The hallways have the heady sweet of shiny floor wax, the nose-clearing astringency of rubbing alcohol. A random assortment of sick and slightly less sick shuffle in short steps and backless gowns from clinic to clinic. A fibrous network of hallways traffic the internal population from triage to ward, from diagnosis to treatment, from intake to discharge. Vancouver General Hospital rises like a Brutalist, concrete behemoth from the low-ceilinged residential neighbourhood that surrounds it, the largest hospital in Western Canada.
The hum to VGH doesn’t stop. With 27,000 inpatient visits every year, each day regardless of its subjective resonance sees its share of bodily trauma. The Spiritual Care and Multi-Faith service at VGH strives to “assist in drawing upon religious beliefs and provide spiritual resources”. As Liz Hamel, an Anglican chaplain at VGH, sees it a chaplain is a “faithful presence that visits them and doesn’t focus on just one part of them”. The care of someone experiencing trauma requires attention to the whole person.
The day after Ash Wednesday is a typical February day, the gloominess of the sky pert with a chill. It’s somewhat fitting, as Lent has just begun for Christians like Liz Hamel: forty days of prayer, penance and self-denial.
“When you have a cross painted on your forehead with ash, that is saying, ‘Remember from dust you came and to dust you shall return,’ which to me means, ‘You are created from the goodness of God’s creation and you will always be part of that but you’re also mortal.’”
Liz Hamel fidgets with her clerical collar.
“Pardon me.” She sighs. “I’m having trouble with my collar.” She unsnaps a fastener hidden behind the collar. The base of her neck is a mess of clips and fabric, lanyard and necklace. “I get my buttons mixed up.” She fiddles, hands behind her head for a moment.
She smiles. “You’re getting a real insight to who I am.”
Clerical collars are kind of a one size fits all kind of deal. Colloquially known as a “dog collar”, the white band collar that commonly distinguishes members of the clergy is worn by a number of Christian denominations, from Anglican like Liz to Lutheran and Catholic.
“I had to go on Google to figure it out.” She smoothes her clerical tunic. “I’m a curiosity to a lot of people here, especially those who aren’t familiar with Western religion. I had one lady tell me she liked my outfit.”
Aside from the clerical collar, she is unassuming, inconspicuous. She wears a floor length shawl over her clerical tunic and her hospital ID tags hang from a lanyard around her neck. She’s been working as a chaplain for a year. Unlike priests and deacons, one does not necessarily take up the mantle of chaplaincy at a young age and carry it for a lifetime. She originally trained as a nurse at Dalhousie.
“There is a certain part of the job that is not hard for me at all. I understand the lingo.” While Liz concedes that nursing helped her with chaplaincy in terms of a familiarity with the work environment, she explains that chaplaincy is different from nursing. Nursing is triage; nursing is responding to a rubric of symptoms and subsequent treatments. Chaplaincy is much more subjective.
“Part of chaplaincy is becoming comfortable in a hospital and becoming comfortable with who you are in a hospital.”
Both in nursing and in chaplaincy, the amount of emotional expenditure is great and the rate of burn out high. In her personal preparation for her work, she prays for strength and then for peace.
“How do I not carry this pain all the time? You stay awake worrying about people.” After she meets with people, she “prays to give the burden away. Took me about two weeks to figure that one out.” Releasing the burden is not only to allow herself to be present in her own life, with her husband, children and grandchildren, but also to allow her to be fully present with a patient the next day.
“In my view, anyone who visits the hospital experiences trauma to some degree. You don’t have your clothes, your space, your schedule is not up to you, you have no privacy. They don’t see you. They see you as a tonsillectomy.”
Liz is of the opinion that one of the most important parts of chaplaincy is that you respond to the entirety of a person, not just one aspect to them. And each chaplain—in Liz’s case especially—has an entire person and wealth of experience to draw upon. Liz has had quite the journey leading to chaplaincy.
After her training at Dalhousie, it was a Bach concerto that “knocked her socks off” and sparked the impetus to move out West. It was at UBC, during her choral studies, that she met her husband.
“If God is present in beauty, and that the glory of god is the human being fully alive, then we have to be allowed to be fully alive. Express ourselves artistically and interpersonally. I think music mediates God more than anything else.”
But while she grew up Presbyterian, she wasn’t involved in the church from seventeen to roughly fifty. God wasn’t on her mind until she fell into a deep depression.
“I realized all I could think about was God. I needed to talk to someone about it. I needed a community.”
In trying to find her community, her decision on Christianity seems largely practical. As she puts it, she “already knew the language”.
“I stumbled into an Anglican church. I loved the liturgy, the ritual, the symbolism, the poetry of it. Rather than the explication of the poem, it was the poem itself. I thought, ‘if I’m going to embrace this, I better understand what I’m doing’.” While many would stop at buying a Bible and perhaps joining a Bible study, Liz enrolled in a Masters of Theology program at the Vancouver School of Theology. It was there, during her studies, she “perceived a call”.
She cited Celtic theology, and the Celtic concept of “thin places” as a huge influence in her decision for chaplaincy. “Thin places are places where it’s easier to feel God. I think the hospital is a thin place.”
Vancouver General sees 27,000 inpatient (or overnight) stays and 85,000 ER visits every year. It is also British Columbia’s only accredited Level 1 Trauma centre, which indicates the highest level of excellence in trauma care. The doctors and specialists are on 24/7, 6,700 patients annually transferred to their care via air ambulance from around BC. Based on an aging population, the VGH/UBC Hospital foundation expects ER visits to increase 13% by 2020.
“We live in a death-fearing society,” she says. “And yet the thought of our own mortality shapes our entire lives.” Chaplains are supposed to symbolize the presence of God, though she admits she doesn’t always say it that way. The chaplaincy service at VGH is multi-faith, which means that many times a chaplain can be called up to visit with someone of a very different faith. The most important part of the role is simply being there.
“It’s human touch. It’s not being ostracized. How you be there is you stay. You don’t run away. I’m not a counsellor. I’m not a therapist. I’m…” She pauses for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “I’m a soul friend. Anam Cara.”
Anam Cara is the Celtic belief that souls can bond, that there can be a spiritual connection among physical bodies. “It’s such an honour. Sometimes I feel I’m getting just as much as I’m giving. And then there are times when it’s just bloody difficult.
“When people are facing death, they are suddenly faced with all the questions they never asked. Are their things they need to say that they didn’t say, things that they needed to lament that they didn’t lament? Sometimes it’s easier for them to do that with someone that’s not in a reciprocal relationship.”
Being in that moment with people, she says, requires not only that you become comfortable with those tough questions but also that you enable your patients to ask them as well. “Am I allowed to wonder where is God? Even Jesus on the cross wondered where God was? Psalm 22, ‘why have you forsaken me?’
“You have to allow yourself to grieve and lament so you can get to the other side.” In the depth of her depression, she found a motivation for life again through God. And she found meaning in that life not through “easy,” or “neat,” or “tidy," but by encountering the death and suffering of other people. As someone who dwells and advises on that other side, what does she think about it?
She pauses for a moment. “If Christ reconciled the world, then he reconciled the world. I did my chaplaincy training under a Catholic nun. I remember doing rounds with her, and a patient asked her, ‘Sister, do you believe in hell?’ and she said, ‘Yes, but it’s empty’.”
The hum to VGH doesn’t stop. With 27,000 inpatient visits every year, each day regardless of its subjective resonance sees its share of bodily trauma. The Spiritual Care and Multi-Faith service at VGH strives to “assist in drawing upon religious beliefs and provide spiritual resources”. As Liz Hamel, an Anglican chaplain at VGH, sees it a chaplain is a “faithful presence that visits them and doesn’t focus on just one part of them”. The care of someone experiencing trauma requires attention to the whole person.
The day after Ash Wednesday is a typical February day, the gloominess of the sky pert with a chill. It’s somewhat fitting, as Lent has just begun for Christians like Liz Hamel: forty days of prayer, penance and self-denial.
“When you have a cross painted on your forehead with ash, that is saying, ‘Remember from dust you came and to dust you shall return,’ which to me means, ‘You are created from the goodness of God’s creation and you will always be part of that but you’re also mortal.’”
Liz Hamel fidgets with her clerical collar.
“Pardon me.” She sighs. “I’m having trouble with my collar.” She unsnaps a fastener hidden behind the collar. The base of her neck is a mess of clips and fabric, lanyard and necklace. “I get my buttons mixed up.” She fiddles, hands behind her head for a moment.
She smiles. “You’re getting a real insight to who I am.”
Clerical collars are kind of a one size fits all kind of deal. Colloquially known as a “dog collar”, the white band collar that commonly distinguishes members of the clergy is worn by a number of Christian denominations, from Anglican like Liz to Lutheran and Catholic.
“I had to go on Google to figure it out.” She smoothes her clerical tunic. “I’m a curiosity to a lot of people here, especially those who aren’t familiar with Western religion. I had one lady tell me she liked my outfit.”
Aside from the clerical collar, she is unassuming, inconspicuous. She wears a floor length shawl over her clerical tunic and her hospital ID tags hang from a lanyard around her neck. She’s been working as a chaplain for a year. Unlike priests and deacons, one does not necessarily take up the mantle of chaplaincy at a young age and carry it for a lifetime. She originally trained as a nurse at Dalhousie.
“There is a certain part of the job that is not hard for me at all. I understand the lingo.” While Liz concedes that nursing helped her with chaplaincy in terms of a familiarity with the work environment, she explains that chaplaincy is different from nursing. Nursing is triage; nursing is responding to a rubric of symptoms and subsequent treatments. Chaplaincy is much more subjective.
“Part of chaplaincy is becoming comfortable in a hospital and becoming comfortable with who you are in a hospital.”
Both in nursing and in chaplaincy, the amount of emotional expenditure is great and the rate of burn out high. In her personal preparation for her work, she prays for strength and then for peace.
“How do I not carry this pain all the time? You stay awake worrying about people.” After she meets with people, she “prays to give the burden away. Took me about two weeks to figure that one out.” Releasing the burden is not only to allow herself to be present in her own life, with her husband, children and grandchildren, but also to allow her to be fully present with a patient the next day.
“In my view, anyone who visits the hospital experiences trauma to some degree. You don’t have your clothes, your space, your schedule is not up to you, you have no privacy. They don’t see you. They see you as a tonsillectomy.”
Liz is of the opinion that one of the most important parts of chaplaincy is that you respond to the entirety of a person, not just one aspect to them. And each chaplain—in Liz’s case especially—has an entire person and wealth of experience to draw upon. Liz has had quite the journey leading to chaplaincy.
After her training at Dalhousie, it was a Bach concerto that “knocked her socks off” and sparked the impetus to move out West. It was at UBC, during her choral studies, that she met her husband.
“If God is present in beauty, and that the glory of god is the human being fully alive, then we have to be allowed to be fully alive. Express ourselves artistically and interpersonally. I think music mediates God more than anything else.”
But while she grew up Presbyterian, she wasn’t involved in the church from seventeen to roughly fifty. God wasn’t on her mind until she fell into a deep depression.
“I realized all I could think about was God. I needed to talk to someone about it. I needed a community.”
In trying to find her community, her decision on Christianity seems largely practical. As she puts it, she “already knew the language”.
“I stumbled into an Anglican church. I loved the liturgy, the ritual, the symbolism, the poetry of it. Rather than the explication of the poem, it was the poem itself. I thought, ‘if I’m going to embrace this, I better understand what I’m doing’.” While many would stop at buying a Bible and perhaps joining a Bible study, Liz enrolled in a Masters of Theology program at the Vancouver School of Theology. It was there, during her studies, she “perceived a call”.
She cited Celtic theology, and the Celtic concept of “thin places” as a huge influence in her decision for chaplaincy. “Thin places are places where it’s easier to feel God. I think the hospital is a thin place.”
Vancouver General sees 27,000 inpatient (or overnight) stays and 85,000 ER visits every year. It is also British Columbia’s only accredited Level 1 Trauma centre, which indicates the highest level of excellence in trauma care. The doctors and specialists are on 24/7, 6,700 patients annually transferred to their care via air ambulance from around BC. Based on an aging population, the VGH/UBC Hospital foundation expects ER visits to increase 13% by 2020.
“We live in a death-fearing society,” she says. “And yet the thought of our own mortality shapes our entire lives.” Chaplains are supposed to symbolize the presence of God, though she admits she doesn’t always say it that way. The chaplaincy service at VGH is multi-faith, which means that many times a chaplain can be called up to visit with someone of a very different faith. The most important part of the role is simply being there.
“It’s human touch. It’s not being ostracized. How you be there is you stay. You don’t run away. I’m not a counsellor. I’m not a therapist. I’m…” She pauses for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “I’m a soul friend. Anam Cara.”
Anam Cara is the Celtic belief that souls can bond, that there can be a spiritual connection among physical bodies. “It’s such an honour. Sometimes I feel I’m getting just as much as I’m giving. And then there are times when it’s just bloody difficult.
“When people are facing death, they are suddenly faced with all the questions they never asked. Are their things they need to say that they didn’t say, things that they needed to lament that they didn’t lament? Sometimes it’s easier for them to do that with someone that’s not in a reciprocal relationship.”
Being in that moment with people, she says, requires not only that you become comfortable with those tough questions but also that you enable your patients to ask them as well. “Am I allowed to wonder where is God? Even Jesus on the cross wondered where God was? Psalm 22, ‘why have you forsaken me?’
“You have to allow yourself to grieve and lament so you can get to the other side.” In the depth of her depression, she found a motivation for life again through God. And she found meaning in that life not through “easy,” or “neat,” or “tidy," but by encountering the death and suffering of other people. As someone who dwells and advises on that other side, what does she think about it?
She pauses for a moment. “If Christ reconciled the world, then he reconciled the world. I did my chaplaincy training under a Catholic nun. I remember doing rounds with her, and a patient asked her, ‘Sister, do you believe in hell?’ and she said, ‘Yes, but it’s empty’.”