COVID changed their spiritual DNA

Right down to our spiritual DNA, the COVID-19 pandemic has changed us. All of us. As hospital chaplains, we can only describe the spiritual toll of these experiences as massive. Our work always has been to comfort patients and their families. But COVID made supporting and standing by our medical colleagues a responsibility, a necessity and a privilege.

We stood with health care staff as they experienced the loss and exhaustion that presented them with the most challenging workplace challenges they’d ever faced — notifying faraway families of deaths, zipping up body bags and sometimes attending memorial services for their own colleagues.

We offered renewal where we could.

"I didn’t used to pray," one nurse said. "I’m not known to pray. But during the pandemic, I needed prayer."

We tried to make space for reflection and peace.

At one Long Island hospital, we created a meditation room. At a Manhattan hospital, where square footage was scarce, we hadn’t yet opened our chapel. We carved out space where it didn’t exist: tables to hand out tokens of encouragement, like stones with inspiring words on them. These things may appear insignificant, but helped some feel grounded.

"I’m struggling," another nurse said. "I’ve got 30 seconds and I need a blessing."

We had chats in elevators and hallways. We were asked to set up prayer circles — inside or out.

We listened and hung around, signaling our presence to staff, reminding them of God’s presence, even in the midst of suffering. Letting us know how they were doing opened the door to deeper conversations, to recognizing each other’s spiritual and emotional needs.

Differences in our religious beliefs disappeared, as Muslims, Jews and Christians gathered to let in God wherever and whenever they could. Even those who weren’t enthusiastic about God or religion understood why others were.

Said one doctor: "I’m an atheist. But I realized that my colleagues needed me at that prayer service."

As chaplains, Psalm 23 echoed in our hearts. We came to understand its words more clearly: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

We walked alongside grieving health care workers. We became attuned to their struggles, shared them, and gave them what strength and comfort we could. We saw patients’ suffering and loneliness through the eyes of medical staff.

The pandemic changed us — we let it — so we could see and feel a connection with God in our lives, not just as a detached creator, but as a force intimately connected with each of us, and that connects each of us. We see God’s role in the wisdom of those able to help people in all facets of health care.

We can’t explain the "why" of the world’s suffering. But maybe allowing holy connections between us and God and between each other, to simply exist, can help us reflect on life, our own fragility and the value of our relationships.

This guest essay reflects the views of the Rev. Dr. Sonia Trew-Wisdom, director of chaplaincy care and spiritual services at South Shore University Hospital, and Rabbi Simcha Silverman, director of spiritual services at Lenox Hill Hospital.