The Ministry of 'Presence'
With great thanks to
firedancer_ny for sparking this thought ...
Sometimes our American modern lives of doing / multi-tasking / information-seeking behaviors mislead us, and we forget the great animal joy of just being together.
We humans don't really get together 'in order to' do some activity, at least, not always. Usually it's the other way around: the actual purpose of this activity is 'being together.' As in "come over for dinner / coffee / a drink / breakfast / lunch / tea". (It's not the meal that's the reason.) Even building our barn -- yes, we want the barn, but more than that, the shared project is a focus for months of dinner-table conversation.
This is also what 'talking about the weather' is about. Back in the 1970s, I once had the pleasure of escorting the 'big boss' and spouse through a 250-person company picnic; it was my job to know names, speak first, make introductions. Both boss and spouse said the usual things -- 'how nice to meet you / see you again" and so on. Often the boss would say something complimentary to the employee, or to the employee's spouse about the employee. Equally often the boss's spouse would say something about the weather.
Soon I was struck by how natural they both seemed, saying essentially the same thing to dozens of people for a couple of hours, always seeming fresh and to be speaking directly to each person.
Finally I got it. 'Talking about the weather' was a way of saying more than 'hello' before moving on; an excuse to stay in contact a little longer without feeling awkwardly silent or happening to choose an awkward subject for conversation. In energetic terms (which I wouldn't have known about, on a conscious level, in those days), this charming and personable couple were creating opportunities for valued employees to stand together with them, sharing one another's auras until the brief interchange felt complete, so that the employees could feel appropriately valued by the boss and the employees' spouses could see that this was so.
Which brings me suddenly to Chaplain work. We visit the hospital patient or nursing-home resident, someone we hardly know. We chat a little, perhaps, but mostly what is wanted is our listening ear, or our warmhearted presence; the evidence we can provide that the person we are visiting is still 'here,' still cared for, that the person still matters. Sometimes, of course, a person wants spiritual guidance; but even there, usually they want to talk out their hopes, fears, guilts, dreams ... and feel validated by our response. They want this MUCH more often than they want us to 'tell' them what we think will happen after death.
Often all that is needed is our presence, our 'company.'
It's a bit like "play therapy," used by psychotherapists with very young children. The rules of play therapy are simple: Be present. Pay attention. Answer direct questions as simply and as 'in the moment' as possible. Respond neutrally. Validate experience. Avoid interpretation.
Not a bad way to be with our friends, too, come to think of it.
When I am being most effective as a hospice volunteer, I often don't say much of anything. If the person wants to talk, I listen with intense focus. If the person then stops talking, I may say something intelligent like "and what's present now?" For many folks, there isn't anything I "know" that they need to hear. What they need is to know that I'm present with them as they walk through this tough bit. That I won't turn away if they complain. That I won't flinch away if their illness makes them smell bad -- or if they fart. That it's okay if they squeeze my hand really hard when something hurts. That they don't need to 'entertain' me.
Sometimes the person doesn't want to talk, or can't talk much. Some folks like to watch TV ... and they like it better when they can watch TV with someone beside them. Some folks want to be sung to.
Some folks will ask me to tell them about my grandchildren, my day, my seminary courses, what I'm weaving.... is that because they really want to know? because they want the sound of my voice? because they want something (anything) to distract them from whatever they're thinking about? Sometimes, of course, I notice I imagine that it's because my life is so fascinating (!). Usually I think it's because they want company, and we have a social paradigm that assumes we have to be 'doing something' or 'talking' or else people will think they're not wanted.
I always bring a book, in case I need to reassure someone that I have 'something to do' so I 'won't be bored.' I often bring crocheting or embroidery, something I can work on without great concentration, show off and talk about if they want to know, and put down at a moment's notice without having to worry about it.
Mostly I'm just 'there' -- or 'there just in case,' as with the person who sleeps nearly all the time but occasionally needs help. Sometimes the whole thing is just 'being there' -- the Ministry of Presence.
firedancer_ny for sparking this thought ...
Sometimes our American modern lives of doing / multi-tasking / information-seeking behaviors mislead us, and we forget the great animal joy of just being together.
We humans don't really get together 'in order to' do some activity, at least, not always. Usually it's the other way around: the actual purpose of this activity is 'being together.' As in "come over for dinner / coffee / a drink / breakfast / lunch / tea". (It's not the meal that's the reason.) Even building our barn -- yes, we want the barn, but more than that, the shared project is a focus for months of dinner-table conversation.
This is also what 'talking about the weather' is about. Back in the 1970s, I once had the pleasure of escorting the 'big boss' and spouse through a 250-person company picnic; it was my job to know names, speak first, make introductions. Both boss and spouse said the usual things -- 'how nice to meet you / see you again" and so on. Often the boss would say something complimentary to the employee, or to the employee's spouse about the employee. Equally often the boss's spouse would say something about the weather.
Soon I was struck by how natural they both seemed, saying essentially the same thing to dozens of people for a couple of hours, always seeming fresh and to be speaking directly to each person.
Finally I got it. 'Talking about the weather' was a way of saying more than 'hello' before moving on; an excuse to stay in contact a little longer without feeling awkwardly silent or happening to choose an awkward subject for conversation. In energetic terms (which I wouldn't have known about, on a conscious level, in those days), this charming and personable couple were creating opportunities for valued employees to stand together with them, sharing one another's auras until the brief interchange felt complete, so that the employees could feel appropriately valued by the boss and the employees' spouses could see that this was so.
Which brings me suddenly to Chaplain work. We visit the hospital patient or nursing-home resident, someone we hardly know. We chat a little, perhaps, but mostly what is wanted is our listening ear, or our warmhearted presence; the evidence we can provide that the person we are visiting is still 'here,' still cared for, that the person still matters. Sometimes, of course, a person wants spiritual guidance; but even there, usually they want to talk out their hopes, fears, guilts, dreams ... and feel validated by our response. They want this MUCH more often than they want us to 'tell' them what we think will happen after death.
Often all that is needed is our presence, our 'company.'
It's a bit like "play therapy," used by psychotherapists with very young children. The rules of play therapy are simple: Be present. Pay attention. Answer direct questions as simply and as 'in the moment' as possible. Respond neutrally. Validate experience. Avoid interpretation.
Not a bad way to be with our friends, too, come to think of it.
When I am being most effective as a hospice volunteer, I often don't say much of anything. If the person wants to talk, I listen with intense focus. If the person then stops talking, I may say something intelligent like "and what's present now?" For many folks, there isn't anything I "know" that they need to hear. What they need is to know that I'm present with them as they walk through this tough bit. That I won't turn away if they complain. That I won't flinch away if their illness makes them smell bad -- or if they fart. That it's okay if they squeeze my hand really hard when something hurts. That they don't need to 'entertain' me.
Sometimes the person doesn't want to talk, or can't talk much. Some folks like to watch TV ... and they like it better when they can watch TV with someone beside them. Some folks want to be sung to.
Some folks will ask me to tell them about my grandchildren, my day, my seminary courses, what I'm weaving.... is that because they really want to know? because they want the sound of my voice? because they want something (anything) to distract them from whatever they're thinking about? Sometimes, of course, I notice I imagine that it's because my life is so fascinating (!). Usually I think it's because they want company, and we have a social paradigm that assumes we have to be 'doing something' or 'talking' or else people will think they're not wanted.
I always bring a book, in case I need to reassure someone that I have 'something to do' so I 'won't be bored.' I often bring crocheting or embroidery, something I can work on without great concentration, show off and talk about if they want to know, and put down at a moment's notice without having to worry about it.
Mostly I'm just 'there' -- or 'there just in case,' as with the person who sleeps nearly all the time but occasionally needs help. Sometimes the whole thing is just 'being there' -- the Ministry of Presence.