Holding Space in My Heart
Holding Space in My Heart
Honoring the Lives Lost to COVID-19
August 22, 2020
In the spring of 2020, when I saw images coming out of Italy of the rows of coffins, I kept wondering to myself,
Is anyone blessing the bodies?
Surely, in a country saturated and sanctified by Catholicism, the priests were taking care of this.
The question reappeared in my thoughts when, not too much later, I saw images of New York City hospitals with refrigerated trucks parked outside, set up as temporary morgues because there was no more room in-house.
There have been so many lives lost to COVID-19 in such a short span of time that, despite the images of coffins and temporary morgue trucks etched into my mind, despite the daily death updates, it has been hard for me to wrap my head around it, even harder to allow the reality of it to permeate my soul.
Is anyone blessing the bodies?
***
I have some history of blessing bodies from my tenure as a chaplain with the county Sheriff’s Office, being called out by deputies to homes where someone had died. Generally, if a person died unexpectedly at home, the Sheriff’s Office did a routine investigation at the scene to rule out foul play. During these times, I would be called upon to sit with the deceased’s loved ones who might be present while the investigation was going on.
It had not occurred to me to bless a body until a call-out in the wee hours of the morning to a home where an elderly woman had died in her sleep. Her husband asked if I would offer a prayer over the body of his beloved wife, his partner in life for well over sixty years. I felt like time stood still as I placed my hand on her head and expressed gratitude for this person’s life and for the man who loved her, asking God to receive her spirit and grant her peace and rest. Even the deputies and detectives paused in their duties, keeping a reverent silence.
It was such a holy moment that the next time I didn’t wait for a request. I found myself taking the initiative to ask family members if they wanted me to offer a blessing over the body of their loved one. Religious or not, they always said yes.
Typically, we would have to wait for the coroner to examine the body. Sometimes I was not allowed to lay my hand on their forehead as had become my custom. Other times, the coroner had decided the body should be covered prior to letting a loved one see it. On those occasions, I would let my hand hover over the deceased as I offered words of gratitude and petition.
These experiences seemed so meaningful for the family members that I even found myself advocating for blessing the body when the deputies or coroner were not inclined to be accommodating.
I remember one frigid January morning when I was called to the home of a young man who had overdosed and died, found by his housemate. When his mother arrived on the scene, she was told she could not go into the house until the deputies finished their investigation. She was hysterical in her grief and fainted, dropping with a thud to the ground. The deputies, concerned she had injured herself, called for paramedics who arrived within minutes and revived her, checking her over and bandaging her scraped knee. It was a chaotic mess that day, with deputies and detectives and paramedics coming and going, and the mother and I pacing together outside.
At some point I asked her if she would like me to offer a blessing over her son’s body, and she said yes. I went to check in with the deputy in charge. He gave me a long, measured look, then said, “You can go in and bless the body, but she can’t go in with you.”
“Why not?” I wanted to know, although I suspected I already knew.
He crossed his arms, cocked his head, and asked, “Are we not talking about the same mother who fainted earlier?”
“Is this a rhetorical question?” I asked back.
He let out an exaggerated sigh, and said, “If she fainted just hearing the news that her son has died, there is no telling what will happen when she actually sees his body.”
I stated the obvious: “You won’t let her see her son because you don’t want to deal with the possibility of her fainting again.”
“That’s right.”
That didn’t seem right at all to me. I knew it had been a long day and I knew the deputies were exhausted. We all were. But still. I had come to understand and appreciate the significance of family members seeing their loved one’s body. It made the death more tangible, something they could grasp onto from the recesses of their grief and summon up later for comfort and strength.
I said, “I think if this mother wants to see her son and wants to be present when I offer a blessing over his body, then we should do everything we can to make that possible for her. And be willing and prepared to deal with the consequences. Is it possible for you to get two of your deputies to escort the mother in, and then if she faints again, they can be right there to catch her?”
The deputy gave me another long look, and I stood my ground. Finally, he grumbled something under his breath, then said, “Alright Chaplain, you got it.”
***
And then there was the time I was called to the home of a man who lived alone and had died alone. There were no family members or friends to console. Everyone he had once been close to now lived out of state. One of the deputies said, “Well, Chaplain, I guess you’re not needed this time. Sorry we called you out.”
I was about to leave when I felt prompted to offer a blessing over this man’s body. When I suggested it to the deputy, he looked confused. “But none of his family is here. I don’t see the need.”
I agreed.
But something kept tugging at me, a question rising up within me.
Yes, blessing a body was a comfort for family members, but that wasn’t the only reason to bless a body, was it?
I thought about the words I often used in my blessings.
O gracious God,
we thank you for this life
created in your image.
We offer to you his spirit;
may you receive him into your loving embrace
and grant him eternal peace and rest.
Blessing this man’s body, I realized, was about acknowledging that his life was sacred and that crossing over the liminal space between life and death was a sacred journey. I wanted to honor that, whether or not he had family or friends present to bear witness.
I also recognized that my words about offering this man’s spirit to be received into God’s embrace was not a plea for God to do so, but an acknowledgement—an affirmation—that God is doing so. That God has already done so.
I told the deputy, “Since he doesn’t have any family here to honor him, I would like for us to stand in for them.”
The deputy solemnly nodded, and then of one accord, he, the detective, and the coroner drew near to the man’s body as I offered a blessing over him.
***
It is hard to describe the holiness of the moment, standing next to a body that no longer breathes, acknowledging their life as sacred and asking God to receive their spirit. In every single instance of blessing a body, I sensed the Spirit of God as a warm and inviting presence, welcoming this child home. I could honor this life and this journey by holding space and offering words that named it.
This is how I became convinced that God embraces all of us, regardless of who we are, where we come from, what we’ve done, or what we professed or didn’t profess about God during our lifetime. I have experienced it over and over and over again.
Earlier in my ministry, a seasoned pastor shared with me that whenever he was summoned to the deathbed of someone who did not profess faith in Christ, that he took off his theological hat and put on his pastoral hat. In other words, he chose not to voice his belief about God rejecting this individual after death and instead, he responded compassionately.
I appreciated this pastor trying to be helpful by offering me advice, but it left me with more questions than answers. Why did I have to have two hats? Why couldn’t my theological hat and my pastoral hat be one and the same? Why couldn’t I have a pastoral theology? Did I somehow think that I could be more compassionate than God?
***
Living in the midst of this COVID-19 pandemic, I have come to realize that even if no one offered a blessing over the bodies in the refrigerated trucks next to the New York City hospitals or in the rows of coffins in Italy or anywhere else, even if no one named it, the journey of the deceased into God’s embrace is still holy.
So maybe my concern about whether anyone has offered a blessing over the bodies has been more about me and my own need to absorb the numbing reality that the staggering number of deaths represents the same staggering number of lives.
Maybe my need is to honor these lives that have been lost by holding space in my heart and offering words that name the holiness of life and the sacred journey home.
O gracious God,
We thank you for these lives
Created in your image.
May you receive them
into your loving embrace
And grant them eternal peace and rest.
*The original version of this essay, titled Blessing the Bodies, first appeared in the June 2020 newsletter of Cascade Ministries (cascadeministries.org).