Fingering in the wounds

I went on home visits to very poor neighborhoods in Montevideo last week with the excellent publicly funded palliative care teams at Hospital Maciel, originally a charity hospital founded by an order of sisters in the eighteenth century.

Interestingly, the otherwise state of the art palliative care teams did not do spiritual care, or do spiritual assessments when doing patient intake.  The professionals I asked about that responded that they provide psychological care, if necessary.  Courses in psycho-spiritual elements of palliative care are taught by psychologists.

Uruguay is a very secular country, an anomoly in Latin America, with a only minority of citizens identifying as Catholic or regular churchgoers.  Yet the country is well off, and very progressive in many ways, also an anomoly in that its national health service includes home based palliative care services.  The people are extremely friendly, and greet one another, even strangers like myself, with a kiss, much like the early Christians! It made me think, as I often do when I reflect on my secular friends and family members who wouldn’t be caught dead in a church, of theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s “religionless Christianity,” a concept he did not have a chance to develop before he was executed by the Nazis in the last days of the Third Reich.

Although he was a Lutheran pastor, Bonhoeffer was very critical of the church and understood why people were drifting away from an institution that offered largely “cheap grace…grace without discipleship, grace without the Cross.” (Cost of Discipleship)  As Bonhoeffer said, “We are moving towards a completely religionless time; people as they are now simply cannot be religious anymore.” (Letters and Papers from Prison) The concept of “religionless Christianity,” on the other hand, demands costly grace of disciples, and obedience to Jesus’ call to radically follow him. 

This morning’s mass readings for the Second Sunday of Easter include Jesus’ famous words to the disciple Thomas, the one who said he would not believe until he put his fingers in the wounds made by the nails of the Crucifixion.  Jesus tells him straight up to put his hands in the wounds, and feel for himself.  Although John’s Gospel does not specify that Thomas actually did that, it’s Jesus’ instruction in an era of religionless Christianity that interests me, because that is exactly what today’s doubters, today’s Thomases should do.  Feel for themselves the wounded body of Christ.

That wounded body is the forgotten ones — the people who are hungry, humiliated, diminished, marginalised, mentally ill, and dying. The doubters should put their hands in that body, literally get their hands dirty with the work of serving, like Dorothy Day, like the countless anonymous Christians and non-Christians who serve their helpless fellow human beings all over the world. Whether or not they interpret it that way, they are tending to the wounded body of God.  I think that is what Bonhoeffer was getting it.

I particularly love how John tells us that when Jesus appeared in his resurrected body in the middle of the huddled and frightened post-Crucifixion disciples, “Jesus breathed on them and said “receive the Holy Spirit.”  Classical Greek renders that breath as πνεῦμα or pneuma. The Holy Spirit came through his breath.  I remembered to do the Tibetan Buddhist practice of tonglen at a patient’s house the other day in response to the dense suffering that surrounded this teenager’s dying, and what a great practice tonglen is in such circumstances, when the pain brought on by the despair of losing a child is unbearable.  Being present to that despair allows us to breathe in the suffering as we inhale, and send out the holy spirit in our outbreath, our pneuma, to serve as a container for the pain, when the one who is suffering cannot.

Providing spiritual care as an integral component of palliative care can respect the secularity of the patient and family. It does not have to be religious or even “spiritual,” but can simply be compassionate, intentional presence  — being with the patient and family in their distress. According to one consensus definition, “Spirituality is the aspect of humanity that refers to the way individuals seek and express meaning and purpose and the way they experience their connectedness to the moment, to self, to others, to nature, and to the significant or sacred.” Attending to that need for meaning and purpose fills a vacuum that is otherwise filled with great suffering, suffering that cannot be assuaged by any amount of excellent clinical care.

I have been praying daily for the young man who is dying of an aggressive brain tumor, who is bedridden and whose friends don’t visit any more, and for his mother, whose grief we we were able to accompany for a brief time last week. Thank God for the palliative care teams — the religionless Christians — who could visit their humble home at no cost to the family, who could at least alleviate the young man’s physical pain and by their very attendance on him, let his family know they are not abandoned in their hour of greatest need.


Paediatric Palliative Care: Bringing in the Kingdom — Christmas Blog For “Little Stars” Film Series


The Lord is close to the brokenhearted” Psalm 34:18 “The wound is the place where the Light enters you,” Rumi.

The Christmas season calls Christians to reflect on what we call the Incarnation, or God taking human birth in a little child destined to suffer and die at the hands of those whose power he threatened. This blog reflects on how we, as community members, can serve the Incarnation in the persons of seriously ill children and their families, bringing gifts, like the Magi, of ourselves, our treasure.

When I lived in San Diego, I volunteered as as a Spanish translator for the paediatric hospice home-care teams that served the Mexican and Central American immigrant communities. I was privileged to visit the (usually very humble) homes of families, often single mothers, caring for seriously ill children with not much time to live. My job was only to translate the words: the energy of love in the room needed no translation, since it was accessible to everyone present. In it they “lived and moved and had their being.” (Acts 17:28)

It is a rare privilege to be in the presence of such love.

For Christians, the unconditional love and tenderness children with serious and terminal illness evoke — whether they are our biological kids or not — is an intimation of God’s presence. Jesus referred to them in MT 25: 40, as “the least of my brethren,” to emphasise God’s connection with humanity, telling his followers that “the kingdom belongs to such as these”. (MT 19:14)

I think what Jesus was getting at is the fact that children’s natural trust and dependence effortlessly pry open the hearts of those who care for them. They accomplish this feat of spiritual mechanics by calling on us to mirror their virtues: trust, generosity, and unconditional love. Children’s hospices all over the world represent one vision of the coming of the kingdom that Jesus spoke of, which we intuit as “here, but not yet.” A world with sufficient palliative care and adequate pain medicine for all prefigures the kingdom, being illuminated by values of the common good that prioritise the most vulnerable.

The virtues of generosity, friendship, and service inherent in palliative care are universal though. They are hardly the exclusive property of Christianity. Ancient philosophers such as Aristotle considered them the core virtues of classical citizenship. Although immanent to all of us, as children show us so vividly, the virtues can’t be left dormant, or they wither. They must be continually practiced, enacted in community, to bear fruit. Caring for seriously ill children, whether as a clinician, a volunteer, or a fundraiser, allows anyone, whether they think of themselves as religious, spiritual, or non-theistic, to practice the virtues to benefit the community as a whole.

The Christmas story of Jesus’ birth in an outbuilding in Bethlehem reveals God’s solidarity with the most vulnerable. That solidarity is a particular type of love, or spiritual friendship characterised by self-giving. A pearl of great price. Our service to terminally ill children and their caregivers, who ideally include palliative care teams, participates in that solidarity.

The Little Stars films ( intimately connect viewers with the love and solidarity that run like live current through the world of children’s hospice and palliative care. The films can be used as advocacy tools to bridge the vast gap between the global need for paediatric palliative care and adequate provision that is the target of the ICPCN NOW Campaign.

See for more information.