The time 350 people died...

January 2nd, 2011 was my last official Sunday as a paid youth pastor. I spent the next few weeks riding around with a few other chaplains, hanging out with friends, and checking things off a to-do list. January 17th I went to work at Alpha Omega Hospice for the first time. 

That first morning was easy...dressed in my best slacks and pressed shirt, I smiled and nodded and tried to remember as many names as I could. Staff meeting, on-call reports, and free breakfast were a breeze. We prayed, people left, and it was time to get hospicing. 

Stopped at Staples for pens, a new folder, highlighters, and some paper clips. Got everything sorted in my shiny new Alpha Omega satchel and Googled my first address...it was off to Arlington. 

I parked the car ready to head inside and bring Jesus to the masses, comfort to the dying, and basically revolutionize hospice chaplaincy. I was sure I was destined to start my world-wide speaking career in a few short weeks. 

Then I started crying. Uncontrollable sobbing ensued. I realized I had absolutely no idea what I was doing and I wanted to go back and be a youth minister. I knew about teenagers, parents, pizza, summer camp, and had an endless supply of ice-breakers. What the hell did I know about old, dying people in nursing homes?

So I cried. 

Since then (by my best count) I've lost close to 350 people with whom I had some sort of contact before they died. Anywhere from just talking to the family to actually being there when they passed away. I've done somewhere around 50 funerals. The vast majority of which I had little or no connection to the person other than a few small conversations with them or a family member. The oldest person was 102 and the youngest was 33. 

I do a job that will shut down any small talk after a person asks "so what do you do for a living?" My answer almost always gets an empathic sigh and quick change of subject.

I get it, death sucks and makes us uneasy. We don't talk about death at church unless it is to speak of heaven and mansions over hill tops. We don't teach our people how to care for and walk with people and families struggling with things like dementia, Alzheimer's, or cancer. We try our best to avoid the end of life if at all possible. 

Four years later I cry less. I have a little better idea of what I'm doing and that makes it much more enjoyable. Death and dying have something to teach us. Yes, it can make us cry, but I promise it can make us laugh and smile.

I've never been into doing New Year resolutions. I fail at them by the end of the first week, but maybe this year will be different. So here is to a year of sick, dying people and the wonderful team of people who care for them from my perspective...