July 2023 

     Last summer, I was assigned to work as a hospital chaplain at UAMS in Little Rock,
Arkansas. It was a totally different experience from my previous summer assignments as aseminarian working at Saint Francis Xavier, doing Spanish immersion in Mexico City, andworking at Camp Abbey. In addition to the initial fear of walking into a stranger’s room and entering into an unknown and possibly very tense situation, there was also the immense uncertainty surrounding the hospital’s COVID policies. But, above all, the most difficult part of being a hospital chaplain was figuring how to prudently witness to the Truth, to Jesus and to His teachings.
     
     Since UAMS is a state-funded institution, the official hospital policy mandated strict
rules of engagement whereby I could only talk about God or anything pertaining to religion if the patient first brought up the topic. Fortunately, I had gotten permission to wear clerical attire. While there was the downside of being constantly mistaken for a priest, the benefits of wearing a priestly collar instead of a polo shirt were immeasurable. There were a few occasions where somebody stopped me in the hallway as I was visiting other patients to request confession for a family member, and I was able to call priests from the nearby parishes to help. Like the religious habits that Domnicans or Franciscans wear, the priestly collar acted as a powerful symbol of hope that God is with us in our suffering and that our true home is in Heaven.

     Sometimes, I did not even have to say any words to co-operate with God’s grace. As a woman was passing by me in the hallway on her way to surgery, she looked up and put her hands together in prayer. I simply reassured her by saying, “I’ll pray for you!” and made the Sign of the Cross with her. A week after this encounter, one of the other hospital chaplains told me that a person whom she was visiting was talking about being assured of God’s presence after seeing an Asian priest right before surgery, which left little doubt about who she was referring to since there are very few priests in Arkansas and even less Asians.

     After visiting roughly twenty patients every day and attending seminars in the mornings, I was always exhausted by the end of the day. But, I would usually bring home a list of patients that I had visited to pray for during Evening Prayer and Compline. One of the patients that I still remember in prayer is a priest. He had been diagnosed with cancer and had come into the hospital in June for a surgery. When my classmate Aaron and I found out that he was at the hospital, we went to visit him, and upon seeing us in our clerics, he immediately gave us two thumbs up. His family was gathered around him, and we were all very moved when he
did this since he had not really moved or spoken since the surgery.

     As Father's condition worsened, he was put in hospice and was providentially moved to the hospital floor that I was assigned to make my rounds every day. It was beautiful to see his sister continually sitting by his side in prayer, and she was always accompanied by one of her six children or her many grandchildren. I only met Father at the end of his pilgrimage on earth, but I knew that he was a good priest from all the stories that I heard about him. Even more importantly, I knew that his life as a priest had closely configured his suffering to Christ. During his time in hospice, he lost the ability to eat and to talk, and he drifted in and out of consciousness. As his time in hospice approached its third week, I remember his sister asking him, “Who are you waiting for?” He had been visited by many former students, parishioners, and was anointed by the bishop, and he appeared to be at peace. And so, the family rightly wondered why God seemed to be prolonging his suffering. There was a cruel irony in seeing so many tragic and sudden deaths when working on-call shifts while Father lingered on in great pain. But, if Father could have spoken, I am sure that he would have reassured us with the words of St. Paul to the Colossians, “I Paul am made a minister [of the hope of the gospel which you have heard], who now rejoice in my sufferings for you, and fill up those things that are wanting of the sufferings of Christ, in my flesh, for his body, which is the church.”  Although he could no longer offer the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, this was his final sacrificial offering. And, after seeing so many people approach death with the natural responses of regret and terror, it was a sure reminder of the hope of the Cross and Resurrection to see this priest die as he lived- with great hope and peaceful surrender to the Lord.

     Now, as a deacon, I too have the grave responsibility of being a minister of the Gospel like that priest and St. Paul. When Archbishop Aymond handed me the Book of the Gospels, he said, “Receive the Gospel of Christ whose herald you now are. Believe what you read, teach what you believe, and practice what you teach.” Ultimately, practicing what I teach means suffering for Christ. That is why, God-willing, on June 1, 2024, Archbishop Aymond will ask, “Do you resolve to be united more closely every day to Christ the High Priest, who offered Himself for us to the Father as a pure sacrifice, and with him to consecrate yourselves to God for the salvation of all?” This final year of preparation as a transitional deacon will prepare me to answer, “I do, with the help of God.”