The Superbowl of Chaplaincy

aka Ash Wednesday in the Hospital

Ash Wednesday was never that big of a deal in my Christian formation. I think it’s only been in the past two decades that more Protestant denominations have embraced this tradition more fully. When I interned at a church in seminary, Ash Wednesday was my turn to preach, that’s how low it was on the congregation’s radar (that and what I like to call National Seminarian Sunday – the week after Easter).

So, when I began my work as a hospital chaplain, I was surprised by what a big day this is in the hospital. It truly is the super bowl of hospital chaplaincy (and this year it’s in the same week as that big sport ball game)! 

Over the years, I have developed a love/hate relationship with this holy day.

It is, without fail, the most exhausting day of the year for me. The end of Ash Wednesday finds me collapsing on the couch, telling my family they must fend for themselves for the rest of the evening. I walk into the hospital at 5am to about a dozen messages on the voicemail already asking when someone will be distributing ashes. The hospital chapel is overrun with staff members wanting to partake in services. Everyone wants to see the chaplain! All day long I run from room to room, floor to floor, marking people’s foreheads with ashes. Most recipients are Catholic, with a few Protestant requests. One year a Buddhist even asked me for some ashes, stating “It’s a reminder of our mortality, right? My religion is all about that!”

Ash Wednesday is also the only day I wear my clerical collar, as it just immediately clarifies for people who I am and that I am available to impose ashes. It is so hectic, that there are times where I feel like I am working at a fast-food drive-thru window, doling out a ritual as if it was something on the dollar menu. People stop me in the elevator, the hallway and next to the salad bar in the cafeteria. 

On Ash Wednesday in the hospital, the sacred is all mixed up in everyday life.

Donning the collar and Covid gear on Ash Wednesday 2021

I struggle because I want to have pastoral conversations with everyone I encounter, but today the focus is on this brief exchange. It is everything that I usually teach against – the doing of something, rather than the being with someone. But then there are instances when I see the somber beauty of this day that marks the beginning of Lent.

I love it, because it is representative of the tiny rituals that have so much depth.

Ash Wednesday even reaches the Emergency Department, one of the places in the hospital where timing is of the essence as patients need immediate care. Any interruption to the flow of operations can have a critical impact. Here the medical staff often skip food and water breaks to stay on top of urgent patient needs. Yet we have come up with a process that works for them.  I make my way to the nurse’s station when the unit clerk sees me, nods, and makes the announcement: “Chaplain is here with ashes. Who wants ‘em?” The staff queue up in between code carts and empty gurneys. These professional caregivers who often don’t have time to nourish themselves still make the time for this sacred act.  One-by-one, I look every person in the eyes, encouraging them to turn toward the Gospel and make the sign of the cross on their foreheads.¹ It takes 3 seconds. Each then hurriedly departs to get back to their patients. It is quick, but it is meaningful.

I’m equally touched when individuals are so grateful for this one small act. “Oh, I’m relieved. Mom’s never not had ashes before” a daughter in the ICU told me as I touched her unconscious mother’s forehead. A nurse sighed, “My priest told me he didn’t care if I was working a double shift, he wouldn’t give me ashes unless I came to Mass. I’m so glad you’re here.” Perhaps this one small act is larger than I know.

Every year, observing Ash Wednesday in the hospital, a place of life and death, has always had a deep poignancy in reminding people that we are dust and to dust we shall return. But this was even more significant on the Ash Wednesday of 2021. Months into the pandemic, when there was so much suffering and death, I found myself wanting to skip Ash Wednesday altogether. I thought we did not need the reminder that our time here is limited, as we had been steeped in that reality for almost a year. I really wanted to cancel. But I know there can be value in tradition, especially in the face of uncertainty, grief and chaos. And that year, many staff who I marked with ashes had tears streaming down their cheeks as I reminded them of their mortality, when they had been so keenly aware of it every day.

This year, Ash Wednesday falls on Valentine’s Day. This can be awkward.

Christian clergy wonder about how to acknowledge this occurrence that happens every few years. The two holidays are rather contradictory. One celebrating love, the other signifying death.

Using ashes with glitter in them? Handing out chocolates before imposition? Making a heart out of the ashes? My congregational ministry colleagues have tried various things and I applaud their creativity! However, as a hospital chaplain, faced with death on the daily, it would dilute the solemnity of the day for me. But the synchronicity of the calendar is hard to ignore and begs to be recognized somehow.

The last time this strange collision occurred, I preached in the hospital chapel that instead of saying “Return to the Lord” for that Ash Wednesday, I thought about it as a “Return to Love.” Not the romantic love of cheesy Hallmark Channel movies, but the love of God. That agapic love that is ever present and unfailing.

In the finale of my favorite musical, Les Misérables,² the line is sung “To love another person is to see the face of God.” The line of scripture that Victor Hugo uses for inspiration is 1 John 4:11-12.

Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and God’s love is made complete in us.

I watch people confronted by their mortality every day, and I am continually amazed by the love that surrounds them. In this way, the holidays are maybe not so contradictory. (And hopefully my husband is reading this and remembers to get me extra chocolate on this busiest day of the year! )

How can you return to love this week – whatever that looks like for you?

If you observe Ash Wednesday, Valentine’s Day or both - what has been a practice you’ve found meaningful?

1. For many years hospital chaplains used their thumb or fore-finger to impose ashes, but during Covid we realized how problematic that was from an infection prevention perspective. Many chaplains switched to using cotton swabs. Now I’m never going back. The swabs are so much easier, cleaner and draw a more distinctive cross (compared to the smudges I sometimes made!) I now bury all the swabs my chaplains use in my yard so that we can reverently dispose of them, which is another neat ritual of literally returning them to the earth! If you are still reading this far, you might be interested in the practical aspects of ash implementation in the hospital – feel free to email me (respond directly to this email or journeyingalongside@substack.com) and I will send you a tip sheet I created of instructions for how to impose ashes.

2. Yes, I still love musical theater, despite not being able to sing! You can read more about my dashed dreams below.

Chanting