirits.
   There are other kinds of darkness loving caregivers face. At a rural clinic, a large and menacing young man climbs off his motorcycle, charges into the waiting area, and confronts a nurse manager. He is angry, he is shouting, his fists are clinched. What does a loving caregiver do? Most would order the man to sit down and quiet down. But this caregiver did a wonderfully compassionate thing. She looked up at the man, a foot taller than she, and said softly, "You must have had a hard day." All the man’s anger evaporated. In an instant, the nurse manager revealed the holy hiding in the darkness. She saw that beneath this man’s anger was fear. Speaking to that, she converted his hostility to warmth as he sat down, put his head in his hands, and apologized. Beauty’s love transformed the beast in this man.
   Today, thousands of kind-hearted caregivers will reveal the holy hidden in the darkness. They will see good where others see only bad, they will meet hostility and ugliness with grace and compassion. And thousands of others will stay imprisoned in harsher views of their patients. They will argue with the sick, grumble about low pay, and complain about the many messes they must clean up.
   It is not for us to judge. Caregiving is hard work, but it need not be dreary. This is what the best caregivers know. They approach their work with gratitude for the chance to help others and find light in darkness.
   It is for us to love, support and care for every caregiver we can. We may also offer our prayer and hope that our own eyes may remain open to see that within each person, "a pure spirit is growing strong under the bark of stones."
   Today, I invite your presence to reflect with gratitude on all caregivers that have found the grace to see with sacred eyes, to approach sickness with courage and competence, and to open their hearts to embrace the pain of others. These are the angels around us. I invite you to celebrate their beautiful willingness to be present to darkness.