Prayer and the Profane
It was after midnight when the chaplain pager went off and I struggled sleepily to the unit where a man had recently arrived after trauma surgery to a gunshot wound. Skimming his file, I could tell he had just been admitted, and the only pertinent information I could find was that he had been informed that a friend had been killed in the shooting. I walked down the quiet hallway and knocked on the closed door before entering into a confused din of noise and activity.
Nearly a dozen young gang members were in the room, several of them shouting on cell phones, one yelling at a caller to "get over yourself! There are more important things happening right now! You're not gonna' be implicated!" The young man in the hospital bed with the gunshot wound was talking about shooting at someone, but I noticed that there were no police present in the room, as there usually are when criminals are in the hospital. I introduced myself as the chaplain and a few of the more wary among them appeared to visibly relax. When the patient asked for prayer, I asked him what he would like me to pray for. He answered, "for everybody who fucked up tonight."
A hush fell over the room and I slowly said, "well, would everyone who feels like they fit into that category please hold hands?" Though there were too many of us to form a circle, everyone joined hands and our connection snaked around the room to include the gunman in the bed. As I prayed, several people wept openly. After prayer, a young lady asked if she could see the body of the deceased friend. I knew his body would be with the medical examiner, since he was the victim of crime, so I called the Deceased Coordinator while she called the victim's grandmother to arrange for permission.
I charted on the unit about the encounter and carefully reworded the man's phraseology for his permanent records! I left to go back to sleep, but my dreams were plagued with gunfire.