1. Nelle Stanton Sept. 11, 2014
Verbatim
INTRODUCTION:
I was on­call. It was a quiet night. The pager didn't go off, so I got several visits in before and after
dinner. When the 9pm announcement about visiting hours ending came across the hospital speakers, I
finished charting in the satellite office and headed up to the on­call room.
I'd been asleep about an hour when the pager went off. A unit secretary in Medical ICU told me "the
patient in 363 was going to pass soon." She asked if I would come.
When I arrived at the MICU, I asked at the desk who the patient's nurse was. The woman at the desk
pointed out "Ellen."
PARTICIPANTS
C: Chaplain
N: Patient's nurse
[ALL NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED TO PROTECT INDIVIDUAL PRIVACY]
C1: Hi! Ellen? I'm the chaplain.
N1: Hi. Thanks for coming. He's homeless, no visitors, and he's going to die soon.
C2: No family? No friends?
N2: Nobody. I thought he might appreciate some prayer.
C3: I'd be glad to. What's his name?
N3: "Robert Samuels." He likes to be called Bobby.
C4: Okay.
I walk into the room and see a middle­aged man in the bed. He's sedated and intubated. I stand near the
head of the bed and the nurse checks a few things on the other side of the bed.
C5: Will I be out of your way over here?
N4: Yeah, you're fine.
Looking at the patient, I speak quietly to him.

2.
C6: Hi Bobby. I'm Eleanor. I'm a chaplain here. I heard you might like a little prayer. I hope you won't
mind.
Opening my hands, I begin to pray while the nurse finishes her tasks. I don't usually address God as
"Father," but somehow, it seems right here.
C7: Heavenly Father, we thank you for the life of this man, your child. You know him. You know the
goodness in his heart, his hopes, his intentions. Bless him and let him know that he is not alone. Let him
know that you go before him, that you stand beside him, that you guard his back. Let him not be afraid,
but know that he goes to the place prepared for him. That there is a place for him at your banquet table
and the faces of those he hasn't seen in a while whom he has missed. Bless him and keep him. This we ask
with the confidence of beloved children.
Then curving my hand over "Bobby's" head, I offer this blessing:
C8: Robert Samuels, beloved of God, may the one who created you in love bless you. May God's face
shine on you. May God's peace wrap you round. And may you dwell in God's house forevermore.
When I finish, his nurse is sitting outside. I pass her as I leave the room.
C9: Goodnight.
N5: Thank you for coming.
C10: You're welcome.
ASSESSMENT:
This was a quick visit. Fifteen minutes at most, but the patient's nurse appreciated it. I think that's who
needed the prayers said, needed to hear someone praying for this homeless man that she'd been caring for
over several days.
I was reminded yet again of how much our staff invest themselves in their patients. This isn't the first
nurse who didn't want someone to die alone or without prayer. I wonder, is there more I can do for these
nurses? Should I have stayed longer with her and let her tell me about this man?
THEOLOGICAL REFLECTION:
Whenever I minister to a homeless person, especially when I'm praying over them, an old folk song from
my Joan Baez Songbook comes to mind. “The Tramp On The Street” is based on the story in Luke's
gospel (Luke 16: 19­22) about the rich man and a beggar named Lazarus.

3. The first verse of that song is as follows:
Only a tramp was Laz’rus that begged,
he lay down by the rich man’s gate.
He begged for crumbs from the rich man to eat,
but they left him to die like a tramp on the street.
He was somebody’s darlin’, he was some mother’s son,
Once he was fair, and once he was young.
Some mother rocked him, her little darlin’ to sleep,
But they left him to die like a tramp on the street.
Just like old hymns and fragments of Scripture stick in our heads, this old song and it’s Christological
message of missing the irreplaceable person in front of us has stuck in mine. When I am called to pray
over these “forgotten” people by the nurses who care about them, I remember that old song and that this is
God’s child. Perhaps known fully ​only​ by God. This person’s life, in its early days, may have been as
promising as anyone's. Their parents may have had high hopes and big dreams for them. Somehow, they
ended up at AMC with only me and a nurse to wish them well on their way.
During these final prayers ­ especially for these people ­ I cling most fervently to my hope of a realm of
joy that waits for each of us, for an eternal home and a banquet feast where everyone is welcome. On
peaceful days ­ days when I'm in my "academic" mindset ­ it's easier to poke holes in these old­fashioned
images. But I voice my own hopes when I pray them over our homeless brothers and sisters.
PSYCHOLOGICAL REFLECTION:
I have been paged to the bedside of unaccompanied adults who are dying to pray for them. Only once has
it been the patient's family requesting this. Mostly, it's the nurses who've become personally invested in
that patient's welfare that want to make sure they have as "proper" a passing as possible. It's the nurses
who weep for them. I often feel that my ministry to the dying is also ministry to the medical staff present.
PLANS FOR FUTURE VISITS:
No plans.
CHART NOTES:
Responded to request for pastoral care. Prayed over patient and blessed him.