As many of you know, I recently underwent surgery to remove a granuloma on my vocal cords. Thanks to God, I was able to start speaking again last week, beginning with a limit of 10 minutes a day. I have now increased to 2 hours a day. However, my vocal cords were paralyzed during the surgery, so the effects will last for quite a while – possibly 6 weeks to 4 months. As a result, my voice is quiet, breathy, and I have little control over it, but I can speak.
Not being able to speak has caused some awkward situations. For example, one time, a neighbor I hadn’t met yet knocked on my door while my wife was in the basement. I thought she had heard the knock and was making her way to the front door, so I went ahead and answered it. However, my wife hadn’t heard the knock and I was unable to communicate with my neighbor, leading to an awkward encounter.
Coffee hours have also been a bit awkward. I try to find a table with a lively conversation so I can simply sit and listen. This has worked well, except for the one time when everyone but one person had to leave. It wasn’t that we didn’t have anything to talk about, it’s just that it takes a long time if one person has to write out every word he wants to say. However, sometimes “being” with someone is more important than anything that might be said.
The chaplain who taught our hospital courses at seminary told us that we are “human beings” not “human doers.” A hospital is filled with sick people, some in very sad situations. We weren’t there to “do” anything for anyone. In fact, there was nothing we could “do” to fix them. However, we could simply “be” with them, offering patience and a sense of solidarity and connection. This is a form of relationship that can be healing, and is something doctors often don’t have time for.
When we entered a room, we were taught to briefly introduce ourselves, explain what the chaplaincy department had to offer, and ask how the patient was doing. If they didn’t want us there, we left. If they wanted to talk, we listened with sympathy but without giving advice. Sometimes, healing is just “being” with them so they can talk about their pain and suffering. Just being able to articulate what you’re going through and have someone else hear it can change your perspective and be healing.
Other times we entered a room and the patient was unconscious. In those cases, we would still say hello, hold their hand, or sit with them. We would just “be.” One time, I read the Psalms over a nun who was actively dying. In all these situations, prayer is powerful. We often think of prayer as action, but it’s really about “being” in God’s presence.
Perhaps one of the hardest Psalms to understand is Psalm 46:10-11:
Be still, and know that I am God!
I am exalted among the nations,
I am exalted in the earth.
The Lord of hosts is with us;
the God of Jacob is our refuge.
What’s hard about this Psalm is not understanding what it means, but enacting it. It’s hard to be still and be a human being, not a human doer. But it is possible, and when we’re able to be still and be with someone, we may find that God is the one who is “doing” the healing. And, it doesn’t take any words to be healed by God.