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God is Here by Rob McClellan ’07 My name is Rob McClellan and I am a third-year student originally from
It’s not far from the seminary. It’s downtown, at a large hospital. Inside, past the overcrowded elevators, past the busy nurses’ station, past the beeps and alarms going off, there in a room lies a 78-year-old woman, alone. When she hears that the chaplain has come to see her, she strains to lift her head. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here,” she says and smiles, but it’s not an entirely happy smile. She explains that things aren’t so good, that this is the first time she’s been this sick, and furthermore when she’s been sick before she’s always been able to ask God to heal her, and each time she’s gotten better. This time, though, she’s not getting better, and so this day she wonders if God has turned his back on her. “Chaplain,” she says, “I can’t pray anymore.”
The very morning I met the woman, we had read the 88th Psalm in the Pastoral Care course that had assigned me to that hospital. The professor mentioned that it might be a good psalm to read to those who are so deep in the pit of despair that they don’t yet want to hear what we might think of as “good” news. So there I was, just hours later, in the hospital downtown, past the elevators, nurses’ station, and alarms, in the room where the woman lies. She’s deeply Christian, so I ask her if I can share with her a psalm…88. As I read, my eyes take turns between the fragile pages and her tender eyes.
“Incline your ear to my cry. For my soul is full of troubles…” Her lips begin to purse.
“I am counted among those who go down to the Pit; I am like those who have no help.” Her eyes well up.
“O LORD why do you cast me off? Why do you hide your face from me?...I am desperate.” Finally, the tears come.
“Those are the best words I’ve ever heard,” she says.
“What’s good about them?” I ask.
“They’re exactly how I feel,” she responds.
Not long after that I came back to campus. I prayed that God might be there for that woman, but then I pretty much went about my day, did my studying, went to bed, got up the next morning and went to class. When I returned to the hospital, I didn’t plan on seeing the woman. We’re taught to see as many different patients as possible. Who would have thought I’d run out of rooms to visit with 15 minutes left on my shift?
I stopped by her room. She said, again, “I’m so glad you’re here. I asked God to send you back to me this morning to thank you. Last night I prayed again.” She asked me for a larger print Bible, so I went down to the chaplain’s office. When I came back, as if they’d magically appeared, two people sat by her side. “Oh, Chaplain,” she said, alone no more, “I want you to meet my family.”
I must confess that I thought about describing for you the seminary-sponsored trip I took to
And another confession: I really don’t need to take you anywhere. You see, you were there in that hospital room the whole time, just as you were on the trip to
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