Can God speak through a tattooed angel?
Have you ever met someone very different from you and wondered how you could relate?
As a chaplain, I experienced a stirring encounter with a man who differed from me as much as oil differs from water. Etched in my memory is the picture of his face and our conversation, even after several years have passed. This visit occurred soon after I started working at a different hospital that served many patients from inner city and rural areas; patients who came from communities with few financial resources and limited access to health care. I came to learn that much poverty exists in my state to which I had not been exposed, and this awareness was eye-opening and sad for me to learn. At least two worlds exist in Texas, the haves and have-nots (those who had ample means and those who lacked adequate means).
One day during my rounds on the second floor of the hospital, I noticed a new patient in room 302. Let’s call him Juan Garcia. Glancing at my rounding sheet, I noted he was 50 years old and his religion listed as Catholic. When I entered the room, I had the impression no visitors had been in to see him because of the void of flowers, cards or balloons. No personal belongings held a place on the night stand. The room smelled mildly of disinfectant as hospital room tend to smell. I made a conscious decision to I shut out the humming noise of the floor polisher in the hall in order to focus all my undivided attention on Mr. Garcia.
Void of visitors
I observed him as I entered the room and gathered we came from dissimilar backgrounds. I noticed his taupe skin covered in tattoos, his uncut hair, his slender frame, and his aged appearance that was beyond his chronically age. To be honest, I was intimated by all the tattoos. Aware I dressed in a jacket and slacks, I hoped that my professional attire would not be a barrier to him. Our worlds appeared to be far apart and I wondered what I could offer him. Was he rough and tough? Feeling self-conscious about my ability to help him feel comfortable, I asked myself, “Will I have the right words? Will he want a visit from a non-Hispanic woman from a different culture?” Acutely aware that I was from a middle-class bubble, and protected from the harsher things in life, I did not know if we could connect. “Would he accept me? Could I comfort him regardless of our backgrounds?”
Intimated by tattoos
“Mr. Garcia, hello. I am chaplain Charleen.” I said with a smile.
“Hello, Chaplain. Nice to see you.”
“I came to visit with you and check on you.”
Shifting some in his semi-upright position in bed, he said, “Thank you, chaplain. It is good to see you. I came to this hospital by helicopter a day ago from a small town near Eagle Pass. I don’t get visitors because I live far away.”
“I am glad to meet you,” I relaxed my shoulders to show him I wasn’t going anywhere.
Mr. Garcia unfolded the story of his prolonged fight with multiple illnesses, I nodded to let him know that I was fully present. He shared why he was in the hospital and what was happening. Even with my limited medical knowledge, I knew he was seriously ill. He told how he could not work or support himself and lived with extended family who had room for him. With humbleness he expressed gratitude for his family. I admired the value of how Mexican families take care of their own family even when their means are limited. I surmised he came from a caring family. Mr. Garcia spoke with frankness about his history, attributing some of his illness to poor decisions and rough living. He added he had come to terms with his past and moved-on.
Coming to terms with his past and moving-on
I knew he would receive good care at this hospital, but I was not sure if the rural area where he came from had adequate health care. What was his prognosis?
Mr. Garcia did not dwell on his poor health as I expected and did not whine or complain. Rather, he talked about God and how God gave him a reason to live with hope. I listened with intrigue to his stories of God in his life. He showed an inner spiritual fortitude and a positive outlook.
My self-conscientiousness melted away because he looked me in the eye and did not guard his conversation. Relaxed, he talked about God and his faith. Even though I was not Hispanic or from his town, I marveled at his openness with me. My fears about not being able to connect dissolved.
He exhibited spiritual strength and courage
While we conversed, I sensed the sweet presence of God and a felt bond between us. I was in a holy place with a man who had peace.
As my visit with him came near the end, I gave him a rosary and a little booklet called the Upper Room to read. We concluded in prayer.
God’s presence and peace were unmistakable
Since no visitors would come, I visited him a few times during his stay; I wanted him to know I cared. Each time, this gentle man welcomed me with warmth and eagerness to talk. Each time, he talked of God being his strength, I could tell that God’s grace was sustaining him. Each time, we prayed.
After a few weeks, he left the hospital. I do not know what happened to him. Did he go back to live with family or did he go to a care facility?
I may not know what happened to him and I have not seen him again. However, I knew he had peace with God, reassurance that he would not be alone in his journey. His relationship with God would sustain him. Our visits were a blink in life, I walked with him for a short part of his journey but I will always remember him. It does not matter how different our worlds were, we could still connect. I had an unexpected glimpse of the courage in his humanity and of his faith in God. My own fears abated, recognizing that the common denominators are not culture, economic status, or geography, but our common denominators are humanity and a mutual relationship with God.
Stories encapsulate who we are as people and our connections with others. I have the privilege to witness and hear many stories as I serve as a chaplain in the hospital. These stories amaze me as I am a bystander to the intersection of humanity and the divine. I am gifted with the invitation into their sacred places. Mr. Garcia invited me into a sacred place.
Common denominators of humanity and faith
I grew that day as a chaplain and as a person from my encounter with Juan Garcia, a tattooed angel. Unexpected!
Philip Yancy says it so well in his book Prayer: Does it Make Any Difference? “And so I have found, as I look for God in the everdayness of life. ‘Aha’ moments catch me by surprise; a surge of gratitude, a pang of compassion. But they catch me, I have learned, only when I am looking for them.”
God’s Spirit blows wherever it wishes. You hear its sound, but you don’t know where it comes from or where it is going. Jesus said to Nicodemus in John 3:8
Corey Collins-Unsplashed
