I am a professionally employed chaplain. I’m schooled, ordained and certified. I’ve even been to war.
But I recently attended three funerals that reminded me how I can feel as helpless as anyone when trying to comfort a heartbroken friend.
I spend a lot of time in Sin City.
I know Las Vegas isn’t the place where you’d think a chaplain should visit, but business and family often send me there.
Last year, I came out of early retirement—perhaps better characterized as “premature retirement”—to accept part-time work as a hospice chaplain.
In my new role, I often hear three common reactions when I tell friends I work for hospice.
The reaction that always surprises me is, “Where is your hospital?”
