Hospice as Embodied Resistance

On soulful and subversive presence.

“To not be cut off [from the world]…we need to be moving in a rhythm that is syncopated with that of the oaks and willows, heartbeats and touch. We must recall the original cadence of the soul.”

-Francis Weller

Hospice work is not glamourous. Full stop.

But it is sacred.

I find the responses you get when you tell people you work in hospice…very interesting.

“Wow, good luck to you—I could never do it!”

“That has to be so hard.”

“It takes a special person to do what you do.”

If you work in hospice you’ve likely heard the same kind of comments. I certainly do not intend to minimize the importance of what we do, nor how I and others may be uniquely wired to flourish in a hospice environment. But the subtext of these interactions is illuminating!

Compare the above responses to a recent conversation I had with a hospice nurse, who was describing why she loves the work so much. I’m paraphrasing, but in essence she confessed to me, “I feel absolutely comfortable with the dying. This is all of us eventually. I’d rather be here than some fast-paced, cutthroat environment. Death is so normal.”

Of course I don’t think she means to gloss over the very emotional reality of death and bereavement. She and so many others who truly love the work see the dignity and resistance hospice can offer. In a western context sickened by capitalism, hospice often allows people to re-enter a rhythm and space for soul. And that can mean a rhythm and space for wholeness, with the right conditions in place.

Image: Summer Floral V, Silvia Vassileva

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I’ve had moments the last few years when it feels like my own faith is on hospice.

What part of this faith is dying?

That is in some ways still the question suspended in time. I’ve written about it quite a bit. If I were to elongate the question and pose it back to myself it might be asked: what is dying in order for you to live?

For many people, Christianity (in whatever form) needed to die in them. That idea is uncomfortable for many Christians. But as I see the arc of others’ stories—the harm, the heartache, the hells—I see the necessity of death(s).

But what about their fate or salvation?

Haven’t they chosen to walk away from grace?

For me, it’s the spiritually “urgent” questions like this that no longer have a pulse. Life is not a salvation game anymore. I still personally encounter the presence of God and the mystery of Christ. But when someone sheds the label of Christian in their own pursuit of healing, I heed. I honor. I respect.

As for my faith in the church? I am institutionally agnostic.

When I worked for faith organizations the goal was always to get people in. If we got them in, we could introduce them to Jesus or the gospel, and eventually usher them toward church membership. Too many problems to unpack about that here, but it goes without saying: far too many institutions focus their energy and resources on that project—call it ‘mission’ or assimilation—and in so doing cannot face the music about themselves when the time comes. The organization becomes more important than the truth.

So today while I respect those doing the work of institutional reform, I reject the idea that God’s life primarily exists within faith establishments. Or that God commands our investment to such. I hold this not because I discarded many old beliefs but because I see with my own eyes a different reality. There is an abundance of life and spiritual vitality outside the ‘boundary lines’ of belonging I used to embrace. Yes, integrity can still exist in a traditional church setting, but organizations are not the center of the sacred.

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I told my wife a few days ago I have been feeling the heavy dissonance between soul and capitalism. I would love to live in a world where we could take a year just to grieve what we’ve lived. That is the rhythm and cadence I long for, having made it through so many difficult months. Grief always brings up the longing for witness and rest—slow and long release. But our world does not accommodate this gift.

Capitalism says in relation to soul: move on, move away, move up, move alone, move fast. It is not easy to evade those Class V rapids in search of rest. The cultural current works against grief. It works against community. It works against healing.

When you find yourself ashore and among the living (however momentarily) you remember your soul-rhythm.

In the realm of hospice, you can often encounter a window of presence with people where time slows down just enough to unbind us. Terminal illness may be the criteria but you’d be surprised how many patients enter this threshold free and spacious, especially the older folks.

I did say the work is not glamourous. Sometimes we just sit with the bereaved. We hug loved ones and let tears or silence be their own anointing. Of course, not all patients are reconciled to loved ones. Many patients have no loved ones. We grieve their isolation. We offer them new memories of companionship as they transition. The time is inherently limited, but there is no hurry, and that is what it means to live in union with soul.

It is a worthy endeavor to protest the Mighty River in order to move more sacredly through our lives. When I sit with hospice patients I am a participant in this story of resistance. Not only am I reminded of my own mortality; I am also invited to cherish the living parts of us that will never comply with speed or ambition.

This is how grief usually prompts me. It calls me back to my own body and away from tyrannies. It breaks loose my inertia. It reunites me to the world and every unfolding beauty.