Читать книгу The Deacon - Thomas Fargnoli - Страница 3

The Hospital

“I was sick and you visited me…”

Mathew 25:36

As Dorothy and I were having our second cup of coffee, we were reminiscing about our first year of marriage. We both agreed on how fast the year had flown by. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that the things that happened over the last five years actually happened. I often catch myself just staring at Dorothy. She is such a beautiful woman. People come up to her wherever we go and compliment her on her hair. I always interject, “How about my hair?” Since she became allergic to dyes, she let her hair become its natural color, kind of a silver and black combination. That, plus her magnificent complexion, made her look many years younger. I often told her that people must think I am out with my daughter instead of my wife. Our conversation was interrupted as my phone rang. Dorothy asked, “Who is calling so early in the morning?”

I looked at my phone, “Unknown.” For some reason, I decided to answer this even though it was probably just another robo-call. The voice on the other end identified himself as Rick Minder, a reporter for the Courier-Post, a local South Jersey newspaper.

“Hello, Tom, I’m doing an article on the role of deacons today in the Catholic Church and, while interviewing a few deacons, I was given your name. I was told you served as a hospital chaplain. I would like to know more about your ministry. Would you be willing to sit down for an interview sometime this week?”

Looking at Dorothy and shrugging, being totally caught off guard by the call, I responded, “Rick…I appreciate the call; It sounds like an interesting article, but I’m no longer a deacon. Good luck with the article, have a nice day.”

“Don’t hang up, Tom! I know you are no longer a deacon—that’s another reason why I want to interview you.”

I could see Dorothy looking at me, wondering what was going on. “Rick, could you hold on for a moment?” After he agreed, I covered the phone with my hand and informed Dorothy, “It’s a reporter from the Courier, he wants to interview me on my hospital ministry and why I left.”

Dorothy looked concerned, “Oh Tom…ask him to call you back later. We should talk about this.”

I agreed with a nod and continued the call, “Rick, can you give me a call back later today? We’re in the middle of something right now.”

“Sure Tom, no problem, how’s 4 o’clock this afternoon?”

I agreed and hung up. Looking at Dorothy, I sensed her concern. She was always truly concerned about me. I loved that about her. Who wouldn’t? She was the first to offer her thoughts on this call: “Tom, you have gone through so much over the last few years and your wounds have finally started to heal. Do you really want to open things up again?”

“In some ways, no, but in other ways, this may give me the opportunity to tell my story. Dr. Raush has been asking me to write things down. Perhaps this article can be a way to do that. In his terms, a cathartic exercise.”

After we talked more about it, we agreed that I would pursue the interview. When Rick called back, we set a date for him to come over on Tuesday. That would give me some time to collect my thoughts. I had no problem talking about my hospital ministry—it was a ministry that I truly felt called to do and, as far as my overall time as a deacon, well, that was an incredible five years encompassing so many experiences, all of which were tremendously rewarding. There was no doubt in my mind or heart that I was called to be a deacon and I put everything into it. Most people are not aware of the rule in the Catholic Church that when a deacon’s wife dies, he can no longer pursue another loving relationship that leads to marriage. I wonder if Rick even knows that. Making my decision to leave a ministry that I loved was not easy, nor would it be an easy matter to describe, but I figured I would soon have my chance.

On Tuesday morning, Dorothy was not home when Rick arrived. I was at the door when he pulled up. I was surprised that he drove a rather older model car. I waved at him from the door to confirm he had the right house. After he parked, he walked up to the door with just a note pad. I guess I was expecting an iPad or laptop, or something more modern. After we introduced ourselves, I asked him where he wanted to sit—office, kitchen or living room.

“The living room is fine. You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you, can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“That would be great, just cream or milk would be fine.”

Rick had dark brown hair, an average build, and strong facial features. There was a calmness about him. As we sat with our coffee, we got to know each other a bit. I told him that I used to be a paperboy for the Courier, but actually made more money with the Bulletin. It was strange—I felt as if I knew Rick, but after we went through all the places where we may have crossed paths, nothing came up. I quickly realized that he was seriously interested in what I had to say both by his expressions and by the questions he asked me from time to time for clarification. In any event, I found Rick to be very friendly and professional.

Rick started out with his first interest, namely, my hospital ministry. “From speaking to other deacons, Tom, it’s interesting how they wound up involved in various ministries—some with the parish they were assigned to and others with more specific diocesan-wide ministries, such as prison ministry or hospital ministry. I would love to hear about your hospital ministry, how you came to be involved in hospital ministry, the training you underwent, and just your daily life in the hospital. But I would like to start in a rather unique way if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, it’s been a while, but I am sure I can provide an accurate picture of hospital ministry through the eyes of a deacon.”

“Great! So, rather than ask you a ton of questions I would like you to think of one of the most memorable days you had in that ministry. You were a hospital chaplain, is that correct?”

“Yes, actually, I was an associate hospital chaplain. I reported to the hospital chaplain, who was a priest, Father Wilson.”

“That’s fine. So, tell me about a day that jumps out at you. Walk me through it—we can always go back and fill in the blanks after you’re done.”

As Rick asked me this question, I didn’t have to think very long. “Well, Rick, the most memorable day for me had to be the day of the fire.”

“Tell me about it!”

After pausing a while, taking a few deep breaths, and saying a small prayer to the Holy Spirit, I looked at Rick and began to recollect the events of that day.

“That day at the hospital began like many others. I usually started at the Cherry Hill hospital, followed by a drive to Dunkin Donuts for my second cup of coffee, ending my day at the Stratford hospital, where I typically ate my free lunch! The first thing that comes to my mind about that day was that it was a beautiful spring morning. All the trees were full of blossoms. I especially remember the white blossoms of the pear trees that lined both sides of the street leading to the hospital. As I got closer to the hospital’s entrance, I inserted my Roman collar into my gray shirt and adjusted it. Deacons in our diocese wore the light gray shirts with a Roman collar to differentiate them from a priest who wore black shirts. However, so many people in the hospital, such as the person mopping the floor or visitors walking through the halls, greeted me with ‘Good morning, Father.’ In the early days, I would correct them by saying something like, ‘No, just a deacon’ or ‘You’re trying to promote me are you?’ But, after a while, I just responded with, ‘Good morning to you as well—Have a blessed day.’

“As I pulled into the hospital entrance, I had to show my ID badge, but the guards all knew me so they usually gave me a pleasant nod, as if to say, ‘Go right ahead.’ There were two parking spaces labeled ‘Clergy,’ but unless both were free, I usually just parked in one of the ‘Employee’ spaces because you never know when a priest or other clergy member needed to see a patient in an emergency situation and I wanted to leave the ‘Clergy’ spaces for them.

“I parked, grabbed my prayer book, my pix, containing some recently consecrated hosts (Eucharist), my Rosary beads, my magic coins and balls, my CPE Prayer, and off I went.”

Rick looked surprised and asked, “Wait, did you say magic coins and balls?”

“Yes, I always carried a few coins and sponge balls for an occasional magic trick when the situation arose. Both adults and children loved it—it often put a smile on their face at a time when they needed it. Normally, I would incorporate a magic trick into a story that was appropriate to their situation, tapping into Holy Scripture when I could. Many patients in a hospital are suffering from much more than the symptoms that the doctors are treating them for. So many of them have issues with their families, their jobs, their finances, so many things, and especially loneliness. So, naturally I try and comfort them in various ways, such as sharing stories, praying when appropriate, providing them with the Eucharist in some circumstances, and even magic!”

“For example, look at these two sponge balls.” I placed two red sponge balls on the table in front of Rick. “Let’s say one represents you and the other represents Jesus. You see, there is a relationship between you and Jesus—a friendship—a friendship that goes beyond a physical presence. When I separate the two, it appears that the relationship doesn’t exist anymore.” At this point, I placed one ball in Rick’s hand and asked him to squeeze it tight. The other I placed in my pocket. “You see, even though you might feel alone at times, especially while in the hospital, Jesus is always with you. He is always with you because he knows you. We hear God telling us, from Isaiah, a prophet from the Old Testament, ‘See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands.’” Poor Rick is sitting there clenching the sponge ball in his hand wondering where I am going with this. “Now, open your hand.”

As Rick slowly opened his hand expecting to see the one sponge ball, he saw that he had two. He looked up at me with a surprised face and said, “No way!”

I smiled at Rick and said, “Yes, way! Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. This is just my way of showing patients that, despite their loneliness, Jesus is always with them. Naturally, it takes more than a magic trick to do this, but often, I found that the magic trick made them relax, and often it opened the door to many other aspects of their lives that they began to talk about. As I talked with them, it made it easier for me to construct a prayer that focused on their particular situation and it meant much more to them then one of the standard prayers in my prayer book.”

Rick looked up and said, “Show me more magic!”

I smiled, “I thought you wanted to hear about the day at the hospital when the fire happened.”

Rick nodded, “I do, but I definitely want to see more of that magic later.”

I assured him I would show him more magic tricks and then continued with my story of that day. “As I walked from my car to the hospital entrance, I reached for my prayer card labeled, ‘My CPE Transition Prayer’ and began to read it”.

Rick stopped me, “CPE Transition Prayer? What is that for?”

“Well, remember, I was an engineer for forty years, designing and writing software for a combat system. I had to go through a transition so I could be in the right mindset to listen to and help patients. So, this transition prayer helped me become open to the Holy Spirit. This was something that I learned from Sister Arlene, at St. Mary’s Medical Center. So, I made up this prayer.”

I reached for the card and gave it to Rick.

Rick read the prayer and then looked up at me, “You wrote this?”

“Yes, you like it? You can keep it. I created a bunch of them. I gave them to my brother deacons who were involved in hospital ministry.”

Rick smiled, “Yes, I like it. Did it work?”

“Well, just like any prayer, if it comes from your heart, yes, it works. As you can see from those words, my intent was to be in a state that conveyed to the patient that I am concerned for him or her. It wasn’t about coming in, saying a few prayers, offering them the Eucharist, and then being on my way. In fact, I rarely brought up God in many of my encounters with patients. When I walked in, they would obviously know that I was clergy by my collar, however, many times, the collar created an initial barrier to openness.”

“Really? Why do you think that is?”

“Well, some patients felt that I was there to talk strictly about God or Church. Their eyes would give them away—it was as if they were saying, ‘Oh no, a priest or minister.’ So my first challenge was often to get them to relax and open up. I would assure them that I was there, primarily, to check on them and see how they are doing. Once they realized that, we had some great conversations. To get to this point, however, wasn’t always achieved. It’s where all my CPE training, my past experiences, and, yes, maybe even a little magic came into play. The bottom line is that most patients really just need someone to listen to them that isn’t related or connected to their situation.”

“I can see you were trained very well. Let’s get back to the day of the fire.”

“I remember visiting about eight or nine patients that day before I received a call from Nancy, the woman in charge of patient care. Nancy was great—she was good at her job and was genuinely concerned about the patients. Most times when she called or saw me in the hall, she would tell me about a particular patient that I should visit based on her conversation with him or her. She was always pleasant and always greeted me with a smile, but on this particular day, her call was different.

“I saw it was Nancy on my cell phone and answered, ‘Hi Nancy, what’s up?’

“‘Deacon Tom?’

“‘Yes, what’s up?’ I could sense by Nancy’s voice that she was upset.

“‘Are you in the hospital?’

“‘Yes, I’m in Room 354 with Mrs. McFadden. Just finishing a great visit and was about to give her Communion.’

“‘I need you to go to the emergency room! There’s been a house fire. The parents survived, but their daughter didn’t make it. The mother is so distraught, they sedated her. She and her husband are in the emergency room in ER-7. Can you go and be with her? The husband called their parish and the priest can’t make it here for another hour.’

“I felt as if all the blood was drained from my face. I am sure if there was a video of my face at that moment, it would have shown a transition from a warm and jovial look, having talked and joked with Mrs. McFadden, to a pale and deeply concerned look as Nancy’s words sunk in. ‘Yes, I will go right over.’

“‘Oh thank God, I will meet you there.’

“I mustered up a smile and told Mrs. McFadden that I had to go and that I would return later to give her Communion. As I walked to the elevator, waves of emotion came over me. I felt like running away. My plans for visiting a few more patients and then going for my coffee on this beautiful spring morning were replaced with, ‘Dear God, what can I do?’ Just before stepping into the elevator, I ducked into the men’s room. I looked at myself in the mirror. The normally cheerful face was one of panic. The gray shirt and Roman collar seemed inappropriate for the task I was about to perform. None of my CPE training prepared me for what I was about to do. As I looked at myself in the mirror, thoughts of total inadequacy filled me. ‘How can I help them? Who am I to help them? I don’t deserve to be wearing this collar, I am not a priest—just a retired engineer!’ I knew the source of these thoughts. The Evil One knows how to get to me—he is very good at what he does. I had to fight him first before I entered that emergency room. I went to the hospital chapel, brought out my CPE Transition Prayer and prayed that I may be a channel of Christ’s peace for those parents who needed his peace now more than anything. I took a deep breath and approached the emergency room.”

“Nancy was waiting for me. ‘Deacon Tom! Thank you for coming.

“I will do what I can.

“‘The mom and dad are in Room ER-7 and the daughter is in ER-12.’

“‘The daughter?! I thought she didn’t make it!’

“Nancy had tears running down her face. ‘She didn’t, but she is here. The mom wants to see her but she is so distraught and she is on an IV! Perhaps you can talk her out of that.’

“‘But, is the daughter… is she… oh God… is she burned from the fire?’ I am sure my face was not showing that I was capable of conveying any peace to this couple.

“Nancy just looked at me, ‘I don’t know. Let me take you to the parents.’

“As I walked through the ER, all the doctors and nurses knew where I was going. I tried to muster up all the faith I could by continuously saying to myself, ‘Dear Jesus, be with me….Dear Jesus, be with me.’

“When I walked into ER-7 with Nancy, I saw the mother lying on the bed with an IV attached to her arm. Her husband was standing by her side holding her hand. I started by hugging the father saying the only thing that came into my mind, ‘I am so sorry.’

“As I was hugging the father, the mother exclaimed, ‘Father, thank you so much for coming!’

“I moved to the other side of the bed, holding her hand, as the father stood on the other side holding her other hand. Nancy left when she saw I was ‘okay.’ ‘A priest from your parish will be here in a while,’ I told them. ‘I am a chaplain here at the hospital and a deacon from Our Lady of Guadalupe Parish.’ After just holding her hand and listening to her sobs for a while, I asked, ‘Is it okay if I say a prayer?’ The mother nodded, so I just held her hand and opened myself to the Holy Spirit. I do not recollect the exact words of the prayer but tried to let both of them know, somehow, that Jesus was with them and their daughter. Naturally, the tears and sobs kept flowing, along with unbelief of what had transpired in their home just a few hours earlier. I just listened and held her hand. I knew that the only thing I could really do for them was just to be there for them. The time seemed to stand still. She just kept squeezing my hand as if it was a lifeline for her. The parents were probably in their sixties and, as I found out, their daughter was a teenager with special needs.

“The father expressed to me that he would like to see his daughter. I hope my face didn’t reflect the panic I felt when I heard his request. I had no way to deal with that request other than to hand it off to the nurse the next time she stopped in to check on the mother. The only prayer that I remember saying to myself was that the priest would show up soon.

“Soon after the request, the nurse walked in and before I could say anything, the father asked the nurse about seeing his daughter. The mother knew she could not muster up the strength for that and, under the circumstances, the staff was concerned more about her health. The mother looked up at me and asked me, ‘Father, would you please go with my husband?’

“I looked at the nurse as she looked at me. She said that she would take us to see the daughter. I nodded and slowly walked with the father, leaving the room and walking down the hall. Many things crossed my mind as we approached ER-12. It seemed like hours and then the nurse escorted us into the room. The girl was covered and as we approached her, I could feel the father trembling as I held his arm. The nurse slowly turned down the sheet covering the daughter. As we looked upon the face of the daughter, the father almost fell—I was supporting him with my arm around his waist. The girl’s face was darkened, but not burned, thank the dear Lord. I found out later that she actually died of smoke inhalation, not from the flames. I said a prayer over her body as I held the father. He bent over to kiss her and then I nodded to the nurse who escorted us back to the mother’s room. When we came back into the mother’s room, Father Mike was there with the mother. I knew Father Mike from assisting him with the Sacrament of the Sick on various occasions at the hospital. I was so happy to see him there.

“I stayed for a while as Father Mike consoled the parents and prayed. Eventually, when I saw that Father Mike was in his element with respect to providing them with pastoral care, I decided to leave. The parents thanked me for being there for them. I mustered up a half-smile and hugged them both and quietly left the emergency area. The emergency area was close to the exit so after standing in the hallway for a while, I decided to leave the hospital. I was thinking that tomorrow is another day and that I will give Mrs. McFadden Communion tomorrow. I was just not up for visiting any more patients that day.”

Rick finished writing some notes and then looked up at me. “Wow!” he said. “That was quite a day, Tom. Despite how uncomfortable that experience had to be for you, it sounds like you were meant to be there for that family.”

“Yes, I suppose that is the essence of pastoral care—just being there for them and that ultimately is what we learned in two semesters of CPE.”

“Yes, and now I would like to fill in some of those blanks. You mentioned CPE a few times and how not even that training could have prepared you for the day of the fire, but I think your training was pretty good. Could you tell me about CPE and how you became involved in hospital ministry as a deacon?”

As he asked me this question, I smiled, because all in all, I loved being in hospital ministry. “Well, when I was in formation to be a deacon, I was required to take two semesters of CPE training. CPE is an abbreviation for ‘Clinical Pastoral Education.’ Think of it as training focused on caring for patients. Caring in a pastoral sense, by showing concern for the patients, listening to them and generally comforting and encouraging them as appropriate. As a part of that class, I had to set up a schedule with a local hospital to visit patients. So, rather than just sit in a classroom and talk about techniques for pastorally caring for patients, we (my brother diaconate candidates and I) all had to conduct actual visits to apply those caring techniques with actual patients. When we met as a group, we discussed our experiences under the guidance of a mentor from the training program. In this way, we all learned how best to deal with the various situations that arose from a multitude of patient visits. One by one, we would detail our visit starting with when we first walked into a room, our greeting, our conversation, our overall observations, right down to what we said and what the patient said. These interactions were called ‘verbatims.’”

I could see that Rick was interested. “Could you give me an example of some of the things you had to include on a verbatim?”

I decided it would be best to just print one of my verbatims and hand it to Rick. “Keep in mind they vary as much as the patients varied, but I am sure you will get the gist of a given visit. Just keep in mind that, in the beginning, I was learning—we all were—so the early verbatims echoed our lack of experience.”

Rick looked over the verbatim as I pointed out some of the key parts, such as why the patient was in the hospital, my first impression when I walked into the room, and then a complete interchange between me and the patient. After the interchange, we were required to provide our assessment of the visit, including psychological, sociological, theological, and ethical concerns. Finally, we reported on how that particular visit impacted and challenged us.

Rick was impressed as he looked over the five-page verbatim on a patient I named Anne who had been in the hospital three days because of her high blood pressure. He looked up at me, “This is pretty involved!”

I smiled, “Yes, but keep in mind, it was part of our training. Once I was ordained and took on hospital ministry, there were no more verbatims. But I must say, in class, when we reviewed them, they prompted a lot of discussion from our supervisors as well as from the other deacon candidates. And, as we all progressed, our verbatims evolved and we became better with respect to visiting patients.”

“Yes, I can see that you would have to actually do this. It’s definitely not something you learn from a book. I am sure you had some interesting sights in those rooms.”

“Sights, sounds, and smells…but it was all a part of pastoral care. I actually enjoyed it and miss it. But, I will tell you, this was difficult for me at first—going into a patient’s room. I was just wearing a shirt and tie. The reaction of the patients would vary—‘Oh no, another doctor,’ or ‘What do you want?’ or ‘Who are you?’ and a lot more. During my forty years’ experience as an engineer, I was very used to solving problems—problems that could be quantified, discussed, implemented, and tested. Dealing with patients on the other hand, with the goal of encouraging them through a myriad of personal and social dilemmas they have experienced, was, well, quite different. But as the year progressed, I actually became good at this. I had two mentors—Sister Arlene, who was my supervisor at St. Mary’s Medical Center where we attended the classes, and Father Wilson, who was the chaplain at the local hospital I was assigned to. Both had tremendous hospital experience. In addition to being a chaplain, Father Wilson was assigned to the parish of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the parish I would be assigned to after ordination. I was fortunate because both my mentors were very spiritual people. Father Wilson actually worked with Mother Theresa in India. I remember talks he had with me early on about hospital ministry. We would often sit in the solarium at the hospital. He told me that our ministry is just as important to a patient as the doctors and nurses treating them—maybe more. He took hospital ministry to another level through his spiritual insight and I was so fortunate to learn from him. As I started to gain more experience in the field with the guidance of Father Wilson and the supervision of Sister Arlene, a wonderful thing happened.”

Rick looked up at me, “What was that?”

“Well, I was always intrigued by Holy Scripture and various Christian writings, but my experience of pastoral visits at the hospital brought the written material to life for me. For the first time, I felt as if I was truly following Christ—not merely by reading scripture and praying, but by actively serving him. For example, the story Jesus told in the Gospel of St. Mathew:

‘For I was hungry and you gave me food,

I was thirsty and you gave me drink,

A stranger and you welcomed me,

Naked and you clothed me,

Ill and you cared for me,

In prison and you visited me.

Then the righteous will answer him and say, Lord, when did we see you

hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? When did we see you ill or in prison, and visit you?

And the king will say to them in reply, ‘Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.’

“I felt I was living this Gospel by caring for patients in the hospital. Not only that, but I found the hospital ministry intensified all my diaconate formation and made me feel that I was finally walking on the right path. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the work I did in engineering, but I always knew that I was called for more—something that could draw me closer to Christ. I felt closest to Christ when I was comforting patients—listening to them, encouraging them, and just being there for them. I understood that they needed physical healing and that the doctors and nurses were there to facilitate that, but, through my mentor, Father Wilson, I also understood that I was needed to help them heal spiritually. I always knew that the spirit and the body were connected. This was my call—this is why I chose to pursue hospital ministry. This was my ‘Kenosis!’”

Rick looked up from his notepad, “Your what?”

I smiled, expecting his question, “Early on in my formation, there was a discussion on the concept of kenosis. Kenosis is a Greek word for emptiness, used mainly in a Christian theological context. The gist of it is that we have to empty ourselves in order to be filled with the Holy Spirit. The Engineer Tom or Magician Tom could not offer much help to a man handcuffed to a hospital bed who was being treated for complications stemming from a heroin addiction, which grew from a pain-pill addiction. But by leaving my ego at the door and filling myself with the Holy Spirit, I just may be able to touch him in some way. That is kenosis. St. Paul’s Letter to the Philippians talks about how Jesus emptied himself:

‘Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God,

did not regard equality with God

something to be grasped.

Rather, he emptied himself,

taking the form of a slave,

coming in human likeness;

and found human in appearance,

he humbled himself,

becoming obedient to the point of death,

even death on a cross.’

“My point is that through my hospital ministry, such scripture became alive for me. But scripture was only part of the story for me, albeit a large part. In addition, many of my favorite authors addressed this concept. Thomas Merton said it this way, ‘One of the greatest paradoxes of the mystical life is this: that a man cannot enter into the deepest center of himself and pass through that center into God, unless he is able to pass entirely out of himself and empty himself and give himself to other people in the purity of a selfless love.’”

Rick was nodding his head. “So, if I understand you correctly, the hospital ministry was something that grew out of your diaconate formation, particularly from CPE, but it also provided a tangible way for you to put into practice many of the values and principles that have been a part of your life.”

I nodded, “Yes, I think you got the gist of it.”

“When you completed the CPE class, did you get a grade?”

“Well actually, my supervisor, Sister Arlene, wrote up a final evaluation report for me. I received a copy, as did the Director of the Diaconate Program. I will get you a copy.” I handed Rick a copy of my CPE Final Evaluation. After all, I was proud of it.

Rick looked through the six-page document, “This is a very thorough evaluation. It is interesting how it’s segmented into four pillars.”

“Our entire diaconate formation was based on the same four pillars: human, spiritual, intellectual, and pastoral. Some courses were strictly intellectual, some spiritual, and some went across all four pillars, such as CPE. That’s why my final evaluation is structured that way.”

Rick nodded, “I will ask you more about your formation later.” Rick paged through my evaluation, reading various excerpts that Sister Arlene wrote: “Let’s see,

‘It was through patient visitation that Tom realized something was changing.

………

‘Patients trusted him; he felt he mattered to others and they were comforted.

………

‘There was an intensity about Tom which sprang forth from his call to the diaconate as well as wanting to offer the best of himself.

………

‘Tom speaks of the major impact patient visits have on his life. One of those aspects of impact was “peace.”

………

‘I feel that God has designated Tom for something deeper within himself—more than study and even ordination calls for.

………

‘This evaluation documents that Thomas Fargnoli has successfully completed the St. Mary Clinical Pastoral Formation Program through the Diocese of Camden.’

It seems as though your supervisor, Sister Arlene, was very impressed with you.”

“Well, as it turned out, she was more than just my supervisor, she turned out to be a spiritual guide for me, not merely for CPE, but for where I was in my life with regard to becoming a deacon, being a father, being a husband—she just brought everything together for me. CPE was a great experience—one of the best overall classes of my formation and Sister Arlene and Father Wilson made it even more for me.”

After a pause, Rick continued, “So, when you were ordained and your formation was behind you, how did you become a hospital chaplain?”

“Shortly after I was ordained, the diocese created a new health care ministry, called Vitality. Vitality offered an array of health care services. Their vision was to be a living witness of the Gospel in South Jersey through their work of compassionate outreach and care. In this regard, they wanted to create a chaplaincy team. Having just retired and after discussing this position with my wife, I reached out and was hired as an associate chaplain. I was responsible for two hospitals, one in Cherry Hill and one in Stratford. My specific duties, besides pastoral visits to patients, were to coordinate the administering of the Sacrament of the Sick and to coordinate parish EM visits. I figured that if I could coordinate software and system engineers across a multitude of domains, I could certainly do this job on a part-time basis. So, I became Deacon Tom, the associate chaplain!”

Rick seemed pleased with my explanation of how I became an associate chaplain. “So, you did this part-time?”

“Yes, I started out putting in about twenty hours a week, plus my normal parish involvement as a deacon.”

“So, if a patient was in dire need of a priest, would you call the priest?”

“Yes, I had a list of parish priests for each hospital. Each hospital had me listed as the one to call when there was such a need. I tried to maintain a round-robin system for calling priests so one parish didn’t get all the calls. If they saw Deacon Tom come up on their cell, they pretty much knew someone was dying.”

“And the EM coordination?”

“I trained and scheduled extraordinary ministers, or EMs as many refer to them—I always clarify the fact that EM is for extraordinary minister, not Eucharistic Minister. The EMs came from surrounding parishes for each of the two hospitals I was responsible for. They had to be EMs for their parish as a start, but there were many hospital rules, procedures, and etiquette that they had to learn before becoming a hospital EM, so I provided that necessary training and took them through the hospital pointing out everything they needed to know.”

Rick seemed content so far with how the interview was going. “You had a beautiful ministry, Tom, and it seems like you really enjoyed it. It also seems like the patients enjoyed your visits.”

“Yes, I did enjoy it.”

With a serious look on his face, Rick asked me directly, “Why did you ever leave hospital ministry?”

As I looked at Rick, I knew that question wasn’t going to be answered today. “I suppose I will eventually get to that but the answer is rather involved.”

Rick could tell I was somewhat drained from reliving that day at the hospital and sensed that I wasn’t ready to discuss why I left the hospital ministry. “Well, Tom,” he said, “I was interested in your hospital ministry and how you came about selecting that ministry and, well, you certainly provided me with a complete picture. You’ve given me such a depth of the ministry and of yourself—I will do my best to do your story justice in my article. Tomorrow, I would like to know more about how and why you became a deacon and about your formation. Does that sound okay?”

“That sounds good. How about nine o’clock?”

We agreed to continue the following morning at nine o’clock.