A couple of weeks ago, I received a really strange inquiry by email: “This is going to be a weird question: Were you the police chaplain in Cudahy, Wisconsin in January 1991?” It was signed by a person whose name I didn’t recognize, obviously written while on the job because the signature line under her name revealed she was a claims adjuster with a care organization.
Hmm. In 1991, my position was better described as crisis interventionist; I signed on in 1989 in the role of chaplain, but then my function changed over time to crisis counselor. By 1991, I only put on the official chaplain’s bars when I did a death notification.
Why would a claims adjuster write to me about a death notification? I must admit, I felt a modicum of unease as I pondered the mysterious message. Normally an inquiry about a long-past event comes from the district attorney’s office, when a cold case is reopened. My curiosity rose to a level 10. “Yes, if you are referring to a death situation, I was the only chaplain for the department at that time,” I responded, “but why do you ask?”
Three days later, after the weekend, the answer arrived in her reply email. She said that I had indeed responded to a death in her immediate family. The woman’s husband had died in 1991, leaving her with a 3-year-old child to raise alone. (She had since remarried, however, which was why I didn’t recognize the name.) She remembered that during her weakest moment, I clasped my necklace around her neck suggesting she keep it close to her heart as a reminder that God was always close to her. God had sent me to her, and we would get through the sadness of burying her husband together.
“The cross has a pearl on it,” she reminded.
Yes, I remember the necklace.
The reason she was looking me up now, she said, was for a very specific and special reason. Her daughter – the little toddler during those terrible days – was now all grown up and getting married; the family would very much like it if I would officiate at the wedding as the ordained clergy. And by the way, the woman’s granddaughter would be wearing the cross for the ceremony.
So this September, I’ll be driving to Milwaukee to join that young woman and her groom in the bonds of holy matrimony on what, I hope, will be the happiest day of her life. Her mother says that I was with them both on the saddest day, so in some way, they will feel the father’s presence a little more keenly if I am there to officiate on the most poignant day as well.
(Another) moral of this story
On that day in 1991 (Jan. 5), I reported for duty not expecting that my shift would be any different than most. I had no premonition that I would be opening the small case in which my two chaplain’s bars were kept, that I would polish the silver pins with a soft buffer cloth and snap the pin tack on the back to secure them to my right and left corners of my blue collar. I didn’t know, that morning, that later in the day I would clip on the black dress tie under that same collar and give my shoes a quick spit polish, straighten the badge on my shirt, double-check an address, and ring her doorbell.
(Continued)
Maybe you don’t know, tomorrow, that you’ll be called into a changed scene, a crisis not of your making, when you go to work. Maybe a colleague will have faced a tragedy during the night or a co-worker will have had a heart attack. We just don’t know. Nor do we know what we will do or say until someone’s eyes meet ours, and it is our turn to speak or walk away. My job was to be present, to bear witness, and to support. You may think those expectations are different than yours, in your job today, or different than my job today, too, but it was not different. You impact someone every day of your life and you can’t know in the morning, when you pour your cup of coffee or slip into your shoes, who will never forget something rash you might say today, or who will remember, perhaps for the rest of their lives, some small kindness you might perform.
I believe the best workplace managers understand the concept of servant leadership, and I also think that the most engaged line workers get it, too. You make a choice, every moment of the day, whether to be present, to witness, and to support many different people, and if you are employed, you make that same decision with regard to your relationship with the company. Do you offer servant leadership to those around you, or do you think, “That’s not my job”?
It was my job then to serve her, and it is my joy now to serve her daughter, and it is my privilege to serve you as well with the occasional column that is a little outside your expectation, most likely, of what a business magazine would offer: A reminder and assurance, this week, that you are not alone.
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